Happy and Back to BWI - "Honor" part 5

It is taking quite a while to get in all the details of my one day with the Honor Flight veterans. If you want to start at the beginning (I've tried to make it a worthwhile read), head over here.

Chuck, whom I was still pushing in the wheelchair, did not need the facilities, so while our Columbus Guardian stayed with our two walkers (Paul and Bill.) I worked to get Chuck's chair up over the curbs to get to the Memorial. Off in the distance, towards the bell tower that is near Iwo Jima (given to the United States in 1960 by the Netherlands), were several Marines in full dress blues, walking in our direction. The cut quite a picture - blue coats, swords strapped on, medals - the works. I wondered if anyone would walk over and ask them to come spend a few minutes with our vets - but didn't want to leave Chuck to do so myself and was struggling still with a rather high curb and a wheelchair. For the record, it is better to back the chair up over the curb as opposed to trying to pop up the front wheels!

Each of the three buses were on a different side of the Memorial for group photos. Our group headed to the far right. We gathered the Red Bus veterans for a group shot, just as we were getting ready to walk around the perimeter of the Memorial, the Marines walked over to join us! They were very respectful, stood behind our vets to get their picture taken, shook each hand and talked and laughed with them for a bit. Our Guardian, Rich, went over to talk to them as well - who knew he was a former Marine?!

While the Marines had their pictures taken with our group, the group shot with the Guardians was forgotten about (and that's okay - those Marines were better dressed, hands down!) I noticed a family of five sitting off to one side, watching our events take place. They asked what we were doing that day. When I told them, the matriarch of the family said that it was her birthday and she had come over to Arlington that day to visit her son's gravesite. He was one of the Infants laid to rest in Arlington nineteen years ago. Her grown daughter, also there with the family that day, had a 9/11 birthday. Her grandson shared his deceased great-uncle's name - he considered it carrying on the legacy of his uncle and proudly told me as much. The family was there at Iwo Jima together remembering, sharing stories and love on a day important to their family.

As the Marines finished shaking hands with the vets, the boy went over to shake hands with them as well. His grandmother explained that her husband had retired from the Marine Corps after 21 years. Right about then, we saw the boy and the Marines laughing - the Marines had asked him if he was going to join the Corps after he got older. He told them no, he was joining the Army! Grandma said she had expected her Marine husband to be angry about that when the boy first announced it, but he had been supportive and said whatever service the boy decided to join was fine with him! How great is it to belong to a family that is so close and so supportive of one another? Between that family and the Marines coming over to offer us a few minutes of their time with us, we more than made up for the protestors we saw at the WWII Memorial when we started the day!

All too soon, we boarded the bus to head back to BWI Airport. The veterans were inquisitive still, asking questions about this building or that one, looking at the various parts of Washington, D.C., with the eyes of an outsider (one told me earlier in the day that he really expected our capital city to be cleaner!) and creating memories to take home with them. One of the last things we saw on our way past the city, before getting on the freeway was one more satisfying moment of the day: While we had been allowed to take our buses straight to the WWII Monument, the protestors had had to park their buses at the edge of the City. The reasons were probably pragmatic - there simply wasn't room for all of those buses inside the city's main area - but it did not dim the glee I must confess I felt when I saw all of the protestors had to walk about 2.5 miles back to their own buses.

With that final image in mind, we gazed out the windows as the last glimpses of the Monuments and the Capital building faded from view. We were tired, but happy on that bus. The atmosphere was a little more subdued, the conversations quieter. Until they announced it was time for MAIL CALL! One last vestige of old, come to life and renewed. A local school from Columbus had sent letters, personally addressed to each veteran on the Honor Flight buses. There was a murmur of excitement (and a few of confusion) as manilla envelopes, filled with letters, were handed to each veteran as they answered to their names. Bill sat in the seat next to me, opening a few letters, dropping a few more on the floor (and we retrieved them!) and ultimately he decided to put them up until he arrived home. They each received goodie bags to take as well.

We parted ways at BWI Airport Saturday, and will not likely ever meet again. Each veteran is (to my knowledge) only allowed one trip on the Honor Flight, in order to allow other veterans to go. Those men and that day will remain in my memory for a very long time - and I have every intention of returning to help with Honor Flight again in the near future. For now, I am working to try to get my lovely White Knight out there in his Dress Blues to help out as well - it is an honor and an opportunity not to be missed!

Leaving Arlington for Iwo Jima - ("Honor" part 4)

This is the fourth in a series about my day helping with WWII veterans participating in the Honor Flight program. To see the first post, head over here. I encourage you to consider helping with this wonderful program while we still have time to honor our WWII veterans!

Upon the completion of the Changing of the Guard, many of the tourists who had watched drifted away, while many of our vets lingered for a minute, watching the new guard as he began the slow march that would take him through the next hour. We still had about fifteen minutes to look around before our buses left for the Iwo Jima Memorial.

We crossed the street to see the mast taken from the U.S.S. Maine. The sinking of the U.S.S. Maine in the Havana, Cuba harbor, began the Spanish-American war back in 1898. In 1905, prior to sinking the ship completely with full military honors, the mast was removed for installation at Arlington National Cemetery as a Memorial to those who died in the 1898 battle. On the way up a small incline to see the Mast, were three stone monuments off to the right. Those three commemorated the Shuttle Challenger, and two others, which I am sorry to say I was unable to see as I escorted another vet to the Mast instead.

We also took time, like many others, to linger before some of the graves in that area, reading the headstones and talking about who was there. We saw graves for an infant daughter, a man who had been not only in WWII, but also in WWI, two mass graves (one was for the men who tried to help rescue American hostages in Iran,) and many in which the spouses had been buried alongside the fallen military members. Our Columbus guardian told us that one of the men on our bus knew his father was buried in Arlington, but had never seen his father's grave. The Columbus guardian had told his local guardian to take a few minutes to help the man find the gravesite - when will he ever get the chance to see it again? I don't know if the guardian helped him or not, but how moving to know your father is there, but never to have seen it.

After about an hour in total, we boarded our buses again, were offered more ice-cold water (those poor vets had water coming out of their ears! But it was all to keep them safe and comfortable), and headed out for our next stop. On the way out, our lead guide asked if we had any former SeaBees on board the bus. He wanted to know whether they had looked like the man pictured in the SeaBee Can Do Memorial found on the roadside on the way into and out of Arlington - he joked that they all said they looked just like the man in the statue when they were younger. The vets appreciated the military camaraderie and humor just as they had in their younger days!

The Iwo Jima memorial was far less crowded when we got there. The road up to the Iwo Jima Memorial winds around and around and around while you get to the place for buses to park! Teasing our Marine vets on board, the head guide for our bus pointed out that the WWII Memorial has it's own permanent bathroom facilities, while the Iwo Jima Memorial has only port-a-potties. The vets all chuckled at that joke too - then many headed over to use them. I suppose, in a way, it is fitting that the Marine Corps would not provide a cushy place to go at their memorial, especially seeing that they pride themselves on being tougher than all the rest! But an 80-year-old tushie might have appreciated something (if you'll excuse me here) ... cushy!

With that poor joke to sustain you, I end this fourth post, in the idea of keeping them still readably short... More in part five (how many posts does it take to get in all the details of a day? Five so far!)

Teachers who Were and Who Were "Almost"

I had it suggested that I create a post a about some of the teachers that I remember from my own school years. As it happens, I made one as a FaceBook note quite some time back. I'm transferring that here now. Enjoy!

This thought occurred to me the other day:

In high school, I had an AP (Advanced Placement - do they still do those classes??) history class. The teacher was a great teacher and the class got into some of the most interesting conversations. The instructor would let it go on for some time - three or four minutes, maybe five? - and then would say, "But we digress..." and thereby bring the class back to the topic at hand. I learned a lot in that class.

But I could have learned more. In large part, I didn't learn as much as I could because of my own lack of effort, and though he was a good teacher, he didn't push us for more. Instead, he gave us lots of room to explore and discuss (helpful in adult discussions and debates, not so much for history!)

I had a Japanese class at the same school. Very nice teacher - one of my favorites. He was a new teacher, still very green and looking to save-the-world-through-teaching. He started a hiking club and I joined - he tried to encourage my vocabulary acquisition by quizzing me as we hiked through the woods and up the hills. The club didn't last long, unfortunately and I am not sure where the teachers is now.

