Saturday, January 17, 2009
The Three-Footed Noble Cat
The three-footed cat under our office trailer
The team went to Camp Bucca for more out-processing and a mail run. I opted to stay back. Did some internet work, posted a blog entry with photos. At lunch, Al told me I had a parcel from the mail run. I went to the office to see if it were there. Just outside the office is a pile of lumber and shelving that someone left there. Going up the steps, I looked to the left and saw an orange cat. I kept going inside, not wanting to make him skittish. But I took out my camera, turned it on and came back to the doorway. About ten feet away was the cat above. I am used to seeing grey cats, and havin seen only one orange cat, I thought this one was remarkable.
This guy looked at me, as if I had disturbed his siesta in the Umm Qasr sun. He had been sunning himself, enjoying the warmth of the sun after last night’s below-freezing weather.
I concentrated on getting the focus and composition. I talked to him a bit, but in a couple of seconds, he got skittish and got up. As he stood up and moved under the trailer, I saw clearly that he is missing his right rear foot. I think he can put some weight on the stump, but seems to hop with his back left foot instead of striding on the stump.
I could see that, though ambulatory, he isn’t up to catching his own food. I went to my hooch and got my stash of sandwich-sliced chicken from the still-cool fridge (‘tis been unplugged since yesterday because my power strip died and the replacement hasn’t got enough outlets), cut off the bottom of another water bottle and took it to him. Before I got too close, I bent down and saw a large orange shape under the trailer, kind of motionless. Slowly and quietly (but not silently) I took the food to where I saw him hiding under the trailer. I told him I hoped this would be good for him. I’m sure he didn’t understand the words but I wanted him to associate my voice with something edible.
I left the food there and came back to my hooch. I don’t think I’m an emotional guy but I felt bad to see this cat trying to survive with only three feet. If he ventures outside our compound, he won’t be able to run away from the packs of dogs that are out there. Sandbag, our compound dog, seems OK with cats. And he eats well enough that he doesn’t have to hunt cats for food. But the other dogs may.
I’ve been leaving food and water in the bunker outside my hooch most nights. Most mornings, it’s gone. Now I may take an extra few steps and leave it under the office trailer where it should be unnoticed.
I wonder about this guy. In looking at his photo, I didn’t notice that grey spot on his back. Is that a bruise or a smudge of oil? He’s pretty big as cats go. And to have survived long enough to be a big cat, he has to have some smarts and abilities. I reckon he’s also had some bad luck because he’s missing his right rear foot. Did he get run over by a car? Did a dog bite his leg off? I can’t imagine he’d lose it in a fight with another cat, so I guess he’s had some serious events in his life.
I hope he comes back. Hope he didn’t run away when I put his food there. Heskette does pretty well at the NAAFI smoke pit but this guy could use some thumb-people help.
This guy looked at me, as if I had disturbed his siesta in the Umm Qasr sun. He had been sunning himself, enjoying the warmth of the sun after last night’s below-freezing weather.
I concentrated on getting the focus and composition. I talked to him a bit, but in a couple of seconds, he got skittish and got up. As he stood up and moved under the trailer, I saw clearly that he is missing his right rear foot. I think he can put some weight on the stump, but seems to hop with his back left foot instead of striding on the stump.
I could see that, though ambulatory, he isn’t up to catching his own food. I went to my hooch and got my stash of sandwich-sliced chicken from the still-cool fridge (‘tis been unplugged since yesterday because my power strip died and the replacement hasn’t got enough outlets), cut off the bottom of another water bottle and took it to him. Before I got too close, I bent down and saw a large orange shape under the trailer, kind of motionless. Slowly and quietly (but not silently) I took the food to where I saw him hiding under the trailer. I told him I hoped this would be good for him. I’m sure he didn’t understand the words but I wanted him to associate my voice with something edible.
