Blather

This post is a bit unusual because I'm doing this straight from the only functioning internet location without first drafting and subsequently editing my post.

The team left for the port today, so I took the opportunity to do some laundry. Wearing my last clean clothes, I scrounged a freight-damaged three-hole sink with no drains. I scrubbed the sand from it, then cut three bottoms from garbage-salvaged cereal containers and duct-taped the lids to the bottom of the sinks, making a nice, water-tight container. I used about 18 liters of water to wash, 12 to rinse and the third sink became my "wet clothes drain here" container.

Hand-washing socks, underwear, T-shirts, golf shirts, 511 pants and shirts took awhile. Rinsing was not so difficult. Then I had to use a clean cardboard box to hold my wet laundry while I nailed two nails behind the Wag Bag Shack and tied 550 cord to the Hesco walls for a clothesline.

I watched AlJazeera English TV's show on "Israel- the Promised Land?" for awhile, then checked my clothes. When I put them on the line, they were dripping; after a half hour, they were merely damp. I'm hoping they'll be dry soon, so I can put them away.

I noticed that some of the sand-colored stains hadn't come out in the wash. Iraq's sand is so fine, it's like powder. Powder so fine it won't come out with soap and water. Or maybe what my clothes need is better washing.

Thus my morning has involved trash, tape, laundry soap, hammer and nails and some chagrin at my less-than-perfect hand-washing skills.

Last night Gunny L asked if I wanted to go to the port today, so I said "Yes." Today we went in three vehicles- the BATS marines and a few terps, the Major, the Intel Captain and the CWO2. I helped carry the BATS equipment inside, then they set up. After a bit, the Major wanted to go see the Port Director and I asked if I could meet him, too. I think this was a bit of a surprise to the Major, but he graciously let me go along. We walked the 200 yards or so across the yard to his office. When we got there, Major Malik said his boss, the General, was out inspecting the Syrian gate but he would be happy to talk with us. We filled up his office with the five of us- Leo the terp, the Major, the two other officers and me. But we had a good visit. After a while, General Fouad came in and we went to his office, a much larger, more nicely furnished one. We visited for about an hour and I asked some questions. I didn't want to upstage anyone else, but the conversation went towards the proposed Free Trade Zone and the Syrians' lack of effort in making such an entity happen. It was a very good meeting. Then the Major wanted some alone time with him, so the two officers and I went to the lobby. We chatted a bit until the Major came out. We did the polite hand-shaking thing all around with the General and his Major, then we left.

Back in the admin building where the BATS were having a very slow day, we went to the break room and found some food. I ate a 28 gram MRE cracker with some peanut butter and drank a diet Pepsi. (Gotta watch those carbs.) The Major and I talked about a Free Trade Zone. I explained how a FTZ works- you physically have merchandise in a country without paying duty on it until you 1) import it or 2) re-export it, giving him some practical examples. He confirmed that the FTZ is supposed to go in the old Gannon location. I think that's an excellent choice for a location. I told him that physical security of the site is paramount. And given the local Customs' tendency towards corruption, security and accountability are extremely important.
I left the Major to see if my friend the Civil Customs guy was around. He wasn't, but his deputy was there, so Stephan and I chatted a long time with him and another customs guy. I wasn't trying to accomplish any specific task, but merely to get acquainted and compare Customs stories. We did that for well over an hour. I think it all went well. During our talk, we lost power twice- each time for only a few minutes, but this seemed so normal that no one got very excited.
Around three in the afternoon, the port was getting ready to close. Stephan and I went back to see how the BATS were doing- two of the three stations were packed up, and the one working one had two customers waiting. The processing took a few more minutes, then we geared up and left. The drive back was through the town of Husiabah, and I got some photos of houses and a couple of residents. (If I ever get back to blogging, I may put those photos up along with this text.)

When we returned, I helped the marines lug some ammo from the humvee to the armory. Then I changed clothes, putting on the gym shorts that SSGT R gave me. Yes, my T-shirt was still funky, but I wanted to do something active. I jogged one lap around the camp. Took me five minutes, since this isn't a very large camp. But I was all done by the time I finished one lap. I sat in the smoke pit and rested, chatting with a few marines and terps. After I'd rested, it was after five PM and time for chow.

Chow- crab legs and pork chops. I had hoped for steak, so I passed on the pork chops. The chow hall was packed, so I carried my tray back to our smoke pit and ate. A few of Iraq'a more tenacious flies kept me from eating too quickly- it's very difficult to eat and flap your hands at the flies. And they don't mind landing on your hand while you're doing the flapping, either. In my "can't we all just get along on this planet" mode, I put a piece of crabshell on the table so they could land on that and leave my tray alone, but they called a lot of their friends and did both, swarming the crabshell and landing on my plate. Stephan saw me trying to deal with the flies and said to either let them have my food or take my food inside to the MWR. I didn't want to be defeated by mere insects. I smashed a few of them with my boonie hat while I was eating, hoping that the dead flies would discourage the rest. But such was not to be. The pesky critters ate the dead flies as well as landing on my tray.

After eating, I took a shower. I stopped by the laundry to see if I had a chance of doing a wash. The laundry was deserted! I couldn't believe my luck, so I opened each washer and yes, there were no clothes in any of them. And the dryers were silent, too. This was too good to be true! I lifted the lever on the sink's faucet and there was no water. That explained the dearth of people doing laundry. So I puffed up my confidence and tried the shower. There was water and that was enough for me. I took my shower, shaved and brushed my teeth. Since I'd forgotten to bring pants, I put on my last pair of clean underwear and slipped the funky gym shorts on over. Yes, my personal standards of hygiene have slipped since I've been here. I'm not as fussy about what touches me as I used to be. I came back, checked the list of who was going out tomorrow and saw that my name was absent. This disappointed me because I had a good day at the port and would like to have another. But I can't change what's written there.

I saw the Major and asked how our internet was going. He said we had it. And the guy who fixed it was sleeping in Rick's bed. We needed the router's password from the CWO2 whose router we were using. The Major and I caught him in the COC and he said he'd give the password first to the POETT Marines (mainly the senior NCOs and the officers), then to the CBP and DHS guys, then to the BATS marines and lastly to the terps. If the router got too slow, he'd change the password and limit who could use the wireless. This disappointment seemed a bit arbitrary, but the router belongs to him personally, so asking him to make exceptions seems difficult. I went back to the MWR and saw that the other computers there were working fine. They were fine because they were all being used. I endured some bad TV hoping for some time on the internet, but no one got up.

I took myself outside and sat on the dusty, not-too-broken couch for a minute, looking up at the sky through the hole in the cammo netting and decided that I wanted to see the entire sky, so I walked across the dusty road and sat on the single humvee seat that someone left on the ground next to the storage container. I wanted a cigar, but I have only one left, and my chances of getting more in the next 11 days before the PX truck appears are slim.

Tonight was different, the moon was hiding and peeking out behind clouds. We saw lightening over Husaibah. The wooden sidewalk was wet. But the few raindrops might not have been measurable. As I sat in my humvee seat, I noticed that it was damp. I didn't get up because I didn't care if my butt got damp, I wanted to watch the sky awhile. I did.

The clouds hid the moon but the moon lit them up, shaping them like Africa. Or maybe like a big huge question mark whose irony went over my earthbound head. The moon's light lit up the clouds from behind, making white streaks across the sky. Only a few of the brighter stars were visible through the cloud cover, but they sure seemed bright. I waited for the mosque's singing, but I guess I was too late, so tonight, my Iraq was just about clouds and the moon and the stillness of the night.

As I sat in my damp humvee seat, two different people came out with the Iridium phone. I had an impulse to sign up for it myself, but that would have ended my gazing at the sky. The stillness wasn't quite complete, either. The generators, too loud for conversation when you're next to them, were pretty muffled by distance and the swahuts of the POETT. Though you could hear the generators faintly, the stillness was there. Some marines came and smoked cigarettes but I stayed where I was. The need to be near someone was not as strong as my desire to just look at the stars and let my mind think about other things, like going home for vacation. I wanted the peace to think. I'd had some good times with everyone already, so I didn't think I was being too much of a loner or a hermit. But, upon reflection, I think I was: the others did congregate for a smoke or a visit and I stayed by myself across the road in my damp humvee seat.
It's 23:30, later than I've stayed awake for a long time. Writing seems more than a compulsion, it's a way to get my thoughts straight and had its own intrinsic therapeutic value for me. Not sure why, but writing seems to compliment star-gazing.

Heute Abend ist was anderes gewesen. Ich betrachte einige Sterne durch das bewolktes Wetter. Auch die Monde ist halb-belichtete worden. Der Himmel scheint nicht ganz dunkel, als ob der von unten teilweise gelichtet ist.

Tonight, I saw one or two stars peeking from behind the clouds, high up where they don't have shape. Under the drooping canopy of the smoke pit, two marines were incandescently brilliant, to the point where details went away, and they looked like too-bright shadows, as they foot-patroled a humvee down the road. Under the canopy it was nearly black. Someone had the Iridium phone at the big chair because I could see a red glow from the handset. Light shown under the door to the terps' swahut. The humvee seat that someone had mounted on top of some four-by-fours was my perch. The cool water tasted surprisingly good, even though it had been in my thigh pocket for some time. I'd visited the piss tube, then strolled through the moon dust to this perch where I observed the sky's many shades, lighter along the horizon from the town of Husaibah up to the darker parts overhead. Just above my head was a textured mesh of another cammo net over the motor pool. From over the berm on my left, the mosque's singing went on. I think there were two mosques singing because sometimes the notes harmonized, sometimes not. This is my Iraq.

