A Fire in the Pature 2009

It started earlier this year than in other years. In fact, it has been going on since last year’s fire in the pasture was drowned in the rain. The excitement of the Thanksgiving holiday over the years has grown, until this year’s fire is more of a “fire in the belly” than a “fire in the pasture”. For sure, there will be a fire burning in the pasture for the kids to poke and stoke, but I am talking about the fire in the boys and some girls to be out on the hunt. The closer we get to our annual trek to the small farm in Arkansas, the more the talk and the bigger the stories. Since last year’s bust in the woods, a lot of hunts have taken place. Deer stands have been built and put on Texas deer leases. Hunts have taken place on private lands that have not been hunted in many years. And visits to the small farm in Arkansas have been extended in order to help Shawn put more deer stands up for this year’s hunt. This year there is not a deer within all of southwest Arkansas that is safe! Boys with guns --- thru the centuries, nothing has changed.

It doesn’t seem that long ago when Thanksgiving was about the dinner; and the dinners were served on plates with roses on them and sterling silver utensils to eat with. Pink stemmed goblets, and later, rose covered glasses held the water. The hamburger bun dressing was done to perfection and the pies were baked and ready to eat. The bell was rung and kids and grandparents sat around the Capitola table and we gave thanks and ate till we were thankful for Rolaids. And that was before the dessert! There was roasted turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy and a colorful array of wiggly, jiggly molded salads. Those Thanksgivings will always have a special place in the hearts of those of us who sat at that table and loved those dinners.

Our annual family reunion Thanksgivings reminds me of the Thanksgivings of my childhood. As a child, we had our Thanksgivings at the beach, in the Capitola house, sitting around that same Capitola table, or the two or three kids tables sitting in the living room. We didn’t have a fire in the pasture, but we had a river on the beach and a wharf in the ocean. It was November and the weather was not unlike what we have now in Arkansas; some years we had warm sunny days, and some were chilly and rainy. We took them all and loved every minute. We ran in the sand and “sailed” our ships from the end of the wharf. And those dinners – oh my gosh…. Such delights as dry turkey and two kinds of dressing – wet and dry! Mom’s getting up and putting the turkey in the oven at 2 AM for a noon dinner…turkey cooking right up to putting it on the table. Mom’s apple and pumpkin pies and Aunt Dee’s pecan pies topped off the dinner. And the slice of apple pie swiped after dinner and put under the bed for later. I would be willing to bet that many pieces of pie were found when the mom’s cleaned the house before closing it up when we all went home. And the memories that have lasted a lifetime to those of us who were the children of the Capitola Thanksgivings.

The key to those Capitola Thanksgivings is the same as the key to our Arkansas Thanksgivings – kids. All we do is for them – to make memories that will last into adulthood and will become the stories of the Thanksgivings of their youth. For some, it will be their first buck, and for others, the first time they drove a 4 wheeler. As I look forward to our trek to Arkansas in just a few days, I am excited to watch the older boys playing with the fire or their DS’s; to watch the girls talk moms and aunts into taking them to the mall, or to give the boys pointers on tending the fire. I am anxious to put on my boots and pick up my walking stick, and take the hands of 2 and 3 year olds and take them for walks with Mimi to see the horses, cows and chickens. This is turning into a GREAT Thanksgiving….a wonderful Fire in the Pasture that will give us a warm glow for the rest of our lives. And like our lives continue, so will this post!

Henry James, a Re-Post

I really don’t know how to write about Henry James. His is such a sad story and it breaks my heart when I think of his short, pain filled life. I don’t have a lot of stories to tell because there were not a lot of happy incidents that come to mind. He was born on November 10, 1955 in San Jose, California. He was loved greatly and I remember he had huge eyes and a captivating smile. He was born a few months before his cousin; Lisa Susan Magnon Scherer was born on April 30, 1957.