I left the food there and came back to my hooch. I don’t think I’m an emotional guy but I felt bad to see this cat trying to survive with only three feet. If he ventures outside our compound, he won’t be able to run away from the packs of dogs that are out there. Sandbag, our compound dog, seems OK with cats. And he eats well enough that he doesn’t have to hunt cats for food. But the other dogs may.
I’ve been leaving food and water in the bunker outside my hooch most nights. Most mornings, it’s gone. Now I may take an extra few steps and leave it under the office trailer where it should be unnoticed.
I wonder about this guy. In looking at his photo, I didn’t notice that grey spot on his back. Is that a bruise or a smudge of oil? He’s pretty big as cats go. And to have survived long enough to be a big cat, he has to have some smarts and abilities. I reckon he’s also had some bad luck because he’s missing his right rear foot. Did he get run over by a car? Did a dog bite his leg off? I can’t imagine he’d lose it in a fight with another cat, so I guess he’s had some serious events in his life.
I hope he comes back. Hope he didn’t run away when I put his food there. Heskette does pretty well at the NAAFI smoke pit but this guy could use some thumb-people help.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Umm Qasr - Immer noch Pech gehabt
Immer noch Pech gehabt, Umm Qasr Abteilung. Yep, today was gonna be a good day, but got off to a bad start. I woke up and decided that since I had nothing special to do today, I’d use my hair clippers then take a shower. Though it wasn’t warm inside my hooch, I took my clothes off because I didn’t want to get ‘em full of hair. Turned on the light in the bathroom, fired up the hair clippers and began trimming some of the long areas- behind my ears, the nape of my neck, and so forth. Got done, brushed myself off and started the shower so I could rinse off the leetle itchy hairs, right? Wrong. I had no hot water. I was standing there in the cold, with nothing but the ice-cold water flowing. The Hot was both a trickle and quite as icy-cold as the Cold. I was shivering, so I shut off the shower and put on my clothes again. Sorry, gentle reader, you’ll have to use your imagination to see a skinny old geezer shivering with hairs on his shoulders.
I showered and got dressed. Feeling infinitely better, I walked to get my laundry, then looked next door to see if I could troubleshoot my lack of hot water. I looked at the water heater in the hooch next door, the one that supplies hot water to both hooches. Exercising my highly-trained Inspectorial observational skills, I detected something slightly amiss with the plumbing system: apparently someone had removed the hot water heater completely. They cleverly looped the hot water line into the cold water. Hence I got a drip from the hot water faucet but adequate pressure from the freezing water faucet. I shall attempt to resolve this today with the maintenance guys.
This is Heskette atop the railing around the NAAFI smoke pit.
Heskette patrols the patio by the NAAFI store. “This is my turf. I’ll give you a temporary visa to be here. Pay up in food, OK?”
Here’s my impromptu water heater- two cartons of water with two mailing boxes and a third water carton straddling my heater.
What to do? I didn’t want to go looking for a communal shower; I couldn’t wander the compound in a towel until I found the maintenance guys who’d fix the shower. A couple of facts stared me in the face- my water heater is next door. If the water heater is 1) not flowing water and 2) contains only cold water, a warm shower isn’t imminent.
I didn’t know if the maintenance guys did something to shut off the water last night. Maybe they did. Of course, telling someone would be rude, so they’d just do it and not say anything. But maybe there’s a more rational rationale.
However, my dilemma was not the “why” but the “here and now.” So I put three bottles of water in front of my space heater and turned it up high. After an hour, the water seemed lukewarm. In another hour, it’d be lunchtime, so maybe by then the water would be warm enough for me to take a water-bottle shower, like I did in Gannon. This wouldn’t have been a tragedy if I weren’t wearing all that itchy hair.
I sat in my slightly stained Ikea chair, trying to ignore the itching and I kept checking to see how warm the water bottles were. I played Hearts with Richie smiling at me from the desktop, listening to BFVS Radio 1 from Kuwait. The music isn’t ideal for a geezer, but occasionally I recognized a song. I just put some paperback books on the floor next to my heater so the water bottles would be a few inches higher and maybe heat faster. I also opened the dresser drawer and parked two bottles on the top edge, just above the heater.
