sloth alert!

Recently, I befriended Richard Nordquist on fb.

"Isn't he the fellow you worked with when you were a pioneer of distance-learning at Armstrong some few years ago?"

The very same. I doubt he really remembers who I am, but he kept coming up as "someone you might know", so I went ahead and officially added him to my list of fb friends. And he, in turn, accepted my request and has added me to his list of fb friends.

"Okay... "

And, today, he posted the above image of a baby sloth cuddling up to a toy sloth, as well as a poem.  [Photo: A six-week-old orphaned two-toed sloth clings to a plush toy during International Sloth Day at the Panamerican Conservation Association in Panama City.
Photo by Enea Lebrun / Reuters / The Times]

"Oh, that's so adorable... and sad... poor little orphan."

Yes. Anyway, as I was saying, I've only recently friended him, so I stopped to read some of the comments. One was a person saying they'd never seen a sloth in person, and he'd responded about seeing one in a zoo... so I added my personal take. "Richard Nordquist, I would see them fairly frequently when I was stationed in Panama. They're extremely slow on the ground, and, about twice a year, they would cross from one side of the mangrove swamp to the other. If one was in the road, I would have to wait several minutes for it to get by before I could pass. Interesting times!"

"Interesting indeed! That was while you were at Galeta Island, right? During your eight years of being in the Navy?"

You go it! Panama was my very first duty station. I didn't mention it to Dick, but those animals are as large as a man when grown. Certainly not anything you want to run into with your car... or get out of your car to deal with in person. Nope! So, we all knew to let them finish their slow crawl across the road, whether it made us late to our shift or not. Better safe than wrecked in the swamp!

"What did Dick have to say about that memory you posted?"

Well, I don't know that he'll say anything, but he did "like" it. That's good enough for me! (smile!) 

military luncheon at a cinema?

That's partly what it was.

The promise of a free meal is always a draw, 'alays kadhalika?

Or perhaps I should have said "intor nist?" for part of the event?

Whether in Arabic or Persian, the meaning is the same: n'est-ce pas?

If I'm being honest, I came for the luncheon, the movie, and the promise of a blank journal.

Even though I blog, I keep an old-fashioned paper diary, too.

I liked the idea of getting one from the Gary Sinise Foundation, especially as I'd just seen (parts of) "Forrest Gump" recently.

(smile!)

"Brothers After War" was a follow-up to Jake Rademacher's 2009 documentary, "Brothers At War", and both had the director interacting with his two brothers, Isaac and Joe, during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

According to the information disbursed, the 4-hour film and workshop "offers a safe, engaging environment where participants explore themes of service, sacrifice, moral injury, and resilience through guided conversations, interactive sessions, and community support", all in the comfort of the NCG Cinema.

From my front-row seat, I found all of that to be very true.

Chase Millsap, a ten-year veteran of the Marines, was there to help field questions and and lend support during the 2-hour workshop following the film.

Yes, that's correct: a 2-hour workshop, using a workbook with some tough questions for us - the active duty military, the veterans, the first responders, and any of their family members who came - to answer, honestly.

I was surprised how many veteran women were there!

Some of them even spoke up and shared their answers during the discussion.

I was not one of those.

Still, I want to share the answers I wrote for the four questions - out of 13 in the workbook -that were selected for this session.

"What part of the film did you most relate to? Why?"

The woman who had served with them & been "one of the guys". I was a CTM in the Navy and was "one of the guys," too. I related to her getting ticked off when the new guy focused on her being female instead of her job capabilities. Totally related to that.

"Have you ever had a friend think about suicide? Have you thought about suicide? How did you navigate it?"

My cousin David committed suicide after the death of Gwen. She had breast cancer that returned & he stayed right beside her during all her treatments the first time around, then again 4 years later. That second time was especially hard for him. He had called me while I was on vacation with family to talk about it & trying to get her to eat. He knew I had tried to help my mother-in-law, his Aunt, when she had stage 4 cancer and was dying. I talked with him for about an hour, under the stars in TN, and he definitely felt some relief from our talk. Still, she died 2 months later. He was dead by his own hand withing 6 months. He had tried to set up a friend to find his gunshot body, but his son did instead. It's still heart-breaking.

"What's it like to live with a veteran? If you are a veteran, what's it like to live with you?"