The picnic tables where we sit and smoke, and where I sometimes eat my dinner, a bit closer to the human waste garbage can container than seems tolerable, these tables remained quiet and dark, like wooden servants waiting to serve us whenever we want them. Behind them is the blue storage container that's next to the two small hescos which hold up some four-by-fours and the chin-up bar. During the day, this area is busy. Tonight the terps cooked some veggies on the barbecue. The left the eggplant, onion and tomatoes in the frying pan with a piece of flat bread, baked locally. I tore off a piece and scooped the veggie mix up. Very tasty, this simple food. I think we need to help the terps fix up a kitchen because the chow hall food, while sustaining life, is incomplete. But these are micro-political things that only tangentenally affect my Iraq.
My Iraq is about the texture of the night, dark and quiet, warm and alive with history. This is the place where civilization began. Sure, humans started in Africa, but only as intelligent apes. This is where the zero was invented, where Hamurabi's Code was law. What's here for Americans to think about? Well, once upon a time, this was the navel of the universe, a bit like Los Angeles today. One day, someone from a smugly superior culture may stumble along a dusty LA freeway and wonder how such a backward country gave us Elvis and Coke and cute, freckle-faced ideals of beauty.

Tomorrow we go to the port. I'll be in everyone else's Iraq for awhile. But my Iraq waits for me, patiently, inhaling light and exhaling metaphysical thoughts. It's not black-and-white, since some light remains but these times are mine alone. Maybe like when I was in the Army and had no children to think about, nor even aware of my mortality. So tonight, I'll go to sleep thinking of my children and what's left of my time on this orb. And tomorrow night, my Iraq waits for me, a bit misty, a lot dark, and with singing and dusty smells in the air.

I hope I can find some of this solitude when I leave my Iraq.

Stream-of-consciousness blather for now: I've been going to sleep for a couple of weeks, thinking of what my arrival in Fredericksburg would be like- setting up in the RV park, fixing dinner, etc. But the last couple of nights, I've been planning on how to leave Hayward before I get to Fredicksburg. The part about going down I-5 and over to Bakersfield, down to Tehachepi and down to I-10 then out to Texas remains unclear. The trip will take two days for sure, maybe three. But I still have to leave Hayward, and that's where this begins.

I've finished my contract. I left Baghdad on June 28th and arrived in California on June 29th. Suitable celebrations with Richie and Kimmie and the cats ensued. Maybe Pense and Schaffe came by for my visitation weekend. I rested and chatted with them and got ready for the Novato Fourth of July Parade with RMS. Did that, had fun, told lots of stories about Iraq. Now it's July 5th and I'm ready to begin the next phase of my life, traveling to Texas. Sure, if I find someplace I like before I get there, that's fine. But my plan is to drive to Fredericksburg, rent an RV spot for a month and see how the place wears on me. Here goes ...

I wake up on time July 5th. Oatmeal and Tetley's with Perry Mason at nine AM. Then I begin fixing my trailer. The first thing is the door, whose shade has disintegrated in 20+ years of sitting in the sun. I have to drill out the rivets holding the door together. I get the door disassembled, replace the shade and re-rivet the door together. But while the door's apart, I decide to laminate a layer of fabric-backed vinyl wall covering over the door to make it look nicer. That takes another day and a few extra $$$. Now I'm very satisfied with the door.
I get a sharp putty knife and remove the coving from the corners of the shower. I peel away the wall covering that was originally there and hit the walls with my pogo stick, sanding the crusty parts off. Going to TAP plastics, I talk about a primer before I laminate the walls with fiberglass and resin. I get some extra spreaders because I think the wet fiberglass will need to get squeegeed out before the resin sets. I talk to them about putting on vinyl wall covering over the fiberglass. But I think, since I can't get patterned fiberglass cloth, I'll go with just the tinted resin over plain white fiberglass cloth. I check Home Depot for more plastic coving to nail and glue in the corners before I start the fiberglass. Then I bondo any edges so the cloth will look very smooth in the corners. Applying the bondo and waiting to sand it smooth takes some time, but I get a good basis before I take a chance with the fiberglass cloth and tinted resin. And I remember to do the corners of the ceiling, too. While I'm doing the ceiling, I take out the light fixture because I want to replace the automotive light bulb with some new LED lights from AutoZone. I have to noodle a bit on how to modify what I've got to accommodate the to-the-rear-only LED lights. Once I figure that out, I may re-do all the light fixtures because LEDs are more energy efficient. Heck, I might re-do all of them just because I don't want old fixtures. Might take a ride to the RV store and see what they have for fixtures, too, while the bondo is curing.

With the one shower ceiling light fixture out, I finish the corners and the bondoing of the entire shower. Then I sand what needs sanding. Then I apply the fiberglass cloth and squeegee it out with the plastic spreaders. I even shape one plastic putty knife to fit the corners so I can get everything just right. I take down the shower holder so I can do that part of the wall, too. And the bifolding shower curtain comes down so I can take it outside and scrub it well. I contemplate replacing it with a normal shower curtain. This remains to be seen. Yes, I make a much bigger job of re-doing the walls than the walls required. But I have a pretty good shower afterwards and this might be my main shower for an indeterminate future. I thought the shower would take me three days, but it's more like a week.

Then I start on the curtains. Kimmie helps, and we plan to get them done in about four days. Some of the curtain hardware we recycle. Some we can't. I decide to go with an off-the-shelf curtain for the kitchen window because it's small and nothing gets damaged if it flops a bit on the bottom. Then I go with a shade instead. That gives us more sliding things to sew onto the curtains where they slide in a curved track. The bathroom shade gets replaced as well. The curtains involve issues that I didn't anticipate, but we get them done in a week.
I reinforce the cabinet under the microwave and attache my toaster oven to the top of the microwave. I noodle if I want a toaster so I can have bagels, etc. and decide to use either the comal on top of the stove or the toaster oven if I have shore power. I don't like the contrast between the black toaster oven and the white microwave, so at the last minute, a trip to Home Depot gives me a can of white stove paint that I use after I disassemble the toaster oven. This is the same toaster oven we had when Richie lived in our first apartment in San Leandro. Yes, Bonnie was there, too. I'm not sure why I want this old toaster oven. I was pretty secure in my marriage then and maybe this toaster oven is a tangible memory of those good times. I think I'll keep it, white over black over rusty chrome. I won't touch the inside, apart from some scrubbing, because I don't want to flavor my bagels with burned paint.

The toaster oven took another couple of days, and I'm running out of July. What's left? The shower's fine, the curtains are done. The door is good. The toaster oven's fine. Oh, my bed. Sure, I look around for a mattress like I had in Dubai. Boy, that was a very comfy foam mattress. I noodle over spending some $120 or so at Ikea on a Swedish foam mattress. I take Richie and Kimmie and we go there. I ask to lay the mattress on the floor so I can see how it feels without springs. I like it. And I'm flush enough to decide to pop for the extra retail price instead of the craigslist price. I bring the mattress home and make another cardboard template. I cut the corner off and save the piece for later. I use the template to trim some fitted sheets so I can have fitted sheets. Kimmie helps me with the stretchy stuff around the trimmed part of the two fitted sheets. One for putting on, the other for when I want to wash the dirty one. I suppose I could get by with only one sheet, but the hausfrau in me wants two. And one is flannel, so when it's cold, my tush won't get chilly. The extra piece I make into a sheet-covered pillow, for the corner up by the headboard. That makes my bed very nest-like, roundy at the foot, and with a roundy pillow at the head. Then I put some extra pillows there, including that one long Thai pillow and maybe a small triangle-shaped Thai pillow. If I decide there are too many pillows, I can stuff some in the closet or put them on the couch in the front room.

The bed's done. And I've got four storage tubs for stuff- Rennie gear, Dickens gear and Cowboy Action Shooting gear. Do I really need to take my Rennie stuff to Texas? I decide to do so, since I'm not sure when I'll be back. Maybe I'll stay in the RV park for a few months. And I take an empty tub, since I don't have anything to put in him. The shelves in my closet hold my clothes, as many as I want to take. I'll take one suit and two dress shirts and a pair of nice shoes. I'll put my black steel-toed work boots in there, along with my cowboy boots. At the last minute, I put in my roller skates, too. I might go roller skating on a family night, just for fun. I take my tennies and my crocs for sentimental reasons. And a pair of Iraq boots. I can't make up my mind whether to take the steel-toed Marine Corps boots or the softer 511s. So my shelves have a mix of tan 511 pants and blue BDUs. I've got some tan 511 shirts and some light and dark Customs shirts without the patches. And a ample collection of T-shirts. I try to find a way to hang my Morion and cowboy hat and Rennie hat on the walls so I don't have to use a storage tub for them. I get fussy- sure a nail would do, but I don't want to look tacky. I want something nice.
I get Richie to help me run some cable from the access hatch near the door to both just inside the door where I want my TV and the back, where I want the other TV. Ditto some ethernet connections so I can have a laptop on the couch and/or a desktop on my desk in the bedroom. And I try to use the two drawers that Riche took out from the family room because 1) I like to re-use resources and 2) I like to have something from my house in my trailer. Along that line, I also talk to Richie about having a 110VAC light in the trailer, the switch to which goes in the wall with my pewter light switch cover just inside the door. Oh, it's good to have a second switch maybe in the back, but I want to have my pewter light switch cover in my trailer, too. And I leave the 12V light under the desk, since there's a hatch to the outside there. But I also want another 12V cigarette lighter outlet (or two) there.