My plans were to use warmed water bottles to shower the itchy hairs off, get dressed, walk to the main building and look for my laundry. Then lunch. After lunch, I’d try to get my hot water fixed.
No hot water? There’s ya problem!
I showered and got dressed. Feeling infinitely better, I walked to get my laundry, then looked next door to see if I could troubleshoot my lack of hot water. I looked at the water heater in the hooch next door, the one that supplies hot water to both hooches. Exercising my highly-trained Inspectorial observational skills, I detected something slightly amiss with the plumbing system: apparently someone had removed the hot water heater completely. They cleverly looped the hot water line into the cold water. Hence I got a drip from the hot water faucet but adequate pressure from the freezing water faucet. I shall attempt to resolve this today with the maintenance guys.
Immer noch Pech gehabt, Zweigestelle: Since today is Friday, the cook house had Brunch until noon. So when I went to eat at 12:20, the place was closed tighter than my ex-wife’s grip on our son.
This is my food for today, until the cook house opens at 18:00.
Not visible is the Tostitos label on my jar of salsa and the scoops Fritos. I reckon I’ll wash this complete meal down with my four-to-one Gatorade then check the internet.
Put my clean laundry away, stuffed the dirty laundry into the bag and I’ll take it to the laundry pick-up bin tomorrow morning. I put a small stack of water bottles in front of my heater to warm up for the next time I need a shower. And I downloaded some photos so I can save this blither for my blog.
BFVS Radio 1 tells me that it’ll be clear in Baghdad today. Southern Afghanistan remains cloudy. A jet plane crashed in the Hudson River but no one died. I may take my bottle of Richie-made granola and go to the spawar café to see what’s going on with the internet.
Do I want you this close to me? You thumb-people don’t understand us, do you?
Here’s one of the unnamed cookhouse cats. This one is a bit lighter in color than the others. She wants the bit of chicken I’ve got in my hand, but doesn’t know how to get close enough to 1) get the chicken and 2) remain a safe distance from me.
Yep, it’s gonna be a problem. The maintenance chief said they took the water heater for the Major’s room. Good on him. But that leaves me with no hot water. He said he’ll try to find another water heater. He’s the head of maintenance and used to people’s problems. I think he’ll look for another heater but there aren’t any to be had, so “I’ll look” is merely a euphemism for “Sorry, mate.”
After talking to the maintenance chief, I had a cigar and took pix of Heskette, the cat. (There’s a Brit gal who calls her “Hesco,” but that sounds like a boy’s name, so I’ve changed it to “Heskette.”)
This is Heskette atop the railing around the NAAFI smoke pit.
Heskette patrols the patio by the NAAFI store. “This is my turf. I’ll give you a temporary visa to be here. Pay up in food, OK?”
Here’s my impromptu water heater- two cartons of water with two mailing boxes and a third water carton straddling my heater.
Slow but the water is nice and warm. No one gets third-degree burns from this water but I can shower in the morning. Visible are my rifle, 75-pound vest and salvaged dresser.
I’m facing no hot water for the immediate future. So I did what I do best- make something good out of what I have. I took a case of bottled water from the pile on the pallet and stacked it on one side of my space heater. Took another and stacked it on the other side. Then I took two of the boxes Richie mailed me (empty) and put them on top of the water cartons. I cut a slit in the bottom of a third box and laid about half a case of water in the box so it straddles the hot air vent at the top of my space heater. Six hours later, I’ve got a half-dozen bottles of fairly warm water. Tomorrow I’ll shower with those. I could just get more water bottles, but I think I’ll practice a bit of conservation and re-use these bottles by filling them from my cold shower and putting them back in the box.
Here’s ya other problem- you need a fuse.