He was not quite a year old when we moved to Dallas in the fall of 1956. We lived in the house my parents rented before they purchased the home two doors down. At about 3 PM on April 2, 1957, a Category 3 tornado hit Dallas. My mother was in the kitchen and had told me to watch Henry as I watched TV in the den. Evelyn was also in the den watching TV. An announcement on TV warned of the tornado. I ran and told Mom and she tuned in the radio to KLIF and listened to the Tornado Warning. We were told to go to a shelter or into the smallest room in the center of the house. That was the hallway. Sitting in the hall, Mom held Henry and Evelyn and I huddled together. Mom couldn’t hear the radio very well, but was afraid to go to her bedroom to turn it up. Finally she broke to the radio and turned it up.

It was about that time when Evelyn and Henry came down with the Chicken Pox. Evelyn was covered with spots, but Henry had only a couple of pock marks. He hardly was sick during that bout. Between then and our moving back to California after my Dad lost his job with Slick Airways, I have almost no memories of Henry James.

We moved back to San Jose in the spring of 1958. We stayed with Aunt June for a few days. I remember waking up with my Mother screaming “MY BABY”. Aunt June wouldn’t let us come out of the bedroom. An ambulance arrived and left. It was the next morning I would learn that Henry James was taken to the hospital. He had gone into convulsions when my Mother started screaming. He stayed in the hospital for a few days and was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes. He stayed in the hospital while the doctors regulated his insulin levels. He came home after a few days and apparently didn’t have many more problems at that time.

We went to Clear Lake, CA on vacation some time later. Aunt Bell had a place there and they let us go up there for a few days. I had been there with Aunt June and Uncle Lee sometime earlier. I must have been 15 because Evelyn was 12, and that is a whole other story. Evelyn and I had a lot of fun. We went out in Uncle Jim’s boat and there was a dance almost every night in the park where we were staying. We had planned on staying longer than we did, but Henry got sick. He was in pain and she took him to a local doctor. When they got back, we packed up and headed back home. He was admitted to the hospital again. He was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis.
This disease would take its toll on his frail body. He was in and out of the hospital several times, then seemed to settle down and he came home and went back to school. He was 6 and in the First Grade.

One of my favorite memories of Henry, perhaps the only one, happened one summer day when we were at home. Our house was not air conditioned, like most homes in Central California then, so we had a screen door on the front, back and patio doors. I was sitting on the front porch steps doing something. Henry was in the living room on the other side of the screen, and we were talking. As we were talking, a girl about 16 walks by the house on the sidewalk. At the top of his lungs he yells, “HELLO THERE CUTIE!” She looked up and kept walking. She could not see through the screen door, so all she saw was me. Had no idea who she was, never saw her again, as far as I know, but I could have crawled under a rock and just died. She never said a word, He thought that was the funniest thing he ever did.

It is sad, but that is about the only thing I remember about Henry without him being in the hospital. Evelyn and I could never go see him while he was in the hospital in San Jose because of the rules about kids going into the hospital. A few months after the incident at the screen door, he had another health crisis and was back in the hospital. It seems that the treatment for the diabetes and the RA conflicted. Every time the doctor’s got one disease under control, the other flared up. His little body was showing signs of the RA. His joints were huge. He spent several weeks in the hospital, then came home. He went back to school again, but only for a short time. Then he was admitted again. This time the doctor made arrangements for him to be transferred to the Stanford Children’s Hospital at Stanford University. He would never come home.

The doctors at SCH tried to regulate the two diseases, but made very little headway. He seemed, in fact, to be worsening. At some point, because of the intense affect on his body, his immune system began to shut down. He was diagnosed with Relapsing Polychondritis a disease that causes inflammation of the joints, particularly the cartilage. As I have read some about this disease, it is rare and the symptoms could easily be mistaken for RA. I wonder if he wasn’t misdiagnosed from the beginning.

My mother would drive to SCH every day to spend time with Henry. Evelyn and I were teenagers and spent a lot of time home alone. On Saturdays we went up to the hospital with Mom, We also went on some Sundays, but usually we stayed home. I remember how frail he was. He laid in bed all day and had developed bedsores. Mom had gotten him a sheep skin to lie on, but it only helped somewhat. If he wanted to sit up in a chair, I would carry him. He could no longer walk. On some visits we could actually take him on an outing for an hour or so. We would load him up in the car and put his wheel chair in the trunk. Then we would go to the mall and walk around and buy him some ice cream. Once we took him to Crystal Springs Reservoir so he could be out doors for a little while. I remember picking him up so he could see something and could feel his heart just racing. I thought how it was not right for his heart to be racing that fast.

At the hospital I would play cars with him. He had lots of Hot Wheels. He was in great pain and I would hold his arm or leg and softly tickle his foot or arm. It relieved the pain to have his foot tickled. When I came in he always wanted me to tickle his foot.

It was about 10 PM one evening after Mom had come home from the hospital. The phone rang and Mom answered it in the kitchen. I heard her call out and collapse on the floor. I took the phone and it was the doctor. He told me that Henry “had expired” a few minutes earlier. Then he told me we needed to make arrangements to have him picked up before the morning. I remember how impersonal he seemed, and how incredulous I was. First, I called the mortuary and made arrangements to have him picked up. Then I called my Dad. He had been talking to Mom earlier that evening and thought it was the operator calling him back. He said he would fly out the next day.

His funeral was three days later at the San Jose Stake Center. I remember the chapel was about half full with family and friends. Henry had an open casket and at the end of the service those present passed by him, paying their last respects. As the family lingered, I stood by his casket and thought how peaceful he looked. As I began to leave, I laid his favorite toy in the casket with him – a little brown monkey with a yellow t-shirt with red letters across the front spelling the monkey’s name – Zip. He was buried at the Santa Clara County Cemetery, next to his Great Grandmother.

I remember how upset I was over his passing. I remember his frail body and the pain he was in. I would hear people say he was in a better place, that he was no longer in pain. I wanted to believe those things I professed to be true, but he was the first person I was close to who died. The night of the funeral I went to bed and Henry appeared to me in a dream. I remember is as vividly now as I did when it happened when I was 18. He stood at the foot of my bed and said that I shouldn’t be sad, that he was okay now. He moved his arms and legs to show me he was without pain. I woke and had a peaceful feeling come over me. I have never doubted since. Years later I would have that same peaceful feeling again, in the Dallas Temple, when I was diagnosed with cancer…but this is not about me.

Dr. Ludwig Von Stitches

I have always been one who thought that laughter is the best medicine. Ever notice when you aren’t feeling well that a dose of laughter will make you feel better much faster than a dose of cod liver oil? Have you ever told a pouting child or a mad adult not to laugh? “Now don’t you laugh; don’t you dare laugh,” and in a matter of seconds the frown disappears and is replaced by a smile or a giggle?

I would much rather laugh. To quote Uncle Albert in the Walt Disney classic movie, Mary Poppins,

“I love to laugh

Loud and long and clear

I love to laugh

It's getting worse ev'ry year”



The more I laugh

The more I fill with glee

And the more the glee

The more I'm a merrier me

It's embarrassing!

The more I'm a merrier me!”

When my children were young, I took this to heart. One day, one of my children came in crying because he or she had hurt a toe. I have no clue where the idea came from, but I said, in my best German (?) accent, “Come over here and let Dr. Von Stitches look at it.”. I had whoever it was lay down on the floor and give me the hurt toe. Then I started doing “this little piggie went to market”, with a slight variation.

“This little piggie went to market.
This little piggie stayed home.
This little piggie had a pizza,
And this little piggie had ---wait,
Piggys don’t eat pizza.

So then I said I would have to “adjust” the piggys. After all, out of whack piggys just wouldn’t do. The adjustment button was on the bottom of their little foot. The more I “adjusted” the piggys, the more they laughed. And the more they laughed, the less they hurt. Soon the tears were gone; replaced by smiles.

