Personal Commentary

I hate New Year’s Resolutions. I think they are the biggest damn waste of my time that ever was. They rate right up there with those silly quizzes in the women’s magazines. You know the ones that ask stupid stuff like, “Do you know how to keep your man happy?” Hell, no! I have no idea what makes him happy on any given day. I’ve been married to him for 28 years and it’s still a damn mystery. “Do you dress for success?” Um, heeelllllooooo! There’s a reason I chose the military. In case you haven’t noticed, Uncle Sam sorta takes fashion and choice out of the equation. The simple answer in case you missed it is NO. I like sitting around in jeans or jammies when I write. What’s it to ya anyway?

As you can see – New Year’s makes me cranky. I went to online banking because I hated writing the wrong year on my checks for the first three months of the year. Don’t even get me started on the whole New Year’s Eve thing. What is the point of starting off the New Year puking your guts out and being hung over? Did it once and learned my lesson.

Where was I? Oh yeah… resolutions. I finally quit doing the resolution thing a couple of years ago. I made the same ones every year. Literally, year after year.
1. Lose weight. I do. And then I gain it back so I have to do it all over again.
2. Be nicer. I am. Then I go out in public or watch the news and that one’s over with.
3. Be kinder. It’s different than nicer, but the same thing happens.
4. Quit speeding. I do. But then I remember how much fun it is and I begin to channel Lori.
5. Cook healthier meals. Refer to #1.

What I finally realized was that every year I was setting myself up for failure and a boatload of self-loathing. I already know that I’m going to screw all those things up so why did I put them on a list and say I was going to do them. I thought if I put them out there then I’d be too embarrassed not to do them. Then I realized that almost everyone I know was failing at them too. Sure, there’s a couple over-achievers that you want to smack at the end of the year, but for the most part, we all make resolutions that are hard to keep.

Now I make a list of stuff that I can and will do. It’s nothing fancy, but I like the idea of starting out the year with the probability of success. My friend Dean likes to say that I’m aiming low to avoid any real expectation, but we all know that I’m just avoiding the disappointment of not meeting my goals.

So these are my resolutions for 2013 –
1. I will not step on my scale more than once a month. The damn thing just annoys me so I don’t know why I’d want to spend any real time with it. It’s rude, obnoxious, and the little bastard lies.
2. I will step away from anyone who I can’t be nice to or won’t be nice to me. Both in person and online. In person, this will save me the hassle of calling Mr. Scott to pick me up after arraignment, and online, it will keep me from leaving a permanent trail that can be used against me in a court of law.
3. I will adopt a dog this year because I have no trouble being kind to a dog. I like them better than most of the people I encounter. Dogs like me, and they don’t care if I’m overweight, have no fashion sense, curse too much, and don’t give a rat’s ass about dusting.
4. I will keep my one living houseplant alive for another year. It helps that it’s a cactus, but it’s still a challenge to me.
5. I will hoard three-way incandescent light bulbs. I hate those new squiggle damn things.
6. I will not go back to doing things that I have already managed to give up doing. Therefore, I will not be smoking, seriously drinking, or jogging. If I take up jogging again, you can bet that I’m drinking heavily.
7. I will lower my head and not look directly at the other driver when I call him a freaking useless Asshat that can’t drive to save his soul. I’m getting too old to get out of the car and beat the hell out of people. It’s also not as easy as it used to be to beat up on those old white-haired ladies since more of them are going to the gym and eating healthy.
8. I will not eat any beets or lima beans. I don’t like them. I don’t want them. And as an adult – I don’t have to eat the damn things if I don’t wanna.
9. I will avoid daytime television, reality television, and anything with wives, bachelors, survivors, gold hunting, trucking, crabbing, axe, or swamp in the premise or title. I’ve suffered enough brain damage from the serious drinking and I don’t need to add to it with this useless drivel.
10. And finally, I will stay at least one-half mile away from Sam Elliott. The restraining order was quite clear about the distance, and I’m pretty good at following rules when there are consequences.

That’s it. Those are my ten resolutions for the coming year. I know that I can keep them. Now all you have to do is keep yours. Happy New Year and best wishes for the coming year.

Sometimes I find it impossible to tell you in a meaningful way exactly how I feel about certain things. You have by now figured out that I am rarely at a loss for words, but there are times when the words don’t seem to convey what I want them to convey. I don’t want to sound like a damn Hallmark card, nor do I want to sound preachy. But when it comes to certain things – you either believe or you don’t.

I believe that God abhors war, but holds a special place in his heart for warriors.