Then Richie and I look for a 12V TV, just in case I'm where 110VAC isn't available. We also take a ride to the RV store and talk about a second (and third) deep-cycle battery so I can get some 12V fans in case the power fails on my 110VAC air conditioner. Lots of technical dealings with vendors. Richie and I come up with solutions that please me. I spend a few $$$, but I'm happy with what I get.

Whew! I didn't know I had so many loose ends to tie up before I was satisfied. But now it seems Last Resort is ready. I do one more thing- I phone Lee's Tires and ask Lester if he can do some checks on the tires. We work something out. Now I change the oil in my truck and get Lester to check my spare. Richie and I take a ride to the wreckers and see if I can find one rim that matches my truck's aluminum ones because the spare is the stock tire and is a bit smaller than the ones on the four rims. We find one and get Lester to put one of my old 30" tires on it, with a tube inside. This is a spare I can trust.

I'll need to make a spare tire mount for the trailer, too. I got the trailer with a loose spare tire on a pallet. And I want to make a custom spare tire cover for him, maybe from a Toyota van. And I'll need to paint "Last Resort" on him. While I'm doing that, may as well make a bicycle carrier for my Rotterdam bike. Though if Kimmie expresses a wish to keep it, I may let that bike stay in Hayward and take my too-tall mountain bike, though I gotta get him a third sprocket and some new tires. Decisions, decisions!

One evening, we take a ride to Best Buy and see about a different radio for my truck as well as a connector for the CD player I got from Bonnie that I'd like to put in Last Resort. I don't like what I see, so I'll keep the cassette player for the truck.

Richie and I make a tool kit for the road. I decide to take my Honda, so the ramps go too. That leaves less space in the bed for tools. But I squeeze in the generator and MIG welder and air compressor. My 3/4" drive set goes, and so does a pretty good set of 1/2" and 3/8" sockets, my hammers and screwdrivers, etc. I have a couple of footlockers from Iraq, so I use them for tools. A lot of my tools stay back with Richie, but I don't mind because he's good with them. I probably would get by with a pair of pliers and a screwdriver, but I like tools, so I take more. Painting tools? No. Plumbing? Well, maybe a bit of teflon tape and a small pipe wrench. Woodworking tools? My Japanese saw and some sandpaper. Gardening? Nope.

I think I'm done with mechanical preparations. One last item is my small six-pack cooler that goes in the front seat with me. But I think I'm done except for food.

Richie and I put some steaks in plastic bags and put 'em in my freezer. Ditto some hamburgers and chicken pieces. Before I let them get hard-frozen, I put some sauce in the bags so when I thaw them out, they'll have a bit of flavor. If I decide to barbecue, that's fine and if I decide to pan-fry them, the flavor will be good there, too. I have some ice trays (from ancient history, methinks) and I know my one Aussie ice tray is there. I put a case of Richiebrau under the sink and an extra six in the door of the fridge. Kimmie helps me pack some few veggies, including a quart of tomatoes from my backyard, in the bottom of the fridge, along with a bit of farmer's market goodies- an eggplant, some onions, etc. The fridge gets full and is happy. I put my aluminum ladder in the bed of the truck along with the home-made hibachi (from the old stove) and some charcoal briquets in a couple of one-gallon paint cans.

One afternoon, we check everything- the trailer's fine, the truck's fine, the motorcycle's secure in back, and so are the tools. I wash the truck carefully, trying not to wet the stuff in back. I clean the insides of the windows, too. Then I wash Last Resort, too. I coil the 110VAC extension cord and the sewer drain hose. I put in the locking wheel chocks. I double check everything. Then Richie and Kimmie and I have dinner. In the morning, I'm off.

Dinner is good. Richie makes his usual terrific dinner. Kimmie talks more than usual. The cats sense something's up, but are nice anyway. I get to talk to Sam a bit. Of course, he doesn't understand me, nor even come close to grasping why I bother talking to him. But I get the usual stare from him and that suffices. I can't sleep because tomorrow's the day. Can I stall and stay home one more day? Sure. But I've stalled plenty. Tomorrow's the day to begin. With a full stomach, we sit and talk.

Richie's concerned that I'll be too tired if I drive beyond Bakersfield, but trying to get to Arizona might be possible. Me, I don't know where I'll go. I'll try for Bakersfield but since I won't be driving fast, I may stop sooner. For sure, I'll stop at Kettleman City for diesel and burgers and I'll see if I can stay within my former 17-minute pit stop routine. Used to take me 17 minutes from leaving I-5 till I got back on I-5. 'Tis but a small item. If my stop takes 20 minutes or 30 or more, it's all right. Not much to look at till well beyond Kettleman City. Should I try for a more scenic route? Go on Yahoo maps and see if I can head east from Bakersfield along some small roads till I get to Nevada? Or should I stay on the interstate and see what amenities await the frugal RVer? I am confident that I can stop in a Walmart parking lot for one night, maybe near the California-Arizona border. Then I could drive across Arizona and New Mexico, maybe a bit beyond El Paso the next day, and arrive in Fredericksburg on the afternoon of the third day. I wouldn't be too tired from driving, and I could even see how my trailer handles in an RV park. When I stop at a Walmart parking lot, I could have dinner and breakfast there, then do a fuel and food pit stop somewhere along the way.

This storyline would be better if I were online and could plan out my driving. Is there a decent Walmart east of Bakersfield? What's the scoop with the road along Arizona and New Mexico? Would I like to stop in New Mexico for a day or two, just to see what it's like? Richie said he didn't like it. Maybe I'll fuel up in Arizona and just motor on through New Mexico, below the speed limit. From El Paso, I recall a lot of miles until Kerrville. I may stop in Kerrville and see what their RV park is like. After all, it's just 26 miles to Fredericksburg and I can do that on the Honda or even in my truck. And I may find some property in Kerrville to look at before I go to Fbg. Too many possibilities here. But I have been focusing on my arrival in Fbg- the set-up, the cooking dinner, the walking to the grocery store, etc. Maybe if it's not too late, I can stretch a bit and take those last 26 miles to Fbg.

Today General Petreus paid us a visit at the Port of Husaibah. The early group left at 0600 to begin patrolling theport with a K-9. The second group left at 0800 to stand guard and watch for unusual events that could threaten him.I was in Tower 1 with a Marine SSGT and a SAW-equipped marine from another company. We had radios and binoculars. I was in the meeting where the radios got handed out, so I took ours. But the first opportunity I had, I gave the radio to the SSGT along with our area of responsibility. The other marine's job was to look outside the port's perimeter and ours was to watch the interior. The conversation was good, but the ballistic vest and 195 rounds of ammo were hurting my back before I got up the tower. Fortunately, I remembered Richie's advice to take ibuprofen before the pain, so the weight was bearable. All in all, I'd rather not have stood for 160 minutes in the hot sun with the really heavy stuff on my shoulders. SSGT Hale told me that the plates were 18 pounds apiece, plus the two side plates were each half as heavy. That makes for 54 pounds of plates, plus the normal ballistic vest's weight. Add 150 rounds of .223 and 45 rounds of 9mm to the weight of the M-4 and M-9 and I think I was carrying a lot of weight on my skinny, old and decrepit back. I found that I could put the lens of my binoculars against the camera's lens and get a decent telephoto. Not sure why, but this seems to work. I have a good shot of a sign saying "Welcome to Syria." And a short video clip of panning from right to left of the Syrian Port of Albu Kamal. At least that's what I think the Syrian border town is called. There are lots of things wrong with the layout of both ports, but this is what the place looks like. The Iraqi Port of Husaibah is too large to get from where I stood, but I got a good shot of the three buildings that we call the Syrian gate. There are two lanes between the three small buildings, one for incoming, the other for outgoing. From the tower, I couldn't see much of what happens in the primary processing and outgoing processing areas. No one asked me, but I think we'd have had better success with standing on the ground instead of in the tower. However, that might have put us in a more vulnerable position. Not my call, so I'll let that drop for now.

I got bumped from the ride back by the K-9, so I stayed at the port all day with the BATS marines. After taking off my heavy vest, I ate two small plastic containers of fruit cocktail, spilling some on myself each time I opened the peel-off lid. You'd think I'd have learned how to open food containers, but this was under some pressure. Tasted very good, though, since I skipped brekkie because I didn't want to overload my stomach while standing in the tower. Then I found some MRE crackers with only 28 grams of carbs, so I ate those, too. Later on, I found an MRE plastic envelope with peanut butter, and that went down my gullet as well.

I came out of the break room and watched the BATS marines a bit. I don't quite understand their processing, but I have the drift- they do fingerprint and retinal scans of travelers. There's a similar group for the Iraqis called PISCES. Then I went to say hello to the Civil customs guy. He welcomed me and got a couple of Iraqi folks who could speak a bit of English. This was a good session, maybe because I didn't bring one of my own interpreters. This was purely a social visit. He showed me how to write his nickname in Arabic- Abu Hamid. Hamid is his son's name, so he is called "Father of Hamid." I told him my son's name is Richie, and he helped me write "Abu Richie" in Arabic. All in all, it was a good visit. I stayed about an hour, then went back to the BATS area. As we were getting ready to leave, I went back to say good-bye, but he was gone. Because it's Ramadan, I think a lot of people spend a lot of the day sleeping, in order to make the fasting easier.