A third teacher - longer in the tooth, taught English, had very definite and high expectations, or gave the appearance of it. She tried to make it so her higher grades were hard to get, but there was still always the feeling of who-were-her-favorites.

These teachers all stand out in my mind and memory - and for me, that is a big leap, I don't seem to have a whole lot of memory space left (can somebody hand me my RAM, please??) But each of these represents something else in my memory - teachers who were "almost."

Finally, my junior high band teacher. Definitely long on the tooth - he was the band teacher when my (ahem...) MOTHER was at the same junior high 20 years before. But he will always stand out for me. He was the teacher who held us to high standards; who expected we had practiced, stopped us in front of the other students and said that what we were doing wasn't what it should have been. Who cared enough to be honest and tell us that we weren't giving it our all; that we weren't. Doing. Our. Best.

My last day of junior high - a place that I would NOT miss being at because of the students, not the teachers (many of whom I really admired and looked up to) - I went to his classroom and, of all the teachers, I went to say goodbye and I hugged him... and I cried. I didn't know where I was going or what was coming next, but I knew I was leaving behind a teacher who really made us feel like he cared about us enough to say that we could do better.

As a home schooling mom, I hope that I will be that teacher - the man from my junior high band (Mr. Sorenson, for those in the know). I hope that my own children - and their friends - will look at Mrs. Edens and say, "She cared enough to hold us to standards and to make us reach for the stars, even as she gave us the stepladder to get there."

Is that too much to ask?

Necessity of Friendship

Last Sunday was a dear friend's birthday. Usually we take our spinster-friend out to a tea house for high tea. Before you think I'm being mean calling her a "spinster," here is a plug for her blog: www.spinsterbeth.blogspot.com You'll see her spinning wheel in one of the photos.

So, we're going to tea... We've considered wearing hats, but I don't usually have one to wear. I need something huge and gaudy and outrageous I think. Most years, we have three for tea - but one of our numbers is out of town until September, so this year we'll have

tea for two...
and two for tea...

(anyone know this song? Or am I just the Queen of Old Songs? Well, it is a song about two lovers, which she and I are decidedly NOT so I can only use that part of the lyrics for this post.)

This same wonderful friend has been a Godsend when Jeff has been out of town on business trips - she has come over when the kids were driving me crazy, she has come over just to sit and play Othello or checkers, and she and a few other friends come over nearly every Saturday evening for dinner, fellowship, and games. Our Saturday night group is a mixed bag - military, civilian, veteran, knitters, woodworkers, married, single, with and without children and somehow we all manage to find enough points of similarity to form a sort-of extended family in it all. The kids ask about each other through the week; the adults keep in touch via Facebook and e-mail, planning meals, deciding who will bring what this week, etc. Two ladies knit, I crochet, but don't have the same... shall we say... obsession for yarn-craft that they do.

A neighbor comes by every so often to have tea and an afternoon chat. Our children play together constantly and we feel at ease in making sure they behave, whether talking to our own children or those of the other. She and her family have come by for dinner once or twice, and have joined us at neighborhood gatherings and "happy hour" at another neighbor's down the street.

Another group I gather with has four to five women, including myself. In that group, we have a military retiree, two military veterans and one who is still active duty. We all met through work. I know only that one is heavy into scrapbooking, two love baseball, and we all have a pretty rowdy party when we go out.

In each of these groups, there may be only one or two places of similar interest or background or life experience - but I feel safe in these groups. I find the camaraderie with them that I joined the Navy to find fourteen years ago. Whether an all-women group, or mixed, we share news of our days, plans for the future and troubles. In return, we offer jests and good-naured ribbing, we offer laughter, we offer advice - and sometimes, in kindness and love and respect for one another, we offer rebuke, knowing that the friendships will hold strong.

I have talked to several people recently who are looking for those connections - people who have them, and don't always realize it. So I started looking around. Do I have them? Where do I stand in this world, with whom do I connect? Whose needs do I help fill? And I found these groups, and others, all around me. People I see regularly enough that I know them by name, not just face (a continual struggle for me!) People that I know care enough to tell me when I've messed up.

This is my thanks to them - the realization that I am not alone because of them. And in this case, this week, it starts with tea.