I believe that angels walk among us in battle and they answer to the names “Corpsman, Medic, and Doc.”

I believe in heaven and I know “the streets are guarded by United States Marines” and the U.S. Air Force is responsible for the flight path of angels.

I believe that God holds the common Soldier, Sailor, Airman, and Marine in the same high regard as the most elite of the warrior ranks.

I believe that God holds a peaceful place in heaven for those who cannot find peace within after serving in the hell of war here on Earth.

I believe that “there are no atheists in foxholes.”

I believe that as long as we remember someone and speak his name than he still lives.

I believe that the dead hear their names and find comfort in our remembrance.

Memorial Day is about the men and women who died while in military service. Based on my very simplistic belief system, I’m sure you will know where to find me at dawn on Memorial Day. I’ll be raising my flag, and I’ll be speaking at least these two names.

Major Richard Kibbey, Missing in action near Mu Ghia Pass on the Laos/North Vietnam border. 6 February 1967. He was the copilot of Jolly Green 05 (tail #65-12779) which was shot down while attempting the rescue of a downed pilot. I’ve had his POW bracelet since 1973.

And,
Private Rolland F. Revels, 2nd Ranger Battalion, who died 6 June 1944, and is buried in Colleville Cemetery in France. On D-Day, Dog, Easy and Fox Companies landed at Pointe du Hoc and members of Able, Baker, while Charlie Companies landed at Omaha Beach. You’ll find a large number of those brave young men in Colleville. I have no connection with Private Revels. I selected him because his name called to me.

If you don’t personally know someone who has given his life in service to our nation, you can click on any National Cemetery and select a man to honor or choose to honor someone whose name is inscribed on the Vietnam War Memorial. Regardless of your belief system, or lack of one, please take a moment this Memorial Day to recognize the ultimate sacrifice of so many.

Please take the time to say a name.

I signed on the dotted line, and I was well aware when I did so that I would probably not always be home for the holidays. That first year was tough, but the world didn’t end. I was at Davis-Monthan in Tucson, Arizona, and it didn’t feel anything like Christmas. It’s pretty easy to ignore everything when it’s 70 degrees and sunny. It was just another day.

The oddest Christmas was the one I spent in Korea. I was a short-timer by then – less than one month away from rotating home, so I was dealing better than a lot of folks. I had volunteered to take the duty that night so I’d be busy, and then Christmas Day, I would be working the serving line at the chow hall with the commander. Christmas Eve was a unique experience in the squadron dorm. You encountered everything from the folks who are unconcerned about the holidays, to the folks who were emotionally crippled by being away from their families. I was closer to the unconcerned side.

My favorite memory is of an impromptu dance party. The music and laughter from the third floor dayroom drew me in and there I found about twenty people with a boom box and a bunch of beer. All the furniture had been pushed back against the walls and everyone was either dancing or standing in clumps talking.

“Shirt! Shirt! Come have a beer!” SSgt Sherry Ogren was at the center of the room, beer in hand, waving at me. Sherry ran the orderly room and was my suitemate, meaning we shared a bathroom.

I was still in BDUs and boots, but I accepted a beer, happy to be with a group of people who were just having a good time. The music was eclectic, moving between rock and country – all of it upbeat. There were no dance partners, no slow ballads, and no problems. This was a party to get through Christmas Eve. I was having so much fun that I actually had a second beer.

A little later, the music changed and SSgt Watson jumped up yelling, “Electric Slide time! Everyone on the floor!”

This would be the part where I remind you all that I am a woman who completely lacks rhythm and grace. I’m the one who was always in the back row of the aerobics class because when everyone else went left, I would undoubtedly go right—there’d be a crash, a pile of bodies, and eventually crying.

The teasing and easy abuse began when I was the only one still leaning against the wall. SSgt Watson decided that we all danced or no one danced, and she turned the music off. I bowed to the pressure and went to the back of the group. She started the music again. It became a “what the hell” situation. I had two beers in me and no one had a camera. This was in the days before cell phone cameras, video, and Facebook, thank God! It had been a long time since I’d laughed as hard as I did that night. Poor SSgt Watson finally declared that I was a hopeless case—even she couldn’t teach me to do the Electric Slide.

I had a third beer and everyone kept dancing. Other people wandered in and out and more beer arrived along with more people. Maybe, it was the fourth beer, but I didn’t notice any problems that night. Everyone was still dancing or standing in clumps talking, and amazingly, the party never got too loud or too stupid. It lasted until the beer ran out, somewhere after 0400. Now, I must admit that I’m unsure of the exact time; however, I do recall being a little green when I showed up at the dining hall to help serve Christmas dinner.

