Memorial Day

Greetings from the pact,

It’s too easy to forget this kind of obligation.  You didn’t sign any contract, never saw any details, the expectations were never explained to you.  It’s complicated that way.

But the contract is there.  It’s not written in expensive legalese on certified documents, witnessed and notarized, made official by affixing red wax seals, or embossed stamps.

But it is a binding compact.  A deal. 

I have figured out that the contract is easy for most of us to forget, ignore, and worse, to violate.  We have been separated from the reality of it.

It’s harder to ignore the contract when your Dad was in the military, or your brother is over in Iraq, or you live just outside a Marine base or a cemetery.  Or when you are in line to get breakfast.

When I met Travis Mills I was in line to get breakfast. 

I introduced myself and met his father in law and we talked while we waited.   Travis makes a significant first impression.  He is busting with life.  He is brimming with energy and enthusiasm, even in the most mundane moments.  He looks at you like he can’t wait to tell you something.

“I’m just a regular guy trying to get by.” he said to me, a humble way of deflecting words like ‘courageous’.   He has a smile that makes me envious.  Whatever is bubbling inside him is bigger than any challenges that have come his way. 

Not many soldiers survive if they are standing on an IED when it explodes.  Even fewer survive if the explosion tears off their arms and legs.  From the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, you can count those survivors on one hand.  Travis is one of those five.

I have talked to Travis a few times now and the impression is the same.  He feels like he is incredibly lucky.  Blessed that he survived to raise his daughter, Chloe, and spend the rest of his life with his wife.  Lucky to live out what he believes is his purpose.

The doctors told Travis it would take two years to get to a point where he could function without his arms and legs.  Clearly those standards were set for someone else.  He devoured the therapy, strapped on his new arms and legs, and clawed his way back into his life.  He has been striding forward every day since.  The courage he shows honors what he has been given, and honors the other side, what might have been.  The fate that was dealt to other soldiers who won’t come home to raise their daughters.

We have this compact to remember them.  The people who stepped up, for whatever reason, and put themselves between us and harm.  The ones who understood the risk and took it anyway and didn’t live the rest of their lives.

There will be flags fluttering in cemeteries, in parades, in windows, on cars.  More of them than usual today because many of us want to remind ourselves and our neighbors about the deal we made.

These people who made the deal with us. They jump out of planes, and sit in dangerous holes, and walk on roads filled with devices aimed to kill them, and they wait and wait.  They teeter on the edge of the blade, knowing that today could be the day it takes them.

Travis was just doing his job. Third tour in Iraq, he was leading his men in an advance position, on a road that had already been swept for mines, and he set his pack down on a bomb that was designed to turn him into someone we honor on Memorial Day.

But we have gotten better at saving the heroes on the battlefield, and the result is this: ten years ago a guy like Travis gets shredded by a mine, he doesn’t make it home alive.  He becomes one of the millions who we remember today.  But maybe not every day.

So Travis continues to serve us. 

He reminds us to remember the vets who come home injured and maimed from battle, and help their families too.  He inspires other men and women who come home broken.  And he serves to remind us of the men and women who didn’t make it. 

The contract is written in our memories of those we loved, and those we respect, who served on our behalf.  You see the words in the flag, carved on headstones, listed on monuments.  You get the intent of the covenant every time you see someone in uniform salute as the flag goes by.  You would feel it if you listened to Travis Mills tell you why he went back for a third tour. You know what the deal was.

It says that we will honor the memory of those who died in service to our country.  We will respect their sacrifice, their gift to us, and pay our part in return.  Today is a day when the contract gets unrolled where we can see it, but it’s up to us to live up to the agreement every day.

Hope this finds you living up to it,

David

PS: To know more about Travis Mills and what he is doing to make a positive difference for others, please visit his webpage:  http://www.travismills.org/

Copyright © 2014 David Smith

Hay Fever

May 19, 2014

Greetings from the innocent bystander,

There are very few elements of nature that are without a purpose.  For example, in spring some people are tempted to complain; it’s not summery enough, it’s wetter than last year, the sun comes up at odd hours.  Nature provides pollen to give people something to take their mind off the spring conditions.  Instead they can think about sneezing without too much loss of dignity.

Hay fever is rampant this time of year, affecting the majority of people with symptoms ranging from watery eyes and sneezing and congestion, but ironically no fever. 

I have not thought at all why it is called ‘hay fever’.  The name seems odd now, considering its feverless effects, and since many of us live in largely hay-free environments.   The name does produce an image: those big mounds of infectious hay, off-gassing all manner of fever inducing clouds.  Or am I thinking of straw?  On more than one occasion I have been corrected about ‘hay’ versus ‘straw’, but to be honest, I still don’t know which is which, except that there is no such thing as ‘straw fever’. 

It’s a well-known fact that hay fever can cause extreme digression.

There was a time when I could say I had no allergies.  As a matter of fact, I did say that.  I might have even said it with a certain smugness.  I may have felt that my impervious to such weaknesses was my own doing, a product of clean living and eating the right food, exercise and an ascetic lifestyle.  Yes, that might have seemed smug.