As if I weren’t having enough mechanical problems, my power strip burned a fuse this afternoon. I asked the British maintenance guy for another fuse but he had none. Al gave me another power strip but that one didn’t have enough outlets for everything so my frozen water will have to thaw a bit. However, Al’s power strip got my laptop from battery power to shore power. Hence this addendum to today’s post. I guess I’ll just get used to no fridge for a bit until I can get my power strip re-fused. There are about 20 liters of frozen water in the top of my fridge. Yes, I sorta planned this problem. We used to keep frozen water in the big freezers at Gannon and I borrowed the concept from them.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Umm Qasr 01082009
This is the cat that lurks in the smoke pit next to the NAAFI store. This cat is used to people because she likes to be around. Though she's feral, she's not afraid of humans and meows when she wants something. I saw one soldier give her some fried cheese snack and she ate it. When my mail gets to me, I'm hoping for some kitty treats in there so she'll have something better than fried cheese snacks. In the morning, I got up, showered and went to chow a bit early. Inside the chow hall , Joshua said we’d be leaving at 0800 instead of 0830, so I had a single French toast and half a cup of coffee. That was enough to keep me from starving. I went with the Army guys to the port and observed pax screening as they came into the building. There was a full colonel observing an Iraqi Marine screen people entering the building. Not the best of all possible searches, but a lot better than before.
Came back, checked my emails at the spawar café. Coming back to my hooch, two maintenance guys were under my trailer, looking at a lake that had formed from the draining water. They put together the drain (which had separated) and wanted to check the inside of my bathroom for leaks, so I let ‘em in. One guy, really pretty capable at plumbing, found a leaky flap on the toilet. I left the two guys there and went to check my laundry and have a cigar. When I got back, he’d fixed it with silicone caulk and asked me not to use the toilet until tomorrow morning. I think if I use the bucket filled from the shower, I can still use my own toilet, though I went next door to the empty hooch and used that one. I put my laundry away and relaxed a bit until I dozed off a bit. It’s a bit after noon, so I’ll go get some chow.
I found another book to read in the library. But that’s for later. Chow now, try to stay busy in the afternoon. The sun makes the temperature more bearable, so maybe I can do something outside. My hooch is nice, but I’m beginning to get a case of cabin fever.
Had a good chat with the Brits at chow tonight. Talked about interesting things, like how in a political sense, we’re carpetbaggers here, trying to cram our style of doing things down their collective cultural throat. I’d never thought that I might be doing that, being the Northerner “in charge” of the Southerner’s culture. But by trying to get them to work like we do, that’s so. We don’t have to do what we’re doing, we could just let them do things their own way. Sure, they’d be excluded from the modern world but they’d be doing things the way they want to. I think what it boils down to is a basic lack of homogeneity in Iraq. Some people want to be modern, some don’t. So while we’re annoying (in a cultural sense) those who want to do things like Mohamed did, we are, indeed, accommodating those who want to be modern. I guess similar cultural dynamics exist back home, too, otherwise politicians and policymakers would be out of a job.
Been reading a British-authored book about Texas. Though Lee Child is a man from the industrial midlands, he seems to have gotten a feel for Texas. When I run across “tyre” or “colour,” I’m reminded that this isn’t an American writing. Otherwise, even the dialogue is very American. “Echo Burning” is a pretty gripping book. No movie tonight, just this book.
Umm Qasr 01072009
One more day gone. Today started slow- nothing to do in the morning. After lunch, I cleaned my weapons. The M-4 and the M-9 are nice and clean now. The Sergeant Major’s spray can of cleaner and lube works pretty well.
I checked laundry but there was no new clean laundry. My number 0171 had no tick next to it, so my laundry is still somewhere else.
Around 16:00, one of the Army captains came to get me for a meeting with the British Navy Captain who’s our big boss. Lots of people there, talking over the main issues that we have to consider at the port. Many things remain unclear, things like what the volume of traffic is, how much cargo goes through the south port (I’m at the north port.), training, the organizational structure (MOI, MOT, MOF) and I proposed that the overall director of the port should be able to tell which agency where they should do what.