I definitely have my own way of doing things. Now that I have been retired for 7 years, I notice that I have a schedule, though it isn't one that others can really see. I do try to keep weekends open for family interaction, but the rest of the time I'm doing only what I want to do. Some days I don't even get dressed, and that started during the pandemic. If I don't get dressed, then it was okay to stay at home.

"What is your most positive memory or experience from your service? Why?"

We made friends quickly!

We all knew from the moment we arrived at each duty station that we needed to "find our tribe" - in the current vernacular - because we were going to need friends for our time there.

Quickly!

And we were all in the same situation, mostly. We were all going to be there for 1 /2 to 2 years. That isn't much time to find bonds with others. That's okay, we were all in the same situation. We could spend our time stationed there alone, or we could live and get the most from that different cultural experience.

So we joined the local film club, we joined the squaredance club, we joined the theatre troupe - we joined - quickly! 

 

 - - - - -

I liked the order of the questions. 

Those were not sequential in the workbook.

Those were on pages 1, 19, 15, and 13.

Why those particular ones and in that order?

They were chosen to lead us from more serious matters to lighter ones, so that we would be leaving on a positive note.

I can relate to that.

After all, I have a 40+-year-old mixtape that does that same thing.

(smile!)

Now, time to shift gears before my first niece arrives!

(smile!) 

happy anniversary, balinda and brant

I try to remember celebrations of weddings past that I was part of, and this was one of those.

We were all stationed at Imperial Beach, the Naval station in the southernmost part of San Diego, California. 

I remember giving blood showing up to work that evening with a bruise at the injection site.

As soon as Balinda Morris saw it, she had a fit!

"Who did that to you?" she demanded, "I'll make sure they never do it again!"

Feisty, yes, and also one of the sweetest people you'd ever meet.

(smile!)

When she and Brant Dixon got married on May 15, 1983, I was right there as her matron of honor, wearing a long, sleeveless, summer dress I'd made. 

The only reason I recall that dress is that Brant posted it on fb a few years back.

(smile!)

After many years of having lost touch, fb helped us find each other.

Yes, they were decades older, as was I.

But he still had that twinkle in his eye and she still had that gentle smile.

They were living in Oregon, her home state, and had raised a son, Terrance, and were enjoying a quiet life on their piece of land.

Very nice!

I toyed with the idea of going out there for a visit, but never did, nor did they venture here.

The last time I saw Balinda was in Pensacola, Florida, though I cannot recall the occasion.

All I know is Peggy Arkills was there, as well as us, and we three former military buddies spent an afternoon or so catching up.

Perhaps Peggy had been retiring from the Navy... but I don't know.

Perhaps that was shortly after Brant found me on fb... but I don't recall.

Too much time has passed.

And, now, so has he.

Brant E. Dixon II had heart surgery in January this year and something went amiss, leading to his death.

He was around 66 years old.

Balinda had a stroke last year and was still trying to recover.

She will be 63 this year.

A friend posted a Go Fund Me page to help pay his funeral costs.

 

That's been all I've heard since then... until fb posted a memory today that was dated May 22, 2014.

Today, the day which would have been a week after their 42nd anniversary.

The post was one from Brant, the only one of them who was active on that site.

He had posted this photo and he'd tagged me.

I'd responded, "Thanks, Brant! What lovely, feathery fluffs!"

"Just for you. Had your name written all over it.", was his reply.

 

I don't know why that popped up today.

I cannot ever remember it landing in my feed on previous anniversaries of that date.

Maybe my continuous searches for his obituary brought me this bit of solace.

Yes, I will choose to believe that.

Happy anniversary to them both.

how I marked the 13th year

This past week has certainly been a time of remembrances of my days in the military. Ever since last Friday, when I discovered, to my horror, that the Naval stations I had spent my young adult years at were (long) gone, I have had the impact of the military on youth on my mind. During times of peace, the effect is minimalized, primarily manifesting as an increase in structure and responsibility. That's all to the good. Regardless of the reason a person volunteers for service, that time elisted can bring happy memories and long-term friendships.
Today was not to mark a time of peace. This country has been deeply involved in war and peace has been absent for thirteen years.
In honor of this great country I call home, I attended two events at Armstrong State University today.
The first was a fun learning experience. Titled "Star Spangled Banner", the lecture explored the origins of several patriotic songs, not just our National Anthem. One piece in particular caught my attention: "America The Beautiful". Based on the poem "Pike's Peak", written by Katharine Lee Bates in 1893, the lyrics give praise to the World's Columbian Exposition, better known as the Chicago World's Fair. She was a 33-year-old single woman, a teacher from Massachusetts, who had traveled to Colorado for a summer teaching job and stopped in Chicago along the way.
Why did this hold such importance for me?
Well, it appealed to my alter ego, Fliss of Kickstarter! In particular, the reference in the song to "alabaster cities", in conjunction with the knowledge of her trip to the Fair in 1893, immediately placed her in the context of the musical I had backed on kickstarter. 'Wait a minute!', I thought, 'I know that story about the Fair!' Indeed. Thanks to "The Dreamer and The Devil", I am rather familiar with the architect of that White City of which she speaks. I can certainly understand an intelligent young woman being quite taken with Daniel Burnham's gleaming dream, especially after the city grime she knew.
How fortunate for us all that she did not opt to stay at the hotel built by "Dr. H.H. Holmes" during her visit to the Fair. That establishment, self-billed as "World's Fair Hotel", came replete with dungeon, gas chamber, and moratorium, and was the site of at least 27 murders (possibly as many as 200). Had she rested her head on one of those pillows, we might not have ever had this paean to the beauty of America's diverse vistas.
Brrr! Did you just catch that chill?

The second event I chose to mark time in America's history was this evening.
The Armstrong Masquers performed
"A Piece of My Heart", the play written by Shirley Lauro. Her work was adapted from six stories of the twenty-six women in the 1986 book by Keith Walker. The six stories selected cover a broad range of women who served in Vietnam, during their time there (in the late 1960's) and up to the completion of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial (in 1984).
Some of these women were so young! Martha, a daughter of a career military man and Army nurse mother, and Sissy, who had just looked for escape from her Pennsylvania hometown, were 18 and 19 years old when they enlisted.
MaryJo, a Texas entertainer in her early 20's, thought a contract to entertain the troops would advance the careers of herself and her band. That was the story her agent told her.
LeeAnn was a hippie and a war protester, thinking that being a military nurse was a way to help folks - especially as she had been told she would be going to Hawaii.
Whitney, in her mid-20's, was an idealistic Ivy-leaguer, volunteering as a nurse for the American Red Cross.
They all believed the stories on the radio, on television, in the newspapers and magazines. America was winning the war over there, but could still use help.
The only one who truly knew what was going on was 35-year-old Steele, a 17-year intelligence specialist in the US Army. Of course, she found out that being a black female was not going to get you too far, regardless of the information you brought to the general's attention.

Yes, I cried.
I wept when the young nurses were thrown into the horror pit of war, forced to learn how to start an iv through OJT. Add to that scene the sound of helicopters,
the endless screaming and noise, and the sight of men, their age and younger, missing limbs and bleeding out before their eyes.
Horrific.
I wept when a dying young man gets to talk to his mom for Christmas.
I wept when the veteran in the group tries to stave off the Tet offensive and failed.
I wept when they all sought solace at the bottom of a bottle, both in Vietnam and back at home again.
Their return to the States was met with more tears, because I know the greeting they received from the civilian world here.
I am so grateful to be a supporter of the Armstrong Masquers.
Keep up the good work, y'all.

elephant cages

Early this morning, just after midnight, I was catching up on fb before wandering off to bed.
My little sister's wife sent me the following story:
Navy's mysterious 'elephant cage' retired
Say what???
I spent 15 months of my life there, from December 1982 to March 1984.
I was 24 years old.
That was my last duty station as a Cryptologic Technician, Maintenance, for the United State Navy. My time in San Diego was memorable, from the all-day concerts in open-air stadiums to the drives along the magnificent coast and points all around.
Then there were the trips I made!
Out to Barstow to see my high school friend Josie and her family, then onward for my first view of Las Vegas, sparkling like jewels on black velvet on the night-time road.
Up to Los Angeles to visit Arturo Koenig and George Cherry, fellows I knew in my Okinawa days.
Another trip in that direction, to Anaheim, to visit the family of Jeff Petrell, a friend stationed with me in Panama.
Then, for Christmas of 1983, up to San Francisco, to see my best friend Lizz, my jarhead of Okinawa (I was her squid!)
of course, I also drove across the border to Tijuana, just about ten miles away from where I lived in Imperial Beach, which was in easy walking distance from the station.
You see, NSGA San Diego was physically located in Imperial Beach, just ot the south of town. Until the early 1970's, it was known as NSGA Imperial Beach and many around there still called it that when I was there.
Apparently, it last saw sailors in September of 1999.
On July 27, 2005, it was disestablished.
What a word: disestablished.
Stripped of its official status as an integral part of the US Navy.
Rather similar to a marriage being annulled, isn't it?
Now, the Wullenweber antenna array, a structure the size of two football fields, is to be dismantled, to be disappeared from the spot on which it has stood since 1965.
I sat right here in this chair and sobbed.
Disappeared???
Part of my history whisked away into nothingness???
That can't be right... can it? We're talking about a military station, for crying out loud! No more sailors working there night and day to help locate folks lost at sea or people trafficking in drugs or humans? No more?
Apparently.
The site has been known as the Silver Strand Training Complex ever since its dismissal from the military. Odd, I don't recall seeing that name on it when Cyndi drove me by it in 2008, on my February visit to San Diego. I was too busy drinking in the sights, overall, for such a detail.
It was originally scheduled to be removed in 2007.
Perhaps it had been left there for me to visit, one more time.
Now, it's stay of demolition has been lifted. Funds have been found and it will be deconstructed this very month.
The 390-foot diameter, circularly disposed antenna array will be removed. The two-story, windowless, concrete block building at its heart will vanish, to beat no more.
I sat here and sobbed, wiping my eyes as I read its obituary.
Then a thought struck - what about the other duty stations of my youth? Were they safe from demolition? Surely...they were in other countries, on foreign soil and in locations not as hungry for beachfront land as California is.
A few simple searches with goodsearch confirmed my fears. The obituaries were right in front of me.
Naval Security Group Activity Galeta Island, Panama: closed in March, 1995. Disestablished a scant three months later. Given to Panama on New Year's Eve, 1999.

Now, reduced to rubble.
This was taken in April, 2008, by Dave Peck on his visit there.
From military outpost with
US Marines on the roof
to rotting tourist site
in a mangrove swamp.
For all I know,
the structures are
completely gone.
I sat and sobbed.
NSGA Galeta Island was my first duty station. I was 19 years old and newly wed.
I was the first woman to be stationed there. The one bathroom had a sign to be switched from "Men" to "Women" to "Open". Funny what memories come to mind!
My first husband and I spent our honeymoon driving there, starting in Pensacola, Florida, then to Laredo, Texas, and the US-Mexico border. We spent some time in Mexico, dodging vehicle collisions in the massive roundabouts, climbing the Pyramid of the Moon in Teotihuacan, listening to the mariachi bands on the gondolas of Xochimilco's Floating Gardens, admiring the beauty of the cathedral in Oaxaca.
Then, onward along the Pan-American Highway to Panama, paying exit fees and entrance fees all along the way. We were living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the last few days of our trip! We arrived in April of 1978 and were there until April of 1980.
My last dog was a Panamanian version of Heinz 57, with German Shepard being dominant. Toffee was aptly named. She was a sweet, smart, girl with heavy mascara all around her eyes and dark hairs scattershot throughout her coat. She came with us when we left Panama, spending her month in quarantine in Miami before joining us in Savannah.
Coco Solo was home while down in Central America. Disco dancing, shag, square dancing! Movies on reels to watch as often as we wanted, over in the Officers' Quarters! Shopping and festivals in Colon! Exploring the thorn trees on Fort Davis! Riding the train to the PX at Rodman Air Base on the Pacific Ocean side! Hopping a ride on new Navy and Marine vessels as they traveled through the locks of the Panama Canal! Sunbathing at the secluded Playa Diablo!
No more.
Coco Solo, the smaller towns, even the Army base at Fort Gulick - all swallowed up by the now-city of Colón. I wonder if the restaurant where I first dined on ceviche and dorado is still there?
Early this morning, I was not consciously thinking of any of these memories. I was in shock at my loss.
Tears coursed down my cheeks as I viewed the list of stations I knew.
Groton? London? Naples?
Closed, closed, closed.
What about NSGA Hanza, in Okinawa?
Closed. The last sailors had left by June of 1998. The antenna array and ops building were demolished in June, 2007.
Nothing to mark its place now.
Gone.
I wept in a daze, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands.
March of 1981 to December of 1982, my room was on the third floor at Torii Station, facing the ocean. I rode a bus to go up the hill to the "elephant cage" for my 2-2-2-80 shiftwork. I rode the Okinawan buses in to Kadena, Naha, Nago, for dining and shopping and barhopping with the guys.
I took USO-organized trips to Hong Kong and Kowloon province China, to Taipei, Taiwan, to mainland Japan. I took an overnight ride on an Asian passenger ship from Taiwan back to Okinawa, being treated to a night sky with more stars than I could have ever dreamt possible.
My first experiences with theatre were in Okinawa. Army Community Theatre On (the) Rock, aka ACTOR, was a source of civilian sanity and socializing in the heart of Torii Station. Janet Leary and Mark Engler taught us all to have fun while entertaining others. I am especially fond of our production of "Bell, Book, and Candle", in May, 1982. No, I wasn't part of that one. I saw it after successfully lobbying the Navy to grant me a tubal ligation. The abdominal surgery left me unable to laugh without wincing, so I had to clap instead!
Such memories of good times...
... at a place now gone.
Even Torii Station has changed, offering recreational activities and beachside entertainment. I remember not being able to go on the beach because of the mines still buried in the sand.
This morning, I wept until I was exhausted and my eyes were nearly swollen shut.
In need of diversion before bed, I looked to the television world.
I caught the last 15 or 20 minutes of the last episode of "Friends". In the final moments of the show, they are leaving the apartment for the very last time, placing their keys on the kitchen counter.
I couldn't have asked for anything better, something to alter my perspective in a positive way.
Change is part of life.
Coincidence? More like my Grandmama looking after me.
By the closing credits of the show, I was calm once more.
The time was 3 AM.
"Futurama" was coming on.
Time to relax with an Outshine lime popsicle and those folks of the future.
Then I was off to bed, for sure, and peaceful dreams.
And today has been a new day.

adventure

"An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered; an adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered." Such reads the unattributed quote on one of my friend's facebook page. Oh, yes... Adventure! That has always been a magic word for me. Everyone has some magic word that'll motivate them toward one choice over another. Mine is "adventure."

When I was 17, that one word led me to choose the Navy over the Air Force. Why? The U.S. Navy's slogan at the time was :"It's not just a job, it's an adventure." How could I resist? Even though the initial contract was for six years (Advanced Electronics Field), I saw this choice as my opportunity to see the world, to travel, to meet new people... to have adventures! And I most assuredly did, including many that I did NOT share with Mama in my chatty letters home. Hey, some things need to stay where they happened, ya know, especially when in your early 20's. Especially when a SAILOR in your early 20's. Good times, very... good... times.

I had some incredible adventures during that time. Hanging out in Taipei with the owner of the tea shop behind the hotel... and going one evening to a movie ("The Gods Must Be Crazy", of all things!) and some beautiful gardens with her nephew. Eating orange beef at the Stoned Crow, an Australian restaurant, in Hong Kong, then wandering the streets, stopping at the temples along the way, the city lit up like a Christmas tree. Riding a local passenger ship, at night, back from Taiwan to Okinawa and seeing the jewels cast up in the black velvet sky. Driving from Pensacola, Florida, to my first duty station in the Panama Canal Zone, taking the Pan-American highway down Central America with the trucks and the cyclists and the mule-drawn wagons. Having the best tan ever at Playa del Diablo, just past Fort Gulick on the Atlantic side of Panama. Cruisin' up and down the California coast from San Diego to San Francisco, passing La Jolla and San Juan Capistrano and open desert.

Those were so very long ago, it seems, another lifetime ago. But I've had other adventures since then, just as memorable, some more so, some in my own back yard. I live for adventures, for trying new things, new places. I'll be off for a new adventure the first weekend in February: off to Charleston to hear Elliott and the Untouchables do their fabulous blues! I can hardly wait!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9r6Z7noLcl0&feature=related