I am also sure that it was one of the best Christmas Eve’s that I’ve ever had.

You will no doubt be asked to spend a little time at Christmas thinking about the men and women who are serving in the armpits of the world, but I will also ask you to spare a thought for the folks that are simply serving away from home. There are many who aren’t in the media spotlight of our current war.

This Christmas there will be thousands of men and women at sea, in Asia, Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and across the United States. They will be in the control tower of a base in Arizona, in the fire stations in Ohio, and in airplanes around the globe. They will also be in revetments in Korea, in bunkers in Afghanistan, in trucks guarding flight lines and bomb dumps in South Dakota. And they will be in the dining halls of every military facility, working through the night to make sure Christmas dinner is on the serving line in time. They will come together as a chosen family and each will at some point in the day wish they were at home with their loved ones.

They all volunteered to go do the job that needs to be done. No one wants to go home more than the people in uniform do. And I assure you – no one prays for peace on Earth more than those who put on the uniform every day. I hope you will all take a moment and join your hopes and prayers with ours that the coming year is more peaceful than the last.

Merry Christmas.

One of my friends recently said he was trying to be less of a smart a**. Of course, he said that right after he’d zinged me, and my immediate inclination was to send him an email and call him on his abuse. I didn’t. Instead, I sat down and looked at some of the communications he had mentioned to me. I’ve called him a smarty more than once, but the reality is, that there’s a difference between the teasing of friends and just being an a**.

More than once I have heard (and said myself) that there is no tone in email. The words you type on the screen can be read in a variety of ways and, depending on the reader’s mood, can elicit a variety of responses. My humor level can become non-existent when my caffeine level drops too low. With texting and Tweeting (which I don’t do), and the explosion of Facebook, what you type spreads even faster. When you share something on Facebook, you plan on sharing with your friends, but it also gets shared with others. Your friend posts something and you comment. It’s not a private chat between you and him, it’s between you and all his friends. They see what you wrote and chime in. A teasing jab between old friends now becomes fodder for everyone else. What might have been funny the first time is rarely as humorous when everyone jumps in and the teasing becomes an abusive free-for-all.

I’ve long wished that I had been smart enough to set up two Facebook pages. One for the more polite of my friends and family, and one for the people that I don’t need to censor myself with. I have a friend who finally went through and did separate pages. One gets the family friendly updates and the other one gets the “unvarnished” truth. Those of us that she has friended on that second page expect it to be less than politically correct, bawdy, and direct. I keep the friends on my personal page down to a minimum. No one under eighteen need apply, because my comments often cross the line.

There really are two separate and distinct people inside of me. There’s the more polite woman who likes to stay in touch with relatives, high school friends, folks I worked with before, and genealogy buddies – and then there’s – well me – the darker side. The dark side is often rude, crude, and socially unacceptable. I like a good dirty joke, the foul insults traded by people that have seen and done what I have seen and done, and the dark sense of humor that lives in people who have had to deal with the messier side of life.

But, as I thought about what my friend had said, I realized that he was right. Many people seem to consider commenting on Facebook as some kind of a contest in being a smart a**. Why is every communication now an opportunity for someone to make a smart comment or take a cheap shot? We’ve moved into the area where we have to figure out the difference between those who are teasing and those who are just being a**es. How many times have you seen something really mean followed by an LOL? Or even worse – the smiley face. Most of the time it is meant just that way, but we’ve all seen the line crossed, and no doubt we’ve all crossed it ourselves a few times.

Because of my warped sense of humor, I get friend requests from friends of my friends. I’m pretty picky – I take a hard look at those folks and I do pay attention to who posts what. Those people who live for the opportunity to make a sharp or pointed comment, but are unable to point that comment at themselves, don’t get approved. Neither do those who are only looking for a platform to spout their politics or religion. They are the serial a**es that take the fun out of things.

There have been times when I’ve posted the same responses that I would have made on the phone, but in writing it doesn’t carry the laughing and teasing tone of a longtime friend. They just plain look mean. I’ve deleted more than one post after rereading it, because I worried it didn’t convey the humor I meant it with.

My friends have value and I will continue to tease and abuse them – it’s part of who we are. Most of us are people that recognize a good zinger is like a hug between longtime friends, but being an a** is usually just meanness couched in humor. We could all do with a little more of the first and a little less of the second. However, I will hold back on occasion because I’m not willing to hurt someone or ruin a friendship just to make a witty retort.

The fact of the matter is that we are judged by our friends – and that includes the ones on social sites like Facebook.