Tonight’s fare is a 1965 James Garner and Sidney Poitier cowboy flick, “Duel at Diablo.” It’s two notches above a B-Western; “Gone with the Wind” and “Lawrence of Arabia” don’t have to look over their film shoulders at this one. Even “The Wild Bunch” doesn’t need to fret much.
I emailed a nag to Richie- please finish up his degree. I asked his thoughts on the Pense conundrum. In my sardonic, callous mind, I wonder at her motives in asking me for her tea set and her old couch. I suggested asking for storage money- $650 seems fair for two years storage. And it’s not clear which tea set she’s asking about. If it’s the Rosenthal, she’ll need to see me face-to-face and convince me it’s hers. If it’s another tea set, the rabbit one, it feels to me like she’s asking for the last of her stuff so she can stop seeing me, ever. I guess I can’t know what’s in her mind until she tells me. And then, I have to weigh everything to see if there’s anything I’ve missed.
Finished a book, a sorta “the gummint as bad guys” book that dealt with finding Jesus’s bones, thereby proving he didn’t rise from the dead. The protagonist discovers that he’s wrong and all the good guys live happily ever after, but it’s a good book nonetheless. Some aphorisms (hope that’s right) are opposite the chapter headings and I like them. Things like “Ignorance is bliss until you realize you’re not ignorant.”
Half done with another book, written by a Brit, outlining 12 books that changed the world. I learned about Newton’s “Principia” and the Magna Carta and about Marie Stowe’s marital primer. We’ll see what comes next.
I checked laundry but there was no new clean laundry. My number 0171 had no tick next to it, so my laundry is still somewhere else.
Around 16:00, one of the Army captains came to get me for a meeting with the British Navy Captain who’s our big boss. Lots of people there, talking over the main issues that we have to consider at the port. Many things remain unclear, things like what the volume of traffic is, how much cargo goes through the south port (I’m at the north port.), training, the organizational structure (MOI, MOT, MOF) and I proposed that the overall director of the port should be able to tell which agency where they should do what.
Tonight’s fare is a 1965 James Garner and Sidney Poitier cowboy flick, “Duel at Diablo.” It’s two notches above a B-Western; “Gone with the Wind” and “Lawrence of Arabia” don’t have to look over their film shoulders at this one. Even “The Wild Bunch” doesn’t need to fret much.
I emailed a nag to Richie- please finish up his degree. I asked his thoughts on the Pense conundrum. In my sardonic, callous mind, I wonder at her motives in asking me for her tea set and her old couch. I suggested asking for storage money- $650 seems fair for two years storage. And it’s not clear which tea set she’s asking about. If it’s the Rosenthal, she’ll need to see me face-to-face and convince me it’s hers. If it’s another tea set, the rabbit one, it feels to me like she’s asking for the last of her stuff so she can stop seeing me, ever. I guess I can’t know what’s in her mind until she tells me. And then, I have to weigh everything to see if there’s anything I’ve missed.
Finished a book, a sorta “the gummint as bad guys” book that dealt with finding Jesus’s bones, thereby proving he didn’t rise from the dead. The protagonist discovers that he’s wrong and all the good guys live happily ever after, but it’s a good book nonetheless. Some aphorisms (hope that’s right) are opposite the chapter headings and I like them. Things like “Ignorance is bliss until you realize you’re not ignorant.”
Half done with another book, written by a Brit, outlining 12 books that changed the world. I learned about Newton’s “Principia” and the Magna Carta and about Marie Stowe’s marital primer. We’ll see what comes next.
Umm Qasr 01052009
Wow, what wonderful things life gives you when you least expect! I just finished watching “The Legend of 1900” with Tim Roth. This is a terrific movie. The existentialism reeks but if you listen and pay attention, it’s very cohesive. I don’t remember even seeing teasers for this movie. But if you find a way to get this into your DVD, do it.