I did not know that perhaps one might develop allergies later in life.  I thought, in my naïve earlier existence, that since I didn’t sneeze in spring perhaps I had been given a genetic pass.  I had a post nasal drip exemption, an immunity passed on from the Highlands of Scotland where my ancestors were burning peat to stay warm which perhaps altered their DNA in some haggis induced pollen resistant mutation.  You can see why I had such confidence in this line of reasoning.

Spring explodes, intent on reproduction, and man is collateral damage.  We are minding our own business, our highly developed brains perhaps engaged in whatever occurs to us in spring, and we are hit by the fallout of a far inferior organism and turned into red nosed, weeping beings. 

For some of us, (I may now include my formerly smug self) the effusive spring effort brings on cold-like symptoms, which we do not deserve because we have been obsessively washing our hands all winter. 

It’s not just pollen of course; I understand that people are allergic to a variety of spring things. The irritants can come from all manner of plants, including flowers and trees and grasses other botanical things I don’t know the names of because I didn’t pay attention in school, thinking I would never need to know about stuff like that because of my youthful invulnerability to hay fever.  Suffice it to say, there are scores of spores to invade our pores when we’re outdoors doing our chores.

This onslaught causes what doctors call ‘Allergic rhinitis’ so they don’t have to explain the whole ‘hay fever’ dichotomy.  The medical world has developed a cornucopia of drugs to combat the symptoms of rhinitis.  These drugs have a myriad of side effects which ironically include ‘fever’. 

I know that scientists say that the spread of pollen and its cousins is a method of plant propagation.  But I suspect that in the big plans somewhere it was designed to have an impact on some other living things that otherwise might take arrogance to new levels. 

I will take my dose of pollen with good nature and accept that I am a flawed and imperfect being, susceptible to unflattering mucus and red nose.  I will try to concentrate on what good is brought about by spring and all of its flowering, and not too look too comical while sneezing.

Hope this finds you humbled,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith

Balance

April 28, 2014

Greetings from the vestibular,

Four feet, eight and half inches apart.  Twin ribbons of steel tethered by beams of wood, just far enough apart to discourage trying to leap from one to the next. 

Among the places I explored during the first decade of my life, there was something particularly fascinating about train tracks.  Some of it was where the tracks wandered; lonely stretches of woods, concrete overpasses, tunnels, bridges with interesting history.  Some of it was the trains that passed by. The inner hobo in me tempted by the possibility of hooking a ride in an empty boxcar.

Summer morning, pushing through the damp weeds, crunching across the rock apron that split the right-of-way, and then stepping between the tracks.  Walking awkwardly on the ties for a bit, and then, after a glance back to make sure there were no trains visible, placing a foot on the rail. Then the other foot.  Then wobbling a bit, and finding the balance.

There was something almost hypnotic in the movement.  I could walk for a mile, arms out, teetering on the rail, tongue set firmly in the corner of my mouth.  One foot in front of the other, not always a graceful form, but a functional one.  Suspended a few inches from the earth by the steel, held in place by my own balance.

Balancing.  I tried walking along the metal handrails going down to the football field, or the top piece of the chain link fence that bordered the school.  Glided along the ridgeline of the houses in my neighborhood in late night adventures.  I like the sensation of focusing on balance; harnessing the senses, concentrating the body’s resources, to keep from tipping over.

Balance in the human body is a remarkable thing.  Just the act of walking is a product of balance.  The posture, the coordination, the combined effort of muscles and tendons, big toes, the eyes and the inner ear, cooperating to keep us upright.  It’s a miraculous confluence of effort, which seems automatic, unconscious, and the result is remarkable.

And like a lot of miracles, it’s easy to take for granted.  Ask anyone who has had vertigo. 

Most of us are not challenged to walk a tight rope, or balance along a railroad track on a regular basis.  Our balancing is more routine; standing, walking, climbing stairs.  It is easy to forget that walking across a room carrying a tray or setting off on a ten mile run is a result of a complex synchronization of a myriad of mechanisms and systems and tissue and bone that allows us to be upright.

Which leads me to another kind of balance.

In each of our lives there is a blend of activities that make up the mosaic of our days.  Responsibilities, challenges, difficulties, the ‘must do’ aspects of our lives.  There are chores and taxes and distractions and setbacks.  We all have chunks of time that get absorbed by the tedious, the unpleasant, the frustrating and the mundane.

And that is balanced by the fun, silly pastimes, pleasurable activities, or idle moments of rest.  There are the hours we spend that are inspired by passion. Some parts of our day we give to others because it brings us joy.  We find time to do what we love, or what enriches our life. 

The same with people.  Some are treasures; close friends, loved ones, cherished family.  People who smile at you, and those people who make you smile just thinking about seeing them again.  And of course there are people who have a negative impact, who leave you gritting your teeth or shaking your head, thankful that you have others in your life to give it balance.