We came back around 1600. I helped unload the gunner's weapons and the ammo. Then I helped carry the big cooler back to the MWR and went to sit on my bed. I fell asleep, very soundly. Someone knocked on our door and said we had a debrief at 1700, in about 30 seconds, so I jumped up and ran in. The Major told us everything went well. Some issues include a Free Trade Zone, security, etc. One surprise was the General's suggestion that we host a dinner here for our counterparts. Not sure how that will play out, but I like the notion of having Abu Hamid and maybe one of his lieutenants visit. The security of the base is always an issue. The Port Director, General Faoud, said when Ramadan is over, he might host something for us, too. Again, security will be a consideration. In my own small way, I'd like to get better acquainted with the civil customs, since that's my background, but I'll go with the flow in any decisions regarding group meals and social events.

After the meeting, I grabbed some food from the chow hall. The guys who were here for lunch raved about the spaghetti and meatballs and the four desserts. Those of us who didn't have lunch also didn't have leftovers for dinner- I had a cheeseburger with no bun and a sausage with some canned beans. But I did manage to get a small piece of chocolate cake that was quite tasty. I washed it down with a liter of water and some no-sugar Tang plus a box of grapefruit juice. After dinner, I went to Spawar, the internet cafe, and did some emails, writing to Richie about his Happytown Express email. We seem to have enough money for now, and about $6K extra, woo hooo! Richie noted that I seem to be existential in my recent emails. Maybe he's right.
With finances in good shape, I strolled back to the POETT in the almost-dark, got a small cigar from my hooch and went out to the smoke pit. The Doc was there, Gunny L from Hawaii was there, and we chatted. They left and Rex the Iraqi terp came along. I told him I liked this time of night, when "hwai nejoom" hapens- that's bad Iraqi for "a lot of stars." He is an older guy, 60 I think. He seems a lot more decrepit than I am, but maybe he just knows when to stop pushing himself. He told me a couple of ways to say good-bye at the port. We chatted a bit about Iraq and its future. I told him I think Iraq could skip the electricity infrastructure thing and go straight to photo-voltaic for every house. Still have the water, sewer and transportation infrastructures to worry about, but electricity could be resolved.

I finished my cigar after Rex left and went into the MWR to see what was happening there. The BATS marines were playing their nightly Texas Hold 'Em game with packets of Nutri-Sweet and someone put on a horror movie, "Cult," about the curse of an amulet that was caused when a medieval Japanese girl got pregnant and her father killed her. Fast forward to today, and some college kids are taking a liberal-arts class from a knock-out English woman and ...I left because I didn't want to see how college kids deal with cults and curses and people stabbing each other with big ceremonial knives. Better to type this than to lower my IQ with that drivel. But that's a subjective opinion, isn't it?

Seems sufficient for now. G'night dear reader.

Gannon 09012008

Today began early- Wake up at 0530 for an 0600 meeting, then 0700 depart for the port. Got there, drove around a bit, then we got out of the Humvees and walked the port. We went up to the exit gate and I watched the Iraqis process arriving people. The pat-downs were cursory at best. But the hardest part for me was standing around in IBA. No matter what I did, I hurt. Well, my back hurt. After a bit we climbed into a lookout tower where I tried to rest my elbows on the edge. But the effort of lifting my elbows up to almost chest level put a kink in my back so I stopped that. We walked back and watched more passengers get processed. By then, I was just a bundle of pain in my back. We walked around and watched the pedestrians go through the luggage check, then went over to the admin building where I could drop the IBA. I watched the marines do their BATS thing, then I asked one of our terps to help me find the civilian customs guy. He did. I got a captain to go with me so I wouldn't be alone. The two of us had a good conversation with the customs guy. I asked commodities and volume of cargo. Since there are no commercial trucks through here, he didn't have a lot to tell me about commercial ops.
When we got back, we had a good de-brief and I mentioned what I saw that was not good- after the men are patted down, they comingle with the women on the way to the luggage x-ray and female exam. I pointed out that this was very bad- whatever contraband people may have, the could begin by letting the woman carry it, then while they are comingled along the wall to the baggage check/female pat-down, she could slip the contraband to him because he's done being patted down. Additionally, once in the female pat-down and baggage X-ray building, there seem to be zero female pat downs because there is no female available. And to make things even worse, people put their luggage into the machine, but the females uniformly kept their purses and small plastic bags with them, so something the size of a football didn't get x-rayed. I told our Major that this seemed impossible to me. Additionally, the Iraqi customs guy at the X-ray machine was working alone, a bad situation. He needs a partner, a back-up. If he told the ladies to put their bags through the X-ray machine, he'd have no one to back him up if they got angry.
Now for some observations of my own. I was exhausted after carrying the IBA with ammo and rifle all morning. My back hurts. I will sleep well tonight.

For moi: Been seeing myself at the Fbg RV park. Here's what I see, and maybe I'll put in some caveats afterwards. I pull in to the RV park, get my trailer sited. I hook up the water, sewer, internet and electricity. Then I pull open the awning and set out my small table and a camp chair. I pull out my ladder and attach my hibachi to it. One or two match-light coals and a handful of regular charcoal on top. I go inside and take out a steak from the marinating fridge. I peel an ear of corn and pick the cornsilk off. I put some butter and salt and pepper and Mrs. Dash's on and wrap the whole thing in aluminum foil. I get a Richiebrau beer from the fridge and open it. The TV says it's evening news time. At the commercial, I glance at the coals- it's time to cook. I carry the corn and steak outside and put them on the hibachi. Quickly I go back inside and make a salad- lettuce and tomatoes and some vinegar and oil. I go outside, flip the steak and roll the corn. I go back inside and get a plate and silverware. A few more minutes and it's time to eat. The steak goes from the grill to my plate, so does the corn. I spray some water on the coals to save them for another time. Inside again, I sit and eat- steak nice and rare, corn, salad and the rest of my Richiebrau. TV is good, but I'm glad I have a plipper. The tasty steak warms my stomach. The corn is sweet and salty at the same time, improved by the goodness of the butter. Even the salad is refreshing because it's crisp and the tomatoes are tangy. And the Richiebrau is still good.

I finish eating and take my dish to the sink. Washing one dish and a few pieces of silverware takes no time. Then I go outside and get the grill from the hibachi. That takes a bit longer, but still goes quickly. I re-use the tinfoil from the corn to store the left-over charcoal for another time. The few ashes go into my trash bag. I walk the trash to the RV park's trash can. The empty beer bottle goes into the cardboard case because one day, Richie will refill that bottle and I'll have more Richiebrau. Yes, even though I set up my small table outside, I chose to eat inside because I could watch TV better. Maybe I'll need a trip to the bathroom. That's fine because my bathroom works very well.

I relax a bit more with the TV. But it's now almost completely dark so I take another Richiebrau and a cigar and go outside. I do a bad thing- I put my feet up on the steps from the camp chair while I smoke my cigar and I use the table to park the Richiebrau. From there, I can hear the TV but I pretty much tune it out. I can't see the stars from in front of the door, so I get up and move my chair to the area between the trailer and my truck. I drop the tailgate and put my feet up on the trailer and lean back to blow cigar smoke up in the air. I feel warm air around me. I see stars come out, some brighter, some fainter. the sky's the same gunmetal blue-black as in Iraq, but the world around me is very different. How can that be? The same stars rendering me an insignificant speck in the universe but the world is so different. My surroundings are paved, not dusty. The air is warm in both worlds. But the air smells different. And I am different. In Iraq, I was grungy and sweaty. Here' I'm clean, thanks to the shower I carry with me. In Iraq, I could hear the faint call of the mosque at this time of the evening. Here I hear the TV faintly. But there's more. In Iraq I carried a gun everywhere. Here, I *could* carry a gun, but usually don't. And though there were, I believed, many people with AK-47s in Iraq who'd have loved to shoot me, none did. Here I can't tell who might want to mug me but neither situation bothers/bothered me much.

My mind drifts along such confusing and contradictory paths. Maybe I shouldn't try to compare the two. But with a cigar in my hand and a beer next to me, my mind goes where it wants, not where other people might think was typical.

Here's where my fantasies diverge. One way is that I meet a nice female about now- not a child anymore, but with grown children of her own. I see her, ask if she'd like to sit with me a spell, and we talk. I give her the choice of a Richiebrau or a glass of wine because I have both in my fridge. I turn on the radio inside and we don't quite listen to the music while we talk. Down this path are companionship and romance. Nice to think about but embarassing to write about just yet. Embarassing because it seems presumptuous to declare myself so attractive that nice women would chat me and romance me.