I got this tonight because my money came back to me. Yes, I foolishly sent my pants to get washed and left all my money in the pocket. When I picked up my laundry, there was an envelope in the pocket with “Umm Qasr North, ticket 0171, 854$” on it. I’d be fussy and gripe that my money clip didn’t come back, but with all that money, I guess I can find myself another. But I digress- I took my returned money (I’d be flat broke without it) and visited the haji shop on base. Instead of five movies for $20, I got ten movies for $36. He said seven movies were $3 and three were $5. When I got to my hooch, I sifted through my pile of movie treasures and picked this one. What a great pick! This movie is great! When I leave here, this DVD will go with me. The soundtrack has a lot of original Jelly Roll Morton pieces. Now I may have to ask Richie to find more and send ‘em to me on a CD.
I spent a bit of time this afternoon working on the US Customs cargo processing stuff that Al asked about. But I feel like I’m stealing- I work in a comfy Ikea chair with my laptop, listening to Jimmy Buffet and the Beatles and Rhonda Vincent.
Tomorrow is a meeting that the military guys seem to pooh-pooh. Well, maybe something good will come of this meeting.
Today was also a bit productive for my blog. I put up something I wrote from Thanksgiving, something I wrote for Caitlin, Sue’s Granddaughter and for myself, a piece about a fictional conversation with my daughter. Well, it’s fictional in that the conversation never has happened but not-so-fictional in that I project a lot of my suspicions onto the characters, suspicions about what’s happened to Pense since my divorce from her mother. The story’s not done, not yet.
But things epistemological resonate. I see glimmers of another life yet. Something that hasn’t yet happened but will. Not too many glimmers, since I’m pushing 64, but a few. Some of them involve my big Richiesohn, some involve just me. I don’t mind if some of the glimmers feature Pense and Schaffe, too. And maybe some of the glimmers might be just me, continuing to work here. LOL, after tomorrow’s security meeting, the crystal ball gets pretty murky.
And to put a bit of emotional icing on my day, just now, the movie’s music video ended, so I minimized a few things to get to my iTunes on the desktop. And guess who was smiling at me from my desktop? Yep, my big happy Richiesohn. He’s looking straight into the camera, holding some tongs that he’s using to flip the pork roast in our smoker. He’s standing on our patio; behind him I can see the beige color of the back of our house, the wisteria and grapevines on the now-historical trellis, and our fence that I painted some redwood preservative on when I painted the house. My computer tells me it’s 11:02 for him because my computer is set to the time when I left California for Iraq. Maybe one day I’ll make my computer say the time it is in Iraq. But not now. Now my laptop is becoming a sort of icon, in the mystical sense. I’ve got Hayward time, with my big son on the desktop. Heck, it’s even the vehicle I just used to watch that “1900” movie. KK, better stop before Richie thinks I’m getting too metaphysical.
I got this tonight because my money came back to me. Yes, I foolishly sent my pants to get washed and left all my money in the pocket. When I picked up my laundry, there was an envelope in the pocket with “Umm Qasr North, ticket 0171, 854$” on it. I’d be fussy and gripe that my money clip didn’t come back, but with all that money, I guess I can find myself another. But I digress- I took my returned money (I’d be flat broke without it) and visited the haji shop on base. Instead of five movies for $20, I got ten movies for $36. He said seven movies were $3 and three were $5. When I got to my hooch, I sifted through my pile of movie treasures and picked this one. What a great pick! This movie is great! When I leave here, this DVD will go with me. The soundtrack has a lot of original Jelly Roll Morton pieces. Now I may have to ask Richie to find more and send ‘em to me on a CD.
I spent a bit of time this afternoon working on the US Customs cargo processing stuff that Al asked about. But I feel like I’m stealing- I work in a comfy Ikea chair with my laptop, listening to Jimmy Buffet and the Beatles and Rhonda Vincent.
Tomorrow is a meeting that the military guys seem to pooh-pooh. Well, maybe something good will come of this meeting.
Today was also a bit productive for my blog. I put up something I wrote from Thanksgiving, something I wrote for Caitlin, Sue’s Granddaughter and for myself, a piece about a fictional conversation with my daughter. Well, it’s fictional in that the conversation never has happened but not-so-fictional in that I project a lot of my suspicions onto the characters, suspicions about what’s happened to Pense since my divorce from her mother. The story’s not done, not yet.
But things epistemological resonate. I see glimmers of another life yet. Something that hasn’t yet happened but will. Not too many glimmers, since I’m pushing 64, but a few. Some of them involve my big Richiesohn, some involve just me. I don’t mind if some of the glimmers feature Pense and Schaffe, too. And maybe some of the glimmers might be just me, continuing to work here. LOL, after tomorrow’s security meeting, the crystal ball gets pretty murky.
And to put a bit of emotional icing on my day, just now, the movie’s music video ended, so I minimized a few things to get to my iTunes on the desktop. And guess who was smiling at me from my desktop? Yep, my big happy Richiesohn. He’s looking straight into the camera, holding some tongs that he’s using to flip the pork roast in our smoker. He’s standing on our patio; behind him I can see the beige color of the back of our house, the wisteria and grapevines on the now-historical trellis, and our fence that I painted some redwood preservative on when I painted the house. My computer tells me it’s 11:02 for him because my computer is set to the time when I left California for Iraq. Maybe one day I’ll make my computer say the time it is in Iraq. But not now. Now my laptop is becoming a sort of icon, in the mystical sense. I’ve got Hayward time, with my big son on the desktop. Heck, it’s even the vehicle I just used to watch that “1900” movie. KK, better stop before Richie thinks I’m getting too metaphysical.
Umm Qasr 01032009
I was waiting for 14:00 to go out with the Major to check the passenger ferry info and looked at the training stuff I have- good powerpoints on vehicles, baggage, etc. Bored a bit, I looked in my recycle bin to see what I might dump. Somehow there were lots of photos there. I clicked on one and it was a shot of Richie, last summer, playing with his new smoker. His hair is down and he’s smiling into the camera, holding some tongs. I dragged it to the desktop. Not sure why, but I right-clicked and there was an option to put it as my desktop. So I did. And then I had a big photo of a happy, smiling Richie. I surprised myself a bit when my voice said, “Hi, Richie!” I don’t usually talk to computers but this time I couldn’t help myself. One moment I was OK with what I had- a decent hooch with a good job and plenty of money coming in and the next moment, I was missing him and hoping for a warm summer in Hayward. Strange, these metaphysical moments.
15:10
We found Sandbag near the gate and he went out with us. I petted him and he seemed to enjoy the ritual. He parked is butt on the ground and looked at me. He sure could use a bath but it wasn’t about personal hygiene; it was about physical contact. He put his body next to my knee and leaned on me while I rubbed his ribs and head. In my next care package from home, I want some flea pills so I can find a way to get them to him.
Earlier today, on my way to the helipad, a grey cat with a ring tail scurried across my path and stopped under a container. He turned around and looked at me a bit. Not quite afraid, nor hostile, just cautious. That’s fine. I’m not able to make his hellish life heaven. So if any of the cats will let me pet them, that’s fine. If they don’t want that, then it’s OK, too. After all, I’ve got cats at home who know me and like me.
At two PM we went to the port. The purpose was to get information about the passengers. I think we didn’t have a lot of success. But at least the weather wasn’t quite so bitterly cold. Sure, I wore gloves and a thermal vest with my long-sleeved shirt over my long-sleeved US Customs turtleneck. My ears stung a wee bit but not too badly. When I left, my feet were cold. Walking kind of circulated a bit of blood and now my feet feel fine. In a bit, I’ll go check mail at spawar. Maybe I’ll find something from Richie, though maybe not. It’s 04:12 for him (from the readout on my laptop) so he may be asleep.
My iPod is playing Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line” and I’m amazed at how my life has flowed: In 1969, this song played through large metal speaker at the Hayward Speedway’s track. I hear this song and I smell Castrol R in the air, mingled with hot dogs and onions, while two-strokes buzz and whine. And today, Johnny’s singing through some very nice-sounding speakers that I bought in Camp Bucca, while I sit in my hooch, trying to stay warm.
Val sent me an email saying it seems I’m building a nest here. She may see something I can’t: I took a dirty, dark trailer and changed it to suit myself using what resources I had- the empty trailer next door. I scavenged a heater, dresser, chair and lamp. Once I hung my clothes in the closet, I freed up an entire drawer and now I’m organized. On the floor of the closet is my duffel with the NBC gear that I have to turn back in and on top is my large rucksack, stuffed with my small ruck, canvas bag and laptop bag. My 511 boots are on the floor next to my tennies and krocs. My sleeping bag is on top of the shelf next to the box the speakers came in. My Romanian punga is on top of a cardboard box that held water bottles. One small joy is that my cammo poncho came back from the laundry looking very nice indeed. It’s hanging on a hanger over my too-tight 30-30 511 pants. Those pants fit very well when I got to California but they’re a bit snug now. Right next to that is my red-and-white checkered cowboy shirt. That’ll likely be my “getting on the airplane for California” shirt. Darn, I need one more. Well, it’ll be June, so I may use my Disney T-shirt for the first leg, the Baghdad-to-Amman leg. And I may carry that shirt in the cabin, putting it on in Frankfurt so I’ll look not too disheveled when I arrive at SFO, to see one more time my large, smiling son, the one who’s now on my desktop.
Strange musings, no? I started this piece talking about Richie and ended with him.
15:10
We found Sandbag near the gate and he went out with us. I petted him and he seemed to enjoy the ritual. He parked is butt on the ground and looked at me. He sure could use a bath but it wasn’t about personal hygiene; it was about physical contact. He put his body next to my knee and leaned on me while I rubbed his ribs and head. In my next care package from home, I want some flea pills so I can find a way to get them to him.
Earlier today, on my way to the helipad, a grey cat with a ring tail scurried across my path and stopped under a container. He turned around and looked at me a bit. Not quite afraid, nor hostile, just cautious. That’s fine. I’m not able to make his hellish life heaven. So if any of the cats will let me pet them, that’s fine. If they don’t want that, then it’s OK, too. After all, I’ve got cats at home who know me and like me.
At two PM we went to the port. The purpose was to get information about the passengers. I think we didn’t have a lot of success. But at least the weather wasn’t quite so bitterly cold. Sure, I wore gloves and a thermal vest with my long-sleeved shirt over my long-sleeved US Customs turtleneck. My ears stung a wee bit but not too badly. When I left, my feet were cold. Walking kind of circulated a bit of blood and now my feet feel fine. In a bit, I’ll go check mail at spawar. Maybe I’ll find something from Richie, though maybe not. It’s 04:12 for him (from the readout on my laptop) so he may be asleep.
My iPod is playing Johnny Cash’s “Walk the Line” and I’m amazed at how my life has flowed: In 1969, this song played through large metal speaker at the Hayward Speedway’s track. I hear this song and I smell Castrol R in the air, mingled with hot dogs and onions, while two-strokes buzz and whine. And today, Johnny’s singing through some very nice-sounding speakers that I bought in Camp Bucca, while I sit in my hooch, trying to stay warm.
Val sent me an email saying it seems I’m building a nest here. She may see something I can’t: I took a dirty, dark trailer and changed it to suit myself using what resources I had- the empty trailer next door. I scavenged a heater, dresser, chair and lamp. Once I hung my clothes in the closet, I freed up an entire drawer and now I’m organized. On the floor of the closet is my duffel with the NBC gear that I have to turn back in and on top is my large rucksack, stuffed with my small ruck, canvas bag and laptop bag. My 511 boots are on the floor next to my tennies and krocs. My sleeping bag is on top of the shelf next to the box the speakers came in. My Romanian punga is on top of a cardboard box that held water bottles. One small joy is that my cammo poncho came back from the laundry looking very nice indeed. It’s hanging on a hanger over my