I’m very sad. Clammy the ibook laptop was posted for sale on ebay tonight. I feel as though I’ve signed the papers to have a beloved family pet put down.
I was so excited to welcome Clammy into the family. But Clammy had battery problems, and now it’s time to move on.
But – if you get a puppy, and the puppy gets fleas, you don’t just put an ad in the paper advertising “puppy to a good home.” And for that matter, what if Clammy doesn’t go to a good home?
All night I’ve moped around the house as Lee prepared the computer for sale, stripping it of anything personal. I have ranged from depression, to laughter when he reminds me, “it’s just a computer. A piece of equipment.” And I realize how silly I am to be attached.
But I did get attached. Clammy helped me through many a school board meeting, and that’s no small feat.
I’m trying to cheer myself with the knowledge that soon, I’ll get a new computer. One without battery issues. But that’s like someone saying, “just get a new puppy.”
Except Clammy isn’t a puppy. It’s a computer.
Right.
It has been wonderful to see the television images of the statue of Saddam tumbling down, and Iraqis celebrating in the streets. I want to think they’re happy and grateful. I want to think the U.S. did something to help them.
I still have serious reservations about the war, especially the way the U.S. went into the war without the support of the U.N. But we did, and now that we’re there, I hope some good comes out of it. It certainly looked good on T.V.
I’ll feel better once the war is over, our troops are back home, and Iraq has a stable government. But today I did feel some hope. For the first time since this began three weeks ago, I caught myself smiling when I watched the news reports. I hope our soldiers are smiling too, enjoying the warm reception they seem to be getting. That has to be a good feeling.
Sunday afternoon I was in the bedroom sorting laundry when I turned on the television. I saw the familiar sight of David Bloom atop his tank recovery vehicle and listened in. I always looked forward to his reports.
But he wasn’t talking. Someone was talking about him. In the past tense.
I was so sad. It took me a while to figure out why. I didn’t know David Bloom, had never met David Bloom. I hadn’t even really followed his career until the war.
But his reports from Iraq were stunning. Not only the technological marvel that allowed him to file the reports, but the excellent reporting itself. He always had such a down-to-earth demeanor. He wasn’t world-famous self-important David Bloom. He was a reporter who wanted to tell you what was happening with these guys and girls he was with. He would pass his headset to a soldier so the soldier could communicate with his family, or simply mention a soldier’s name who might be standing nearby so family watching at home could see their loved one was okay. When I watched, it wasn’t “I’m being blown around by the sand,” it was “these guys and girls are getting blown around by the sand.” I know he was working with photographer Craig White – not because I had special inside knowledge, but because Bloom would say his name all the time as if acknowledging this was a team report and not just David Bloom in all his glory.
I wonder if he was tired or scared. At the same time, I know he had to have been thrilled to cover the story of his lifetime.
I am sad because he was building an amazing future. He’d already “made it” in the business, but he was taking himself and his work to another level. I’m sad because his family has to suffer through the pain of loss, and the inevitable questions of “why?” and “was it worth it?”
I also feel the loss because he was a reporter. But I am proud, too. Today I spoke with a soldier’s family, and they talked of how much his reports had meant to them. They talked of wanting Bloom’s family to know how much they appreciated Bloom and his dedication. It restored some of my faith that sometimes you can help people in this business.
I will try to learn a lot from David Bloom.
Sometimes, trying a new recipe and cooking something wonderful just makes you feel good.
But sometimes, trying a new recipe and cooking something… well… bad, just makes you feel crappy.
I decided to tackle a new recipe tonight. It didn’t seem that complicated. It’s a lemon pepper chicken with onion and potato recipe. It’s in a book one of Lee’s family members gave us with lots of family recipes. Because it’s not an official cookbook, sometimes things are missing. Important directions. But sometimes, you guess and everything works out in the end.
And sometimes it doesn’t. I don’t yet know the true ending of this story, because it’s still cooking. There are so many reasons why this went badly, but long story short, the potatos are still rock hard, the chicken is almost done, and I chopped off a couple of fingernails trying to peel potatos. Not my fingers, thank goodness, just the nail. An hour and a half since I began preparing this meal, there is still no real end in sight. Just more waiting and watching and wondering what will happen next.
I feel a fast food night coming on.
UPDATE:
Finally, at 9:15, we eat. Lee is the first to try the chicken. It feels more like an episode of fear factor. Will he be able to do it? Can he handle the challenge?
He tries to cut a piece of chicken. It proves difficult to cut. He takes a bite. Starts to nod and say, “hmmm. It’s good, sweetie.” Then I tell hiim he’s a bad liar and he starts to laugh. I laugh. I try a piece, and it’s like rubber.
We debate whether or not to eat it or go to Captain D’s. He finally decides with a liberal amount of barbeque sauce, it’s tolerable. Sitting at the table, there is silence as we begin to eat. He takes another bite and says, “It really is pretty good.” There is a pause, then under his breath he whispers, “April fools.”
We get another good laugh. I guess if you’re going to bomb on a recipe, it’s better to have someone who will laugh instead of criticize.
I think it’ll be recipes out of boxes for a while until I get my nerve back.
There are so many things I’ve been thinking and feeling about the war, and I had planned to write about them soon. But today, instead, I’m taking a break from all of that.
Lee and I packed the car with beach chairs and towels this morning and headed for Tybee. It was my first time going since the weather warmed. Even the drive out there was wonderful. On the first bridge to the islands, the creeks and marshes sparkled in the sun as boats glided along the water. Once we got to Tybee, we parked easily and walked over the boardwalks to the beach. When my feet hit the sand, I wondered if it would still have a hint of coolness. Nope, it was pefectly warm sand.
Like an idiot, I only put sunscreen on my face. Tonight, my face is fine. The rest of me, burned. Not too badly, but enough to make me feel stupid for not lathering up. I’m usually a sunscreen advocate, but the warm weather and beautiful waves must’ve gotten to my head.
Lee and I lounged in our chairs for a couple of hours, getting up once to stick our feet in the water. The ocean – unlike the sand, was still very cold.
When we left, the beach had become considerably more crowded. I guess it was just too nice for anyone to stay away. On the way home, we drove through Bonaventure Cemetery to see if the azaleas were in bloom. Immediately, you could see the blanket of pink over the landscape. In a few areas, the flowers were just beginning to come out, but in others, the azaleas were in full bloom. Bright pinks, soft pinks, and whites – though the bright pink blooms far outnumbered the rest. I’m glad, they’re my favorite. We stopped to take a few pictures.
On days like today, it’s easy to fall in love with Savannah all over again. In fact, it would be hard not to. After cleaning up from the beach, we drove to South Carolina for some shopping. On the way, you have to take a huge bridge that crosses the Savannah River right at Riverstreet. The view from the top was amazing – church steeples framed by a bright blue sky, with sun glinting off the river.
Then, of course, I hear on the radio that the forecast is calling for lows in the thirties tomorrow night. But I know it’s temporary. Spring is here. And I plan to enjoy it.
I’ve been practicing my breathing. Over the weekend, Nikki and I had an all-day childbirth/Lamaze class. It was fun. We learned all kinds of things, including different breathing techniques to help with relaxation.
Baby or not, we could all probably benefit from some deep breaths and some relaxation these days. I know these next hours and days will be so important as our troops reach Baghdad. Many of the first to approach will likely be the 3rd Infantry Division, our hometown folk.
And that made the Lamaze class sad for me, too. I’m excited, so excited to be a part of this time in Nikki’s life. I’m excited about the chance of being there when a new life comes into the world and takes its first breath. I think the whole experience will be amazing, and I feel like I’ve been given an immeasureable gift.
But, this isn’t supposed to be how it happens. Andrew is supposed to be the one learning how to help Nikki breathe. Andrew is supposed to be holding her hand right now. Saturday, in that class, there were so many couples sharing this intimate time. As I sat there and listened to the instructor talking about diapering your baby, I thought about Andrew, in a hummer in a line of tanks, rolling through the desert toward Baghdad and uncertainty. It’s wrong. He should be here – for his sake, for Nikki’s sake, and the baby. When the day comes and she delivers, I will do my very best to be the support she needs. But I know the support she really needs is thousands of miles away in a sandstorm. And it makes me angry.
Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly. Again.
As I watch the coverage of this war, I am constantly amazed by what I see and hear and experience along with our troops. Thanks to advances in technology coupled with the willingness of the military to allow reporters to embed, we can watch the tanks rolling through the desert LIVE. David Bloom sits perched on a tank recovery vehicle talking to us as the 3rd Infantry Division advances. How amazing is that? It makes everything seem more … real. As David talked, a soldier behind him removed his helmet and you could see the sand caked on the side of his face from the desert ride that is far from over. These guys and girls are in some really inhospitable conditions, forget showers or toilets or any of those things we enjoy without even giving it a thought. And I can appreciate that because I can see what’s happening in real time.
It’s also frightening. It makes the war, in a way, harder to ignore. If we just got updates occassionally, I would probably spend more time going about my day waiting for news, and less time glued to the tube getting news constantly. I feel a connection to the troops in the 3rd I.D. because they’re from Ft. Stewart. I’ve interviewed some of those guys and girls, I’ve interviewed their spouses and children left behind, and my thoughts are with them. Nikki’s husband Andrew is there, and as I watch the troops’ movements I know those are his movements too. I can’t imagine what that is like for Nikki.
We have come so far with advances in communications. In earlier wars, families could expect the occasional letter. Now, there are satellite phones, emails, and newspaper, radio, and television crews constantly feeding us information.
On top of that, Trent introduced me to Where is Raed?, a blog written by an Iraqi living in Bahgdad. Very interesting stuff. It’s amazing that in this war, I can actually log on and read the diary of someone in that country as he writes. Of course, if they lose electricity, we’ll lose that ability – but for now, it’s still incredible. Of course, the downside of the web is that this person could really be a 14 year old girl living in Ohio, but I just don’t think so. The descriptions seem so real.
God bless the troops, the journalists, the Iraqis, and everyone touched by this war.
It’s 6:00 in the morning, and I have been at work for a couple of hours, watching everything unfold. It’s frightening even from the safety of this office. I can’t imagine what it is like for the citizens, the soldiers, and journalists in harm’s way. The piercing air raid sirens have been sounding in Kuwait as correspondents scramble to put on gas masks. I wonder what I would do if I were there? I wonder what our troops are feeling? And I wonder what’s next? The next hours and days are sure to be full of more sirens, more gas masks, more missiles, and perhaps things I can’t imagine. Nothing to do but wait and see.
The gavel came down today. 14 minutes and waiting until the President addresses the nation.
What then? A little more waiting, then war. Some of them will die, some of us will die. It seems like such a vicious cycle. Zealots somewhere decide they don’t like American foreign policy and the American lifestyle. They fly planes into our buildings. So we retaliate by overthrowing a couple of governments – the same kind of heavy-handedness they hated in the first place. Now, I fear there will be more attacks here, followed by more retaliation, with no clear end in sight.
Speaking of the American lifestyle, it seems somehow ironic that as I wait for NBC to cut in with the president’s address, the network is showing “Who wants to be a Millionnaire?” It just seems so trivial in the face of war.
I don’t understand this war. I heard an interesting commentary today – our government claims to love democracy until a democratic process (i.e. the U.N.) doesn’t yield the desired results. Now we seem more like a bully than a participant in any democratic process.
I know one argument is – if we wait, they might attack. True, I don’t want that, but I also don’t want to be the country going around and overthrowing governments because we think they’re sketchy. I’d rather be friendly until provoked, and I just don’t feel like we were provoked. We initiated this latest fued with Iraq.
I could be wrong. Saddam could be on the brink of trying to obliterate America. But now, I’m afraid we’re giving plenty of other radical groups fuel for their fires of hate.
We shall see.
Three minutes.
UPDATE
The address is over. There is a part of me that really wants to believe the war is just, because that would make it an easier pill to swallow. Even if I don’t support the war, that doesn’t mean I’m anti-military. I still support our troops. But I fear for them, for us, for the Iraqi people. I’m afraid of how many will die, and I’m afraid we’re making a mistake. But, it’s not a decision for me to make, so I won’t try. I’ll just keep waiting.
My blog reached a milestone today. This is my 100th entry. It took me longer to get here than many of my friends, but hey, I write when I feel like it, and I don’t feel like it every day. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.
Today there is a lot of good stuff to write about. Last night, we went to Riverstreet to gawk at everyone, and it was fun. From our perch on the balcony of the Hyatt, you could see the crowd stretching back out of sight without having to be in it. The people all looked like ants whose hills had been kicked over. Just a sea of heads moving, intertwining, getting jammed in a spot then moving again. We saw a girl flash a guy for a hat, then today, saw another girl flash -apparently just for the attention because no one gave her anything. Right next to where we saw the girl flash for the hat, there was a cluster of religious zealots with bullhorns and signs reading “God is Angry.” Indeed.
We left the balcony and headed for city market, and the crowd was big but not unruly. We danced outside Malone’s to some frightening tunes. It was all of the stuff that used to be popular in the 90s, but is sooooo not cool anymore. Baby Got Back followed by Ice Ice Baby. Songs we all knew the words to but were embarrassed to sing along.
We had to park pretty far away from the action, but Dave was kind enough to give us a ride back to our car when he finished his live shot for the news. Saved us some considerable shoe leather.
Today, the weather couldn’t have been more different from yesterday. A sunny, cloudless sky and warmer temps. It’s still a little chilly, but nothing like yesterday. We went to the beach and ate at Fannie’s then walked in the sand.
Tomorrow, it’s back to the grind. But that’s tomorrow. Today is good.