Over the years since, Dr. Von Stitches has built quite a practice and has fixed everything from hurt toes to hurt hearts. He still has his original 8 patients, but also has their spouses. And now he has at least 27 more little patients. “Grandpa, will you do my piggys?” “Grandpa, my sister is hurt, will Dr. Von Stitches look at her?” Not only do the kids bring their siblings or cousins, but the parents drag crying kids with boo boos to Dr. Von Stitches or his magic way of turning tears into giggles.

I have noticed that my kids all do “piggys ” on their children. All the piggys eat pizza or peanut butter sandwiches and have to have an adjustment on that special adjustment button. But if grandpa is near by, it’s “go see Dr. Von Stitches. And Ludwig Von Stitches always has available appointments and has his miracle piggy repair bag ready to adjust piggys and make laughs.

The Peace Symbol

The pharmacy tech was, maybe, 25 years old. She was working in the pharmacy this morning at the base hospital clinic I was at and she was helping to fill my prescriptions. To me, her age was important because she was wearing a pair of orange earrings that were the hippie “peace symbols.” The fact that she was just 25 puts her into that group of innocence, of not knowing. At 25, she was probably older than her mother was when her mother first saw the “peace symbol.” The fact that she was working in the pharmacy of a military medical clinic during a time when soldiers were deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan really has nothing to do with my observation. If I had asked her, I would have probably gotten the same reaction from her as I get from my 15 year old grandson who wears a t-shirt with the symbol. It really means nothing … it is a symbol of peace.

The iconic peace symbol is not the upside down broken cross inside a circle, as we have come to accept. The symbol of peace has always been the dove with an olive branch in its claws, or just the olive branch. This symbol dates back to the time of Noah when he released a dove from the ark that returned with an olive branch, telling Noah that the waters were receding off the face of the earth. The symbol we see today has not been the symbol of peaceful times … in fact quite the opposite.

The symbol started out in the ‘50s as the symbol of nuclear disarmament in England and Europe. It came to the United States about 1960 and was picked up by the anti-Vietnam War movement, beginning at the University of Chicago. A couple of years later, it was everywhere and was used to rally the anti-war crowd – mostly college students at the more liberal schools in the country. I remember walking down the street near San Jose State College and seeing the symbol painted on just about everything…graffiti. It was present when student “peace” demonstrations turned violent at The University of California at Berkley, and at Kent State University, resulting in the deaths of students participating in the demonstrations. The National Guard’s shooting of students, while tragic, was a direct result of students assaulting the inexperienced troops called out to protect University property. It was present when anti-war protestors rallied on the National Mall in 1969. And it was present during the infamous visit to North Vietnam by activist Jane Fonda in 1972. Google “1960s peace symbol ”or“ anti-Vietnam War movement and you will find pages of articles about how the peace movement, with its symbols, was responsible for the ending of the Vietnam. In actuality, if you search hard, you will find that it was more responsible for prolonging the war, resulting in the deaths of additional American servicemen.

During the early 1960s, Vietnam was an obscure little country “somewhere near Japan,” and as a 10th grade student in 1960, I wasn’t really sure where Japan was. I had no idea where Vietnam was and the term Indo-China was never used. The US had some military advisors there, but that was about all I knew, if I even knew that much. All through high school, the only foreign news stories I was aware of had more to do with the outrageous hairstyles of The Beatles and whether they would ever be more popular than The Beach Boys. After I graduated from high school, I had to register for the draft. My fear of being drafted didn’t involve going to war, but whether or not I was going to be able to go on my Mission before I was drafted. All of that changed in August 1964 when the Gulf of Tonkin Incident occurred. In the resulting resolution, the Congress gave President Johnson the authority to use military force in Southeast Asia without a formal Congressional declaration of war. The build-up of American forces in Vietnam was rapid, and I began to wonder if I would stay out of the draft long enough to even go on a Mission.

I entered the Mission Home in Salt Lake City in September 1965 and was told that Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, was the Church’s representative working to get Missionaries their ministerial draft deferments, but that it was not a done deal until the deferments were secured. Two days later, I got the word that my 2Y Ministerial deferment had been approved and I was going to be a missionary. As I came to the end of my mission, the escalation of the war was in full force and we were beginning to hear about the war in our homes on the evening news. I was afraid that I wouldn’t get my student deferment, but I did. Attending school in San Jose was an eye opener for me. Everywhere you saw the peace symbol, and every day, a demonstration. More than once my fiancée had to be evacuated from her office because of the tear gas from the police. After that year in school, I transferred to school in Southern California as I obtained a good job and was getting married. Upon my transfer, I couldn’t get the minimum required units and I lost my deferment. A month after my deferment expired, I was in the Army.

On April 30, 1975 the fall of Saigon was complete. The Americans had withdrawn and the country of South Vietnam ceased to exist. Since the end of what became known as the Indo-China War nearly 35 years ago, many books have been written by principals in the leadership of both sides in the conflict. From Rush Limbaugh: “How many of you remember the name General Giap from the North Vietnamese army? … He was a very famous, knowledgeable general in the North Vietnamese army. He's published his memoirs and here's a pull quote: "What we still don't understand is why you Americans stopped the bombing of Hanoi. You had us on the ropes. If you had pressed us a little harder, just for another day or two, we were ready to surrender. It was the same at the battle of Tet. You defeated us. We knew it. We thought you knew it. But we were elated to notice that your media was definitely helping us. They were causing more disruption in America than we could in the battlefield. We were ready to surrender. You had won." He makes the point the Vietnam War was not lost in Vietnam; it was lost [at home].”

For those of us who were there, the Hippies’ peace symbol will always generate hostile feelings towards those who extended our war. The Lord tells us to forgive, and I have forgiven those who participated in the anti-war movement; however, it is their cause and tactics I still remember, as do most soldiers who were there. I have looked at the names on the Vietnam Memorial Wall and wonder how many fellow soldiers whose names are on that wall would be alive today but for the “Peace symbol” and the movement it represented.

GRUMPY OLD MAN

After today I have decided that I will never be old. Therefore, you cannot call me “old and grumpy” anymore, just “grumpy”. This morning I went to the gym to do my bike ride and I noticed all the old people in the parking area. The gym I go to is the city facility and the senior center is located right across the parking lot. A few months ago, when I decided to join the gym, someone told me that I could get a senior discount if I belonged to the senior center. So I went over to take the 50 cent tour of the place. Now, years ago, when my mother was alive and living here, she belonged to the senior center. I had no problem with that because, to me, she had been old my entire life. So she would go to the senior center and square dance (right Holly?), have lunch, do ceramics, and get free bread. So I figured that if I had to join to get the discount at the gym, I could use a free loaf of bread every now and then. I took the tour just before lunchtime the day I went. The gentleman giving me the tour was just a year or two younger than General Eisenhower….and I am sure he knew him personally. He told me the senior center had its own gym, which should have sent up a red flag right there. He took me in and told me that I could use the equipment at no charge, (there were several pieces, but only 1 of each) but that I had to first take a 4 week training course on the equipment before I could use it. He then took me to the “library”. There were about 50 books….but it also was equipped with two computers and their instructor would teach me how to use them. After the library we went to the lunch room. They serve lunch every day at 11:30 and dinner at 4:30. This gave me pause because the center is closed on the weekends, so I wondered where the old folks ate on Saturday and Sunday; but I digress. He told me I was there just in time for lunch …. and only $2.00. I looked into the dining area and I was reminded of the countless nursing homes I have visited over my life. It looked and smelled just like them all. By now I was so depressed I thanked the tour guide and told him I would get back with him if my wife and I decided we wanted to join. Then I decided to go to the gym facility and check it out. As a senior (over 55 – seniors get younger every year, it seems), I could join for only $10 a month. A quick tour and I knew this was okay. No classes, no ceramics, and no lunch. Before I left I was a full-fledged member of the Tommy Harris Fitness Center.

This morning, after my workout, I was sitting outside on a bench in front of the gym, cooling down; enjoying my music and the breeze, as I do every morning. I noticed that the parking lot was especially full because of some type of training for police officers taking place in the gym facility. Cars were moving up and down the parking aisles, drivers looking for places to park. It became obvious that the drivers were members of the senior center because they only looked for places near the center …. Up and down the aisles looking for a parking space to magically appear. Across the lot, away from the center, there was plenty of parking….but not near enough I guess. Reluctantly, some finally took spaces further away and took the long trek to the center. I could tell by the body language and hand gestures being displayed in conversations with others, that they were not happy that someone had the audacity to park in the senior side of the lot! (It sort of reminded me of the parking lot at my high school with underclassmen parking in the sacred senior side).

Then today I had to go to the PX to check on moving my prescriptions from Walgreens to the Darnell Pharmacy. I was also looking for a couple of items I needed to buy since I was there anyway. I became aware of an announcement being made over the PA system….it was the second or third time I heard it, but now I was listening to it…mostly because the sound of the voice was annoying. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special showing today of a product not normally available in the Exchange”, the announcement said. We are giving away a free sample of the product today only, in just a few minutes, to all adults in the Exchange who would like to have one. This product will be available here at Fort Hood and at no other Exchange in Texas. You have seen this product on QVC and the Home Shopping Network”. Now, I never watch either one, but that made me realize that I wasn’t interested in anything they were giving away. And never at anytime were we actually told what the product was. The demonstration and giveaway was taking place in the center of the store, where the toy department and garden department intersect. Now, I had to weave my way right thru that part of the store to get to the exit. My first reaction was “what is going on that there is such a bottleneck here? Then I realized that I was in the midst of the giveaway area. I also noticed that all the people clamoring around for a free sample were old. I wondered if the Senior Center knew all these people had escaped! Old gray haired women in sneakers and old potbellied men with khaki shorts, black loafers and long white socks that went halfway up between their calf and knee, milling around waiting for the coveted free thingamajig. It was more than I could stand and decided right then and there I would never be old and grumpy – just grumpy!

Letter to Senator Cornyn and Congressman Carter

This is a copy of the letter I sent to Senator John Cornyn (R-TX) and Congressman John Carter (R-TX) in reference to troop reduction levels at Fort Hood.

The Honorable Senator John Cornyn and the Honorable Representative John Carter;

Fort Hood has been a major part of the defense of the United States for many years. Most of the weapons systems in uses by today’s Army, as well as other Services, were tested and fielded at Fort Hood. The M1 Abrams Tank and the Apache helicopter are two of the major weapons systems that came from this process. The current modernization of the Army has come from the Force XXI development and testing at Fort Hood.

With III Corps, 1st Cavalry Division and 4th Infantry Division all headquartered at Fort Hood, a major portion of the defense forces of the United States are located within the Central Texas area and is has a major impact on the economy and standard of living of the residents of Bell and Coryell Counties, as well as areas in all directions on the compass from Fort Hood.
In an article in the Killeen Daily Herald (15April2009), LTG Rick Lynch, Commander III Corps and Fort Hood, announced the troop levels would decline from the 2009 level of 53,146 to 45,872 by 2013. This reduction of 7,200 plus troops, plus families and civilian support components, will have a huge negative impact on the communities that surround the post. This includes everything from schools to retail and housing.

Countless millions of dollars have been spent on the infrastructure of Fort Hood, primarily since the involvement of Fort Hood in Operation Desert Shield and Operation Desert Storm in the early 1990s. Moving 7200 soldiers to other installations would conceivably require many tax dollars to upgrade those installations. During the current economic climate, how wise is the expenditure of the American people’s tax dollars to build elsewhere what is already available at Fort Hood?

