Thank you Vets

My grandfather had two grandfathers who fought in the Civil War, one on each side.  He also had 

three sons who served in the military, one even made a career of it. Two of my grandfather’s sons-in-

law served in the military. My father served in WWII along with his brother and a brother-in-law 

who made the ultimate sacrifice. My brothers served and one retired from active duty. At the present 

my son is a career military man. My husband and his brothers served in the 

forces.                                                                                                                                         

From “The Civil War” through World War I & II, Korea up to the present conflicts in the Middle

 East, the men in my family have proudly served and otherwise supported the military. All I can do is

 say “Thank You.” Often the men who serve in combat do not talk about the action they have seen

 but we can glen what is happening by the letters they write.  

                                                                                                                          

One letter said the writer was suing because he developed pile from riding a green broke mule. Now

 this was 150 years ago. A more recent letter requested soft toilet tissue, rat traps and plastic 

containers for food storage. Do you get the idea of what is occurring? Letters tell of missing family

 and can’t wait to get home thoughts. What is more telling is what is not said!                              

 If you don’t have support, I feel sorry for you. Inadvertently, they may be sabotaging  you by their 

demands when a bit of understanding can work miracles             

Living My Life Out of a Suitcase

I bought the only thing I could afford when I purchased the case; it is a Brocade number that is still going after several decades. Though small in size, it was just

what I needed.

Over the years I have learned something about packing. I put pants down, shirt

on top and underwear in the center and roll. Shoes go around the outside and

pajamas on top.

Read someone the other day who said when she travels, she puts half her clothes

in her husband suitcase and half of his in hers. DUH that makes sense if you fly.

I have two big suitcases and a small one. Each night I load up the small case and

 take it in.

I always leave a few things in the small case like tooth brushes, deodorant,

 lotion and shampoo.

Want to time me and see how fast I can pack? Now that I have it down

 to a science, after my shower, I count up how many days I am to be gone

and as I put an article on, I lay out the predetermined number of days, roll

them up and put them in the suitcase.

Easy.

I had a suitcase that had a carry-on that fitted over the handle.

The carry-on had a wide band across the back that fit over the handle

when it was pulled up. Somewhere I let the carry-on get away from me.

I get what I need, even if I have to wait until I can afford it.

Price has little to do with need.

Size

In proportion to size my Jeep rode as good as a Cadillac. So I had to give up leather seats for cloth ones but my little Jeep could walk up a mountain in nothing flat and keep up with traffic on a toll road. There was a down side, no room in the back seat but when it is just the two of us, this was not an issue. I had quite a few miles on my vehicle and the company discontinued that model.                          What do you look for in a vehicle? I wanted something with enough leg room for the long haul and enough power that I didn’t have to get out and push it up hills. As I aged, getting in and out became an issue. Trucks with a step up had the disadvantage that if I got in, how do I get out as the step up was underneath. Hand holds for pulling up and into the vehicle made it easier. (Not an Oh My God hand hold either.) Flat floor boards so I didn’t’ have to step up and over to get in or out. The list grew as I looked for vehicles.                                                                        

Really seemed the problem was that I liked what I had but now I needed to change and change was not coming easy.

Our vehicle had to have certain things: it had to be able to get in and out of with ease. For my husband, it had to have a level floorboard, no stepping over to get in and hand holds that aided in pulling in. Some of the trucks were so high and even the step was at the wrong angle for getting out. I liked one with enough power to climb mountains and keep up with traffic on the interstate. I discovered that the gas you put in has a big effect on how it performs. In the mountains, you need a different octane because of the oxygen content in the air.    

Americans love their wheels. They take us where we want to go. Just stop by and old car

museum and see where we have been. Did you know that there were RV’s in the teens?

 Teens that were complete with wood cook stoves.

When Hurricane Rita hit, we decided to wait out the lack of electricity further north. We got on Hwy 171 and headed north eventually stopping in Winnepeg, Canada.  Do you know there are more sushi bars in Winnepeg than any other place in North America? Odd since it is very land locked.

Driving through the plains before you reach town, you notice that the houses are built on a mound just big enough for the house, barn and a turn around. Seems that when the river floods, the houses are high and dry. HHHmmm

In the Atlas, Louisiana and Maine are side by side. Actually it’s quite a distance from Louisiana to Maine, I drove it.

North Dakota people worship the sun being out every moment they can. It’s not hard to imagine if you hear about the long hard winters they endure. Eleven o’clock at night and it is still light outside.

Rain by Jeanna Pruitt Weeks

There’s just something about water in south Mississippi.  It just seeps into the cracks of both the living and non-living.  It seeps so purposefully into everything that doesn’t have a firm outer shell that if you aren’t careful you’ll find that your insides and the ground you’re standing on have both turned to mush. 

We hadn’t had a prettyday in two weeks, and mush is exactly what I felt like.  In the South we say “prettyday” as all one word.  A prettyday is quite definable in the South.  It always happens after a good rain when everything returns to a lush rich green shade and the sky is the clearest baby blue with a few wispy cirrus clouds thrown in for good measure.  And a prettyday always has a light, constant breeze.  If there’s no wind, then it’s not a prettyday because the South is absolutely suffocating without God’s fan—regardless of the season.

But it’s been weeks seen we’d seen any other color but grey in our sky, and it was wearing on the Southern hospitality in everyone.  Grey and rain made every one talk a bit lower.  They were laughing less, talking as if it pained them, just generally shuffling through their day, unwilling to look up from the puddles at their feet.

Their foundations were turning to mush.  I could see it even if they couldn’t.  It comes from having too much time to think and not enough to do to keep you from it.  It was wearing me out—the avoiding my own thoughts.  I can only guess what it was doing to everyone else.

Funny how rain makes everyone want to go home and sleep.  It’s as if our prehistoric wiring short circuits our modern day notions of being productive from first alarm buzz in the morning to last light out at night.  Like we should rest—or have sex—since there’s nothing else you can do in the field when water pours down from the sky.  But staying home, hiding under the covers, only makes me think in grand style.  Makes me ponder deep thoughts, wander down fanciful paths of stories and plots and creation.  That’s what happens when I’m home alone in the rain.  I think.  And I’m left exhausted from the work the next day.