The other fantasy path is where I finish my cigar and beer, check to make sure the truck is locked and go inside and fix my bed. Yes, it's my bed. I built it so it's "mine." I put on my sleeping shorts and slip into my Sylvester slippers. Make that "Sylvester Slyppers." I watch the small TV in the bedroom and when the shows get a bit boring, I brush my teeth. Then I come back to bed and floss while I watch TV. Now I become downright decadent. While in my nice, clean bed with nice, clean sheets and my teeth brushed nicely and flossed even more nicely, I pull out my laptop and surf the net while I watch cable TV. If I wait a bit, maybe Australia will be waking up. Or I might find Michigan online just about now. Heck, maybe I'll catch my son in California and we'll chat because he and I get along so well. So my day will wind up with a good meal in me, a philosophical cigar behind me, and some emotional support from friends and family online. I'll set my alarm, but pretty late, like nine in the morning, so if I wake up earlier, I can convince myself that I'm ever-so-diligent about my schedule.

During the night, the toilet is just a few steps away. And I don't need shower shoes to hike 50 yards to the toilet.

In the morning, I'll fix some standard brekkie- oatmeal with Tetley's tea. Then I'll be a nervous nellie about security and lock the trailer as I drive off to meet my realtor. We'll sit down and talk about what's available and where the homes are and what they'll cost and how I can apply for a mortgage, yadda yadda. We'll drive out to look at houses. (I'll offer to drive so I can learn the area while she co-pilots.) I've brought my camera and a notebook. No, I've brought my laptop. I can upload the pix into the laptop and save each one as a separate page. Later, I'll review each. Aw, maybe I'll just take the hand-written notes and the pix. I'll look for what I want- a place to park my trailer, a place to have a garden and a shop, and maybe a place to build another home out of containers. Lots of variables, but I'm in no hurry. For the moment, I'm living in the RV park. Worst case scenario, I decide that nothing suits me, so I hook up my trailer and keep driving. But I'm also hoping to find a place where Richie and Kimmie could be happy. Maybe Texas isn't that place. But maybe Texas is that place for me. This will be a tough choice because I like living with them. It might take some courage to live alone.

And that takes us back to the caveats above. Living in Texas could be nice. But Richie and Kimmie might decide not to live with me because they don't like Texas. Ah, maybe if they come with me, they might decide it's not so bad. We'll have to see.

Boy, this is one thin-skinned fantasy, no?

Ah, the last day of August. As I walked to chow through the moon dust, I wondered at what has happened to me in the last, um, 72 days. (Ten in June, 31 each in July and August. At first, it seemed like I was back in the Army. In a way, Fort Benning was, indeed, the Army. But things were different. Then the flight to Bangor, Leipzig and Ali Al-Saleem. Work of the physical variety, living in less-than-normal conditions, and further downgrades in my standard of living.
The last couple of days, I've been realizing that my trailer isn't such a bad place to live. Sure, when I was in California, it was a disincentive to sleep there because I didn't have cable TV and stinging hot water in the shower. My bed was much larger in the house than in the trailer. But I guess the biggest downside was (and I just now realized this) that I was further away from my family, Richie and Kimmie. Sure, if they went upstairs to be alone, that was one thing. (And I gotta point out that they seemed exceedingly discreet about their personal life.) But being in the trailer seemed like I was further away from them, more isolated than if I were in the family room and they were upstairs. The extra 30 feet or so seemed to make a big difference. I was no longer in the house, I was in my trailer. And being in the trailer was a solitary place to be. Solitude slipped emotionally into loneliness. Thus merely being in my trailer,while I was doing something to the shower or bed was fine, because I wasn't being alone in the trailer, merely being inside the trailer to accomplish some task. But sleeping in the trailer meant being apart from those inside the house. And choosing solitude seemed frightening. The sensation reminds me of when I was contemplating divorce after three and a half decades of being married. I didn't want to be alone.

And that takes me to the recent Fantasy Thing- moving to Texas. If I go alone, I'll be alone. Sure, I believe Richie and Kimmie will help me make the move and even stay awhile with me. But I'll be alone eventually. Though there are plenty of people around me in Iraq, in the emotional sense, I'm alone. Each of us here is alone, though we're all part of a team. We work together but the camaraderie has limits. When I go to Texas, I think I'll be alone.

Now if I stay in Hayward with Richie and Kimmie, I still want to take off for the occasional trip somewhere. If they work, they won't be able to go with me. But I still want to take off and see Texas and Montreal and North Dakota (again) and maybe Mondovi and points in between. I'll be alone during these travels but I'll still have a home. Maybe this is the point I missed when I didn't sleep in my trailer much before I left- having a home isn't about where you sleep, it's about having people who care for you. And as long as Richie and Kimmie care about me, that's my home. In their constrained and constricted way, I think Pense and Schaffe care about me, but they have trouble demonstrating that because Bonnie controls their external behavior so much. They are required to love her and any affection towards me is a visible detraction of their love for her. (Moi doesn't think that's real love, but it passes for love among those three.)
This shouldn't be a roastof Bonnie's maternal control, this is about me and my thoughts about being alone.

Lately, I've learned that being alone isn't bad. As long as you have something to do, you're all right. Tomorrow may be a patrol, so I may find myself at the port. That'll occupy a lot of my day. Breakfast, a patrol to the port, dinner, a visit to the internet cafe and a cigar at dusk. These things seem simple, yet they make a day full. I have a few of those left before I get to be home for good.

I brought my laptop out to the camo net because I'm tired of hanging out in the swahut with nothing to do. At least I get to see daylight from here. Occasionally someone will ask if I have wireless. I don't. This is just a place for me to type. Right now the sun's out, there's a small breeze, the dust is minimal and it's very quiet. About 100 feet away is the berm that separates us from the town of Husaibah. I can't see the town, but in the evening I can hear the mosque faintly. It seems sad that I'm in a country but I can't see much of it.

Back to solitude and loneliness. In the Texas Fantasy, I mentioned that I might accept Schaffe and Pense and even Bonnie as dependents when I'm settled in. That seems odd to me because of the history of antipathy that Bonnie and I have. She knows how to annoy me and seems to have no reluctance in doing so. I just want to be happy, in my limited way. I can't really live in my house because it's not mine- it's the bank's. And I can't work another 27 years to satisfy the bank, so I'll have to leave. Unless Richie and Kimmie want to make it their home, too, then it might be home to the three of us. If that happens, I'd be happy right where I am- and I might even live in my trailer in the driveway, so the three of them could have two bedrooms. Bonnie will always have about $1500 per month from my retirement, and that might be enough for room rent for two rooms. If I took all her money, she'd just ask me for food and gas and McDonald's money. Maybe if I charge her $1200/month for two rooms, that would leave her with a bit of her own money. And I'd be in my trailer when I want to be. Not sure how she'd manage with me do close. She might feel threatened. No, I'm sure she'd be threatened- her values, her lifestyle would look bad in comparison to mine. Her two younger children would see that her decisions and values have been foolish. And she couldn't handle that. She needs to be right all the time. Not just "mostly right," but all the time. And from time to time, I might disappear down the driveway for a week or three. Texas? Sure. Maybe just out to Modesto or Angel's Camp for a long weekend. I could take a guest or two, since the couch up front makes into a bed. Heck, there's even room under the shelf in my bedroom for a camping pad. Not as comfortable as living in a house, but it would be up to me when and if I decide to visit somewhere.

Bay Area Backroads sounds like a good plan. With 40 gallons of water and a charged battery, I could be self-sufficient for about a week. And if I stay at a camp-ground, even longer.
Blithering all the time. I have a mind like a drop of water on a frying pan- it skitters around scarecely touching the important parts.

Well, back to the swahut. I'll charge my laptop and see about a walk to the internet cafe.

Gannon, 08222008 (Stream-of Consciousness Alert!)

Some people went to Al-Qaim today. I watched more Olympics. Around noon, I nuked a small pizza. Plenty of carbs for me. I wonder if my nutrition will suffer from being here- the food is mainly sugars and carbs. Tons of breakfast cereal next to a freezer of individual pizzas. The fridge has full-strength Gatorade, Cokes and fruit juices loaded with corn syrup. A huge box of candy is there, in case the above aren't tasty enough. Bread and bagels are above the freezers. I saw some frozen veggies, so I may go with that. Kinda tasteless, but better than nothing. The chow hall has apples. Not wonderful apples, but adequate. I ignore the brown spots in the apples and they don't taste funny. The new gunny asked me if I'd act as a driver for them on Sunday on a road trip to Al-Qaim. I told him "Sure!" I'm looking forward to doing something useful. Playing hearts and watching the Olympics has a limit. So I may drive a Hummvee in two days. Today after the 0800 meeting, we went under the camo canopy and stood around for a bit, waiting for an awards ceremony. I took some pictures and later on, offered them to the logistics SSG. He said when his computer is ready, he'll use them. The old Doc gave me a sling so I don't have to carry my rifle in my hand when I'm not wearing IBA. Curiously, the Marines refer to this as "the flak jacket" for reasons I haven't yet discovered. Maybe it's the sound that's more attractive. Or three stressed syllables are less conducive to communication than two. The old Doc fixed some Top Ramen with a bit of sausages and some frozen mixed veggies. Very tasty. He's a good guy, works hard and will go back to Corpus Christy and look for a GS-12 job after this deployment. He wants to be the purchasing logistics guy for the hospital. He got an award from this detachment, and that can't hurt his chances of getting hired in Texas.

I may go do a laundry tonight after I take a shower. I'm running out of clothes. I have enough for one more day, then I'll have to run around without underwear, though I can still have clean socks for a couple more days. Maybe I'll ask Richie to send me some of mine from home. I'm afraid if I do, he'll send me a gazillion, and all I really want is one or two. This afternoon, I went over to the internet cafe and replied to Johnny's email. He's working at the airport in Basrah. Good on him. I told him that if he liked boredom, he could come here. Being here is difficult enough; being useless just puts a worse spin on the difficulty. I told Johnny about my mantra, "Four twenty four."

Maybe chow was a good thing. Gotta keep a psychic eye open for cycles in one's life- things were pretty depressing this afternoon. At evening chow, I ran into Ernie, the other DynCorp contractor, and his friend Vince. The Major from their group, Jeff Daniels, sat with us for chow. A good meal. Rice, something my stomach likes, and barbecue-flavored pork chops with a large dollop of boiled peas. I had a diet Sprite and a small can of mixed fruit. I probably ate more carbs than I needed, but the meal was good. The company was good. I helped Ernie stuff garbage into bags and carry it to a trailer in their area. Ernie said that he gets along great with his group. I told him that my old group's collective mind was somewhere else and the new group was not yet certain of their pattern. Two more days and the old group will be gone.

I suspect I'll be among those going to the port on their first actual mission. The Gunny who'd asked if I could drive said that I won't be going to Al-Qaim on Sunday to drop off the old group. Pity. I was sorta looking forward to doing something, even just sweating in a Hummvee for an hour each way. Tonight, after chow and a wag-bag session, I sat in the MWR and watched a pirated version of "Mr. Woodcock" with some other guys. You could tell the movie was pirated because the picture wasn't great and because you frequently saw people standing up and moving across the screen as they left their seats, walking around. KK, 'nuff blither.

I think I'll read the third of three separate paperbacks I have to read. Seems like this group is more into movies and Olympics than real reading. John Lescroart's "The Suspect" still has a good inch and a quarter to go. When I'm done with this, I'll swap it with something Ernie has. Gannon 08292008Gee, has it been a week already since my last post? Time flies when you're bored out of your gourd. Maybe I can work my way backwards and see what's been happening. As of 1600 today, I repaired the striker on the door to our swahut. (Not sure of the spelling, but that's what we call these big ol' plywood tents that we live in. Mine has eight "rooms." Each is about seven feet by five or six feet. Just big enough for a bunk bed and a footlocker. Of course, we all customized our areas with cubbies or shelves. I took a few pix so look in Gannon08292008 for them. I'm sneezing because I have a cold. Started out as a sore throat about three or four days ago. The Doc gave me some Cepacol lozenges that work, but only while I have on in my mouth. KK, back to the door- it had a huge gap at the striker. I couldn't figure out why there was so much gap because the striker looked pretty tight towards the stop. Turns out, it was too tight. The latch wasn't going into the hole in the striker, it was backing out and catching on the trim piece outside. So I took off the striker and marked the correct location with a pen (no pencil here). Then I used my handy-dandy, all-purpose home-made knife to whittle away the offending wood. Took a bit, but I got it right the first time. Now it's snug at the bottom, but still has a bit of a gap at the top because the wall has a noticeable warp in it.

Today I also did my TLS for DynCorp. Ernie from the BTT next door said he saw someone had done it all for him, except today. So I added one day, clicked "save," and then submitted it. Hopefully DynCorp will get it right and pay me. Last night I sent out the SitRep for DynCorp, emailing it to the Major, who will forward it to DynCorp if he finds no OpSec violative stuff. I think it's sanitary. No names, no dates, no identifiable details- "Did some good stuff somewhere with some folks sometime." Well, maybe just a wee bit more detail than that. But not much. Oh, this morning I repaired the broom that I broke. If I had a real drill index, I'd drill out the broom handle and reinforce the whittled part with a bit of steel. But I don't, so I can't, and I don't think the broom will last very long. Two of our terps are going to Tripole. One seems OK with going, the other wants to stay. Moving them seems a surprise. No one likes surprises. Been eating brekkie- yesterday 'twas powdered eggs with frozen sausages and french toast that I skipped because of the carbs. and today 'twas powdered eggs with some steak and a bit of potatoes, black beans and some chili seasoning. I looked for hot coffee, but found none. So I washed my steak down with orange juice from a box. Or maybe it was grapefruit juice. I'm not going back to look through the trash for my old box. (He said with a mischievous grin)

Ten months from now, I should be home, EOM for me. I'll have to see what my finances and other compelling situations are like then. If I thought I didn't need the money, I'd go back today. The guys are mostly good, but this is no place for an antique geezer like me. The middle-aged guys have dads who are younger than I am; the younger ones have grandfathers my age. My mantra works. But I don't know if I can last the whole year. It still chaps my hide (that's a good expression, no?) that DynCorp wants me to take that second vacation *at my own expense* but won't let me use it at the end of my contract. Oh, that sure would be nice, wouldn't it? go home for Thanksgiving, then tough it out until May 27, and go home then. Money would be the same. No one gets financially hurt. No one gains. It's a wash. But the earth would spring a huge crack and the world would come to an end if I worked through my second vacation and left here 28 days early.

The two CBP guys laugh because they're here only for six months. Gee, if I had thought I'd end up here, I should have not retired, just come over and make tons of HR22. Oh well ... What else? Sent my SitRep, right? Also an assessment of some sort. In each I cited the lack of internet as the biggest shortcoming here. Oh, there are plenty of wrong elements. It's hot, it's dusty, we have no flush toilets, gotta eat snacks for one meal a day, gotta take "navy showers" where you use about 30 seconds of water, soap up, 30 more seconds to rinse and you're done. And let's not forget the ever-lovely wag bag situation. But all of that would be palatable except for the lack of internet. I'm pissed because the MSW "trial" that came with this laptop expired, while I am here. I can't get online, so I can't 1) surf for Open Office (which is free and supposed to be as good as MSOffice) or 2) let Bill Gates gouge me for $$$ so my laptop will have Word and Excel. Day before yesterday? I dunno. Before that? Ditto. I sit around under the canopy, chat with the terps and marines. I have found that the red electrolyte stuff with no sugar isn't too bad. So I drink that. I fret about doing laundry before they run out of water. No water would also make it difficult to shower. I'm eating better with the brekkies.

Maybe the highlight of my day is dinner. Whatever they serve, I eat. I just go easy with the pasta and bread. Gatorade has too many carbs, but this place has oceans of Gatorade. Water is OK, but kinda tasteless. Maybe I should look more often at this log. Or journal. I can't believe it's been a week since I wrote. 1630. Maybe I should go wait to check my mail. Seems like it's always crowded there. The eight terminals were always busy. Now that someone took away four computers, it's not going to be easier to get online. We keep hoping that the setup we have here will get repaired and *maybe* someone will put up a wireless router so we can have internet in our hooches. That would be sweet. But the logistical and admin hurdles are plentiful and high. Or maybe I'll kick Chess Titan's butt some more.

Gannon 08302008

Last night I decided to write down what I'd like, my own wee personal "Best of all Possible Worlds." So here goes- In ten months, I'd like to be home with a chunk of cash- maybe as much as $70K of my own money. I'd rest up a bit, then take my trailer to Texas and find a suitable domicile, sort of like the one I saw online in Llano- $116K for a 1200 sf Spanish-style home with five acres. Buy it, settle in and return to California to do something with my house and stuff. The stuff part is easier, so I'll begin with that. I'd need to get a 40' trailer on a chassis and park it in the driveway so I could load it with all my garage. Whatever space is left over can be for the stuff I want- my bed, some storage stuff, maybe the dining room furniture. I recall we packed a lot of HHG in four lift vans that came out of a container. Cars? Well, that might require a second container. Stop a second and look at the costs- about $2500 for a container, about $3000 to drive it to Texas. So about $11K to take two containers. That's expensive. But the good part is, I'd have two containers to use as the basis for constructing another home. And I'd have all my stuff.

In this best world scenario, I'd also have Richie and Kimmie to help make the move. We'd put the Biscayne and the LTD in one container, tow the Mazda with the 4-Runner and tow the Volvo with the F-100. That second container could also carry the last of our stuff from the house. What to do with the house? I'd prefer to rent it, so any appreciation would accrue to me and my heirs. And in only 27 years or so, we'd own this bit of the California Dream. (Never mind that I could have owned it a few years ago but for Bonnie's insistance that we *not* pay off the mortgage.) Selling is an act that can't be undone; renting today doesn't mean I can't sell at a future date. Selling today would mean about zero in equity. Renting might entail a monthly negative cash flow. The financial kicker is- can I afford three big expenses: 1) Bonnie's monthly vig (about $800), 2) negative cash flow from the rental of the house (from $1000 to maybe $400) and a mortgage on the Texas house (I probably won't have $116K to buy the house, so I may have a $50K mortgage there, too.) Let's say I have a $500 negative cash flow and a $400 Texas mortgage and Bonnie's $800 vig- that's $1700. My retirement is about $2800. That would leave me with about $1100 to live on. Not a lot, but doable. And I haven't touched my $40K in TSP. And I haven't yet received my inheritance from Gerty's house. Either of those would make my life a lot easier. And in another ten months from 08/2009, my vig will evaporate, so I'd only need to scrimp for less than a year. In July 2010, I'd get to keep about $2700 of my $2800. Who knows? The negative cash flow might get smaller and I could pay down more of my Texas mortgage.

Two people I have to consider in all this are Richie and Kimmie. If Richie should get a good job (or even a mediocre one), he'd be able to pay $1500/month (about half the mortgage) which would be cheap for a place to rent. He and Kimmie could just keep on living where we are living. Best of all worlds, she gets a job, too, and contributes more. If Richie could pay half the mortgage and Kimmie could pay half the expenses, I think we'd be fine just staying where we are. They could get married and have babies. I'd get to be a grandpa to some very cute children. Oh, I'd probably wait till my vig went away, but I'd still take my trailer to Texas, though I might just park it for a few months now and then instead of buying something. Maybe parking it would give me a chance to shop for a real deal in real estate. But back to Richie and Kimmie working- this would be very good for all of us. I'd find a way to "sell" him a part of the house, so he could have some equity. Maybe in a few years, he'd want to buy me out. At least he'd have a good place to live (and the house is a very nice place to live.) And we have a comfortable life there- we go to the farmer's markets in Hayward, Castro Valley and San Leandro, we shop carefully for stuff on craigslist, we fix our cars ourselves (mostly), and we have a good home. Richie's smoker is there, the clothes line works, the garden gets tended, we have a fireplace for cold nights, the cats know where they live, we get good TV and internet, there are plenty of bathrooms for the three of us, about one per person, and I'd even take the trouble to put in a gas line so we could cook with a gas stove. RMS is nearby for me and Richie and Kimmie may go back for another SRS slash Action in the Lowe Countries. We have a good life.

I can't force Richie and Kimmie to work. I believe they are looking for work, but they also have no severe financial incentive to succeed. As long as I'm working, they get supported by me. In fact, if they find a job tomorrow, that would be one more consideration for me- do I want to finish my contract or just leave and work out our support and finances among my retirement and their job(s)?

But back to the Great Gannon Dream: I propose that what we have in Hayward we could have in Texas. Five acres is a nice bit of land. One home already there, one more made from containers. A garage? More containers. Garden? Oh, you betcha! The cats may even get adjusted to the new place. TV, internet, yadda yadda-those are available in Texas, too. 'Twould be some work to get as comfy as we are in Hayward, but life is about work. Gotta have goals and achievments.

I also consider three others- Bonnie, Pense and Schaffe. Bonnie has made a lot of conscious choices, uniformly poorly. Pense has chosen to side with her mom in many ways for reasons that are complicated. Schaffe is the youngest, and for whom I feel more responsible because he seems to have lost out on the ability to grow up. Schaffe will have a place with me for a long time. Not because he's incapable or unable to support himself (though he is for the moment) but because he needs me to grow up. He's not going to grow up with Bonnie's parenting alone. Pense seems better, but she, too, chooses to remain dependent on Bonnie in a lot of ways. So where are Bonnie, Pense and Schaffe in this fantasy? Well, in one version, they're with me in Texas, along with Richie and Kimmie and their children. This situation would happen when Bonnie's income (mainly her share of my retirement) becomes inadequate to support her in the lifestyle to which she's accustomed herself or in any other lifestyle. Would I want to support them? I'll have to see. But it wouldn't be easy for me to abandon any of them if they needed me.

'Tis one thing to be tough in family court and another to deny them whatever comfort I could provide.

In a practical sense, if they find that their expenses are three times their income, they'll need a place to live. That *might* be with me, on my five-acre home. I might let them pitch a tent for awhile, just to underline that their spendthrift ways have brought them to financial despair. But in reality, I would try to accommodate them. I'd have the small home and the trailer. The three of them could sleep in the trailer while the rest of us slept in the house. And if I had completed the container-based home, that would also be an option.

Similarly, if Richie and Kimmie get jobs and contribute to the Hayward home, we might allow the other three to live with us there. The effect of Bonnie moving back to a home she left *as a dependent* would be intense. None of us are very good at biting our individual tongues. Who would tell Bonnie that there are rules? Who'd intimate that her financial ruin is due to her fiscal foolishness? And would Kimmie make a point of being the Lady of the House while Bonnie would be merely the impoverished in-law? I think Richie and Kimmie could have the master bedroom. Schaffe could have my room, perhaps infusing himself with my aura. Bonnie and Pense, two emotional clones, would have to share Richie and Kimmie's room (where Richie and Kimmie lived happily for a long time) and I'd have the option of sleeping in the sewing room with some clutter or in my trailer where I'm confident I could be quite comfortable. (After all, I'd have my own bed, toilet, shower, kitchen and two televisions. The garage and garden would still be my domain, though Kimmie would have free access to the garden and Richie to the garage. Moving back in with me would demonstrate to Schaffe that laziness and sloth are not as good at providing for oneself as work and thrift. And if Bonnie moves back in, I'd have some big-ass televisions to put up in the house. I might charge her rent, payable in televisions. After the rent is used up, I may buy a car from her and allow her to pay me her rent from that price. Once she's out of cars, we'll see about buying her inherited Auntie Rosie's house. Not sure I want it, but it might have some value on the real estate market. Of course, it's also possible that Bonnie will have already lost the house through one refinance or another. Removing them, if life becomes difficult, could be a problem. If Bonnie tried the "I have tenant's rights" business, that would gall me a lot. But going down that road requires the long-range crystal ball. Right now, mine is very short-range. Fantasies glow rosy in my crystal ball.

So there we are- either continuing to live in Hayward with Richie and Kimmie's contributions or taking whatever cash stash I have and moving to Texas. Remaining in Hayward requires little logistical planning- just keep living where we have been happy. Moving to Texas (or somewhere other than Hayward) will be difficult- finding a good place, packing and transporting a big houseful of stuff and starting a new life, with our without Richie and Kimmie. Somehow, having Richie and Kimmie in my future seems a good thing. They've become my family. This takes us to the strictly emotional realm but merits a few synapses worth of effort.

Before Iraq, the three of us were happy together. We ate, slept, worked and played together. Though not 100% free of stress, we were mostly happy. We get along. Kimmie and Richie are a couple; I'm a single. But we feel like we can trust each other and not be embarassed with each other. Defining what a family has can be difficult. We're not a traditional family. But we are emotionally a family. Richie likes to visit Kimmie's mom and stepdad, but it's about visiting, not living with them. I believe Richie likes living with me and I'm pretty sure I like living with him. Richie finds fault with me but he loves me. And it's about coming home in the evening and having someone there tell you "I love you" with some sincerity that makes a house a home. Kimmie lets me get close to her, but I'll never be her dad. Maybe that's better, because I can remain Rich, whoever that might be. If we had another $2000/month, I think we could be fine together, just the three of us, right where we are. But I can't plan my future based on someone else's behavior. If Richie and Kimmie don't find jobs, then my life probably won't remain in Hayward. Thus the Texas connection. I believe I could afford to live in Texas on what I'd have left after Bonnie's vig, the negative cash flow from renting my house and a small mortgage for the house in Texas. Since this is still a fantasy, let's continue in that vein: I'd like to have photovoltaic power for my trailer so I could run the trailer without electrical hook-up. Still need water and sewer, right? Gotta touch base with the locals there, but I could dig a septic tank and drill a well. Power for the well might be a problem but might be soluble with a few $$$ thrown at the problem. Ditto the water and sewer. And the occasional tank of propane would cost, too. Could I learn to cook on a wood stove and heat water for my shower in a wood-fired water heater? Maybe. Not sure I'd have to go all-out back-to-the-earth hippie-style "drop out of the world" mentality. With about $1000/month, I think utilities would be a soluble problem. But making some of my own resources appeals to me. And this is a lot about emotional stuff and what appeals to me. I have a few square feet of roof above Last Resort- would that suffice to power lights? Probably. If I build a house out of containers, we're talking about increments of 320 square feet of roof, easily used for PV panels. Probably more than enough space, but the cost of the panels becomes a factor. And the house in Llano probably already has utilities of some sort in place. No need to change much, though a solar water pre-heater might be an economical idea. At least a project for the frugal homeowner, no?I could end this train of thought right now, but I'll summarize and come back to it another time. Staying in Hayward is simpler but requires some additional regular income. Without that income, moving somewhere else seems unavoidable. If it's Merced or Grass Valley or somewhere similarly a couple of hours away, it'll still be more expensive than I can afford. Affordable pretty much means somewhere a couple of days away. Could I find someplace east of Bakersfield? Maybe. But would I want to live there? It used to be all about proximity to Schaffe, with the concomitant access to my small son. I'm getting to where his future seems beyond my control, so access (and the daddy-like "here's how to live your life" influence) seem more and more remote. Thus my focus may be more on being comfortable in my old age than in being near and being a positive influence on my small son. And I can't ignore the possibility of having Richie and Kimmie live with me if they don't find jobs. I really hope they do. But I'm comfortable enough with them around me that if they want to live frugally, the three of us could survive on my retirement. Would I have more disposable income of my own if I didn't support them? Sure. But I'd rather support them and have them around me as my family than just count my bank balance with them 2500 miles away. And maybe even Bonnie, Pense and Schaffe fall into that category. One of the wiser things I learned from going through the divorce is that you can only stress yourself if you stress over a failure to control someone else's behavior. I love Richie and Kimmie enough that their work behavior (meaning they don't have jobs) isn't enough to make me abandon them. Pense and Schaffe, too. I am still very pissed with Bonnie, but I don't know that I'm so pissed I'd not help her if she needed it. I'd just have to be very, very careful with what I tell her and how I give her anything. What are the factors here? Money. Location. Mortgages. People. Responsibility. My age. Vehicles. Stuff. Behavior. Ah, the whole thing goes on and on, doesn't it?

# posted by rich @ 2:16 AM 0 comments

Went out on my first mission today. Toured the port from inside a Hummvee. Went inside the admin building and shook a couple of hands. Tomorrow the replacements arrive, so I'll probably stay here. Day after? Who can tell? Tonight, I found the chow hall, where we have one hot meal a day, the evening one around 1700. Also found the showers. The facilities are decent, though there's a strange smell inside the back of the showers. I think there are toilets there, though you're not supposed to use them. Doesn't mean someone hasn't, hence the strange aroma. Might also be from stale water in the toilet plumbing. The laundry is right next to the showers, so I brought back my clothes. Bad timing- lots of people with the same idea, including two guys, one of whom flew with me in the leaky Sea Stallion from Al-Asad to Al-Qaim. That sorta broke the ice. They're building the helipad on the other side of our berm. And I made not one but *two* trips to the internet facility. The keyboards are sticky- gotta type very slowly. The computers are even slower. Yahoo mail won't load, so I use the old mail. Got a nice email from Chuckles, telling me that he's read my blog and that I should think about a career in writing when I'm done with DynCorp. His girls are all well. And he reminded me, I have an invitation to visit him anytime. I ate, showered, but didn't do a laundry. All in all, not a bad day.

Gannon, 08192008

At the 0800 meeting, the First Sergeant made vehicle assignments- I stayed back with Gerald. The rest of them took five vehicles and drove to Al-Qaim to pick their replacements. Gerald and I talked about the port's operations. He and Hector are DHS-CBP on six-month TDY. During their absence, I did my laundry. That took a while, since the two operating machines stay pretty busy. I checked the internet, but it was full, with three or four people waiting. I finally got a washer and came back for a few minutes to help Gerald while it was cycling. I watched the radio while he went to get some lunch, then when he came back, I put my clothes in the dryer and nuked some frozen chicken drumsticks. Around one-thirty, the group got back, but by then Gerald had gone down to Golf Company to see if one of the regular marines could make our radio work. The radio seemed to work, but didn't. Finally our guys got back and one of them reset the control- seems as though the radio lost a code of some sort. The First Sergeant had an all-hands meeting, doing a PowerPoint presentation about camp and team procedures-wear a blouse whenever you're not in "our" area, keep a weapon on your body, etc. The new guys wanted to meet me, so I told them that I'm retired from US Customs, yadda yadda. After the briefing, we split up a bit, wandering over to the MWR for some Olympic coverage and some social chit-chat. When the generator went out, I went outside and sat under a shade canopy of camoflage netting. One or two of the new guys came over and got acquainted. Around five, a captain and I walked to the chow hall, but food wasn't ready because of the power failure. He selected some cereal instead of hot food and almost left it there becausethere wasn't any milk- that gets put in the fridges only for breakfast. I told him I thought we had some in our fridge, so he brought his cereal back. He ate his cereal while I watched the Olympics. At six, I walked over with the new gunny and another sergeant and we had some pasta with chicken, barbecued chicken and peas. I got some fruit cocktail for dessert. We ate outside, under the canopy. As the sun went behind the horizon, the Iraqi evening heard us talk about lots of things. From behind the berm, we heard the mosque's call to prayer.

Around eight, it was fully dark and everyone had something to do. I finished my cigar out on the big chair and looked at the stars. Across the sand road, the peaks of the camoflage nets poked up into the blue-white horizon. I tried to see if the peaks resembled a woman's torso, but they didn't quite have a feminine silhouette. Even with my libidinous imagination, I couldn't do a Mount Tamalpais kind of silhouette. I wanted to read my trashy novel, something about a woman forensics sculptor, but it was too dark. So I came into the hooch and read a chapter. I read one chapter and started falling asleep, but I wanted to write something here.

Gannon, 08212008

Yesterday was of little consequence. More of the new guys got a ride to the port. Today, another short mission to the port, sans moi. That "sans moi" should indicate to the perspecacious reader that moi isn't happy with the lack of activity. As icing on this boredom cake, today was a dust storm. You can't see well 100 feet in front of you. It's constantly hot, too- the screen of dust didn't block the sun. You can taste the dust everywhere. Your skin gets grimy from being outside, damp from the heat and grimy from flying dust. The camo net fell down. I volunteered to help lash it back up, but no one is interested because the winds are still blowing pretty hard. I checked emails this morning instead of eating. I skipped lunch because of a lack of interest. I won't skip dinner tonight because skipping too many meals isn't good for moi. Nothing to do but watch the Olympics with guys who think a girl likes girls because she looks like she likes girls. I keep telling myself, "$400 per day." It's my mantra to endure this place. The old guys are tuned to teaching the new ones what they've been doing and the new guys are tuned to learning from the old ones. No one seems to take much interest in me- Do I have something to occupy my time? Anyone want to get some chow with the DynCorp guy? The new Doc showed me how to take apart my M-4 and we spent the morning cleaning our weapons. Then the new warrant officer opined that we shouldn't do that on the table where others might eat. Good point, I can't fault that. But that took the wind out of my sails once more. "$400 per day." I'm here so Richie and Kimmie will have a place to live, our house, until they can find jobs on their own. A half-hour more and I'll go get some chow. I may eat there and then see if I can't snag my alloted 30 minutes at the internet. "$400 per day." I'm here so I can make the mortgage until the market bounces back and I can sell with some equity. I have sheets on my bed, the ones I found as extras at Camp Mesa, washed and put in my footlocker. Should have put a pillow in there, too. Blanket? None issued here. They ran out. I found two half-blankets with holes in them that had been used as doors. One I put up for my own door, the other I washed so I could have a half-blanket. Last night, my footlocker from Al-Asad arrived. And so did my sleeping bag which makes a fairly decent blanket. "$400 per day." Well, I ran the calculations, and it's really more like $424. Seems like a lot. But I have to endure a lot to earn it, too. I guess the cadence is better: "Four hundred twenty-four dollars per day" sounds better as a mantra. Out of desperation, I went to find Ernie, the DynCorp guy that Johnny knew from Klecker. He was gone, out on a mission. So I lay here on my thin foam mattress, with my back damp from the heat because the air conditioning isn't on right now. Only 20 minutes until I stroll over for chow. "Four twenty-four" is my mantra. We'll see how long my mantra suffices. If things don't get better, when I leave here for my vacation, I'll make sure I leave nothing here that I really care about. If I went home on vacation today, I'd be brainstorming with Richie about how we could survive with what I've already earned and leave this behind. My hope, if the reader understands the full concept of the word "hope," is to be able to buy a home much like the one in Llano- $116K, five acres, 1200 square feet. Take Last Resort there, fly back and do what I can to load all my stuff into a container and get it trucked there. If it took two containers to load everything, I'd be OK with that, too, as long as I had the money to buy the container and pay for the trucking. Maybe food will brighten my outlook. Fifteen minutes until I stroll through the dust storm and find some chow.

The POETT group has a week to go. In two days, their replacements will be here. Arriving when I did, I think no one is trying hard to make me part of their team.I'm a late-comer, someone to be tolerated for a short time, while their collective minds are elsewhere. Maybe it'll take some time to become integrated with them,but they seem disinterested in a lot. I got a bunk and a sheet. I didn't get any blankets, nor even a piece of a blanket to screen off my hooch from the rest of the POETT enlisted area. Tonight, when the entire unit disappeared, I swept up the plywood tent. In the spare room where everyone parks their weapons, I saw two pieces of blanket wedged behind a flattened bunk, up against the wall. I remembered seeing a piece of 550 cord danglling from the corner of a container, so I "liberated" about 40" if cord. It wasn't quite long enough to tie around the two 2 x 4s that framed my doorway, but there was a small gap where a knot with a nail would not pull through, so I had just enough 55 cord to string my my half-blanket and I now have a door like everyone else. The other half-blanket piece, I'll use to keep myself warm. When they showed me my bunk last night, all I got was a sheet, so I slept under my towel.

I went all day without eating a meal because I didn't know where the chow arrived. There are a few small teams in this compound, Camp Gannon. The chow hall is in another small clump. And the shower trailers are in yet another small clump of plywood tents.
Perhaps I should clarify. The hooches aren't tents. They're structures made of plywood walls with sheetmetal roofs. The interior is partitioned into small hooches each an inch or two longer than a bunk, and about twice the width of a bunk. Thus you have just enough room for a bunk, and almost enough room to turn around.

Most guys have made shelves of 2 x 4 and plywood. This is where they keep their stuff- clothes, shaving gear, etc. My stuff remains in my rucksack. Now that I know where the chow should be, and where the laundry and showers should be, I'll make an effort to use them tomorrow. I lived on a handful of trail mix,beef jerky, popcorn and apple juice today. I don't think anyone is trying to make my life miserable, but I don't know how to ask "Where do you get hot food?"And no one seems concerned that I'm at loose ends.

Last night, the medic showed me how to use a Wag Bag- a single-use plastic bag for disposing of human excrement. But no one showed me the plastic tubes sticking out of the ground where you pee. Maybe it's me- maybe I need to speak up more. But I'm trying to refrain from seeming "needy." The group has been together for awhile, and I'm just someone who showed up at the eleventh hour. I don't know if we'll go to the port in the next two days. I suspect when the replacements arrive, I'll go along. The port is not too far. But with its proximity, these guys may not want to go any more.