While the move of the 4th Infantry Division to Fort Carson seems to be a done deal, the realignment of the force could easily allow for another Division size unit to headquarter at Fort Hood. The pending arrival of the First Army Division West's headquarters is a start. I urge you to work hard to insure the troop, family, and support population at Fort Hood remain at least at the 2009 levels.

Sincerely,

Raymond F. Pritchard
SFC, Retired
United States Army

Sheets in the Wind

SHEETS IN THE WIND
By
Frank Pritchard


Sheets swayed back and forth in the wind as my Mom hung bed sheets on the line to dry. When I think of the home of my youth, I can see that old clothesline with its sheets. And later, my own wife would carry wet sheets out to the clothesline to dry in the sun so we could have the aroma of air dried sheets as we lay down at night.

The gymnasium was full. The bleachers were covered with bottoms. Excitement was building by the minute. The noise was deafening. The walls were covered with banners made from sheets, and homemade signs abounded in the bleachers. This wasn’t the big game at the high school. No basketballs were bouncing on the floor or rebounding off the backboards. The floor was covered with kids of all ages running around and playing. The scene was that of a big party – a celebration. The banners weren’t there to encourage the home team on to victory. The signs were not held by fans encouraging the varsity squad. And this wasn’t the local high school. This gym was on Fort Hood.

The banners screamed out “JOB WELL DONE” and “WELCOME HOME 3RD ACR” or a myriad of other unit names. The signs were held up by waiting families: “WE MISSED YOU DADDY”; “MY HUSBAND, MY SOLDIER, MY HERO” or “MY MOM IS A HERO”. The excitement this day was soldiers coming home from Iraq. The kids on the floor and the families in the bleachers were waiting for the words they had waited for 15 months to hear – “The aircraft has landed!” Later, “The busses are on the way”. Then soldiers running thru the doors and forming up…. Line after line, row after row as these soldiers – officers and enlisted – respond to the “FALL IN” command given by their Commanding General.

The Chaplain thanked God for their safe return and prayed for the safety of those soldiers still in Iraq. The General thanked the soldiers for their fine performance as they represented their unit, the United States Army and the American people. Finally, the much awaited command, “DISMISSED”.

Soldiers began searching as families were climbing off the bleachers. Eyes met, tears flowed and the slow trickle of wives, husbands, children, and parents quickened. In a matter of just seconds, the scene changed and where there was once military order on the floor, families were embracing, sweethearts kissing and children lifted up into daddy or mommy’s waiting arms. Teenage girls were crying, hugging dad and texting all at the same time.

The gymnasium started to empty as soldiers, who just moments before, had entered as warriors, were leaving as husbands and wives with their children in tow … families reunited.

This scene is not unusual in Army communities. Drive around the city and see magnets on the backs of cars - a torn heart saying “Half my heart is in Iraq”. Yellow ribbon magnets saying, “Support our soldiers.” And sheets hanging on fences. Soldiers, willing to sacrifice their very lives, sacrifice much every day. Children don’t save first steps or first words for daddy to come home. Daddy – Daughter dinners at school or church go on; and the Pinewood Derby at Cub Scouts takes place with Mom rooting her Cub Scout on to victory – her hands still covered with the paint she used to help prepare his car … the one he dedicated to his dad. And, that special anniversary passes with sweethearts half a world apart. Life goes on.

I have been privileged to watch several homecomings on Fort Hood, in gymnasiums, and on the parade field at the 1st Cavalry Division, where soldiers, lined up at attention, are greeted with a charge of the 1st Cavalry Horse Detachment. It is amazing to see 400 soldiers at attention with the horses and wagons charging across the field the bright Texas sun. It is just as amazing at midnight under a full moon. It will absolutely take your breath away when you see just one soldier, who has returned alone, standing at attention, with the full horse detachment making its charge.

I never gave much thought to sheets until recently. When going to work and then coming home, I see the sheets tied to fences, flapping in the Central Texas wind, and one says “WELCOME HOME MOMMY!”

LOOK INTO MY EYE

“LOOK IN MY EYE! LOOK IN MY EYE!” shouted Elder Smith as he pinned me down and his face right in mine, and his glass eye in his hand. “NO, I DON’T WANT TO LOOK!” I yelled. "YOU'RE NOT GETTING UP TILL YOU LOOK!" he yelled back. Then I pushed him back, and it started all over again. We were laughing so hard we could barely breath!

Elder Smith lost his right eye in a farming accident when he was a little boy, and now as a 20 year old missionary, he had his 5th prosthetic eye, and now was trying to get me to look into the empty socket – and I didn’t want to look! I remember well that day, and how hard he tried to get me to look. But, I never looked at any time during the months we were together.

Now it is today, nearly a half century later, and it is me with the prosthetic eye. In the year 2000 I was diagnosed with a Choroidal Melanoma in my right eye. In layman's terms, I had skin cancer in my right eye. Unusual, indeed! The choroid layer of the eye has the same tissue as the epidermis or skin, therefore, it is possible to literally get skin cancer in the eye, although very rarely. And I am a rare breed and I got it! After the initial treatment of radiation, my tumor began to shrink and the prognosis seemed to be pretty good. The doctor said that I had to get to 10 years to have the procedure be considered a success and me to be officially “cancer free”. Then in 2005, the tumor began to grow again. The treatment was then considered to be a failure, and the only recourse was to have my right eye surgically removed.

This was not an easy thing for me to accept. I was losing a part of me, not like tonsils or a diseased appendix. I was losing an eye that still worked and of which I had no symptoms of being sick. In 2000, the choice was to remove the eye or have the radiation treatment. My daughter, Hilary’s suggestion was to have the eye removed and then have it replaced with a glass eye – so the kids would have something to dive after.

Now it is me with the glass eye. Actually, it isn’t glass, but acrylic. I posed for the eye as it was hand painted to match the left one. Upon close inspection, one can see some slight flaws, but all in all, it is an exact duplicate of my good eye. I have had doctors who have been amazed at how good it looks.

The kids don’t dive after it in the pool, but the first request I get whenever the kids are together is “Grandpa, take your eye out”. And little Jared is the funniest of all. He isn’t satisfied for me to just take my eye out. He likes to touch it and to wear it. I think I will always picture him with my eye on his forehead or in his eye. I wonder if he will be scarred for life?

May We Have More Pie, Please!

It is kind of funny when you think of the level of understanding our children have. I would love to delve into the mind’s of these little ones and try to figure out how they think. Which of life’s little experiences have helped form their thoughts and understanding? What meanings do they give the words they hear?

On Sunday evening when the family was gathered together for dinner, the little ones were playing quietly. When the kids found out that no special dessert had been made for after dinner because all the adults figured that their figures could do without, these little ones started discussing desserts. The discussion ended up centering around pie. “I like pecan pie” declared 7 year old cousin, Rachael. “My favorite is pumpkin pie” replied her 7 year old cousin, Colby. Now, here is where I wish I could be in on all the conversations of these little ones. The third cousin in this little group was 5 year old Maddie. Since her daddy owns a pizza restaurant, her understanding of this word is somewhat different. Her daddy always refers to his pizzas as “pies”, so it really is no surprise that when she said her favorite was pepperoni pie.

Her cousins told her that pepperoni was not pie, but to her it was – and I am sure that it will always will be. PEPPERONI pizza PIE!

Missionaries All

I want to let everyone know that Mom and I have put in our papers to serve a mission. We are applying for a local mission, serving as Military Relations Missionaries. When we are called, we will receive training here. We will not have to go to the MTC. Don't know what the time table is for receiving the call, but we are looking forward to it. We have been wanting to serve a Military Relations Mission, but are not yet able to leave home. There is a great need here in the Fort Hood area as the full time MRM's left and no one is scheduled to take their place. We are excited.