It’s this balance that makes it possible to endure the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’.  Knowing that your day will have its moments of challenge, and also relying on the joys to lift you up, to maintain your equilibrium.

But the balance cannot be taken for granted.  Like walking along a single train track, it requires attention, focus.  When you lose balance the results are not always dramatic or catastrophic, it can be very subtle and that can be worse.  Losing your balance can be insidious.  The positive in your day can slowly be absorbed, or overshadowed.  The pleasures can be eaten up by the struggles.  Until one day it dawns on you that you are straining to stand upright because the internal scale has toppled to one side.

And so it takes commitment to keep the balance.  To purposely find the parts of your day that will give you the strength, the bearing, to keep from falling over.  It may be laughter or prayer or a call from a friend. It may be a long run or a hot cup of good coffee.  It may be reading or playing with children.  But whatever lifts you up, it is important to find it, use it, protect it. 

It’s Monday.  There are already a host of things waiting to pull you off your tightrope.  Begin today by arming yourself with what you love.  Take that into your world to keep you standing tall, head up, centered on what brings you to your best.  And when you see someone else tipping over, give them something to lean on.

Hope this finds you funambulating,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith

Kentucky Derby

May 5, 2014

Greetings from the furlong,

What I was going to say was that I gave up the Kentucky Derby for Lent.

I like to think that I am of reasonable intelligence, and possess the ability to focus on important subjects for appropriate lengths of time.  I like to think I have the mental discipline that produces single minded acuity.   It’s not true, but I like to think it.

It’s not unusual for me to lose focus in a very short span of time, including while I have been on elevators.  There have been times when I will push a button and then think about something else and then forget on which floor I was supposed to get off.   I also admit that I have gotten on an elevator and not pushed the button at all and then mentally checked out.  Then the door opens again and I am still on the same floor, confused, and forced to pretend I intended to get off on that floor, which leads to all kinds of face saving complications, including walking up seven flights of stairs.

So the subject of the Kentucky Derby was floated in casual conversation.  I was paying attention at first, but by the time the second hand had swept all the way around my watch, I was already wondering about something else.  Elevator inspectors, I think.

The Kentucky Derby is a big deal in horse racing.  Some say it is the ‘Superbowl’ of horse racing, though Derby aficionados would be aghast at such a crass comparison.  As a side note, there is a big field in the middle of Churchill downs where a football game could be staged during Derby week in order to entertain people in when things are dull.  Just an idea.

The Derby has been described as ‘The Greatest Two Minutes in Sports’, which to me would seem a little presumptuous.  I would say that there are athletes in the last two minutes of a marathon, or the March Madness finals, or the last 120 seconds of round fifteen with Cassius Clay, that might take exception to that claim.

In fact, it might be all of the Kentucky Derby pretentiousness that puts me off.  Frankly, I’m not even sure it qualifies as a sport; it seems there is a lot more primping than competing.  I have no doubt that the jockeys are working hard, though not near as hard as the horses, and we know who is taking home the bigger payday in that pairing.   Not sure if the new minimum wage would solve that.  But I digress.

I have thought about other sports, from NASCAR to curling, and they all have their own rituals and celebrations.  They all have traditions, ceremony, and rigmarole, some more involved than others.  Truth be known, I don’t really identify much with those events either, in part because most sports require a span of attention slightly longer than the few seconds that mine has been limited to. 

But at the Kentucky Derby the spectacle is somehow elevated beyond the pale of the ordinary sport.  There are formal gowns and sophisticated drinks and elegant couture, and at some point, horses with flowers on them. It’s like some staged a prom and a horse race broke out.  It is designed to be more genteel, more regal, more refined.  These words have never been included in the same paragraph as my name.  The Kentucky Derby might just be too hoity-toity for a boy from the Midwest whose idea of a well spent afternoon is losing track of time.

At the heart of the Kentucky Derby pomp is the ladies’ hats.  Ornate, bright, and most important, big.  The style this year was to have a brim large enough to shelter a herd of thoroughbreds.  I am not sure if the horses wear hats too, although I believe that at one time they wore bowlers, which is where the Derby reference came from.   

The question was “Are you going to watch the Kentucky Derby?”  Deep in the recesses of my brain there was a funny remark, a combination of sarcasm and a little irreverence, all designed to express my indifference toward the presumptuous pageantry paraded in the premiere pony play-off.   Unfortunately they were embedded a little too deep in the recesses and I lost interest before they showed up on my tongue.      

I realize now, of course, that Lent ended a week ago; I just lost track of time, paying attention to a series of less important things in an ever-descending spiral down to the subject of weight limits on elevators.  So even if I had been alert enough to express myself, the response might have seemed at the very least irrelevant. 

Regardless, I am interested in improving my attention span, and expanding my cultural horizons, so I have decided to commit to watching the Kentucky Derby, the whole two minutes.  I will whip up a pitcher of mint juleps, put on my biggest hat, and as soon as I can figure out when it is running, I will warm up the TV and enjoy the spectacle with the best of the gentry.

Hope this finds you in the winner’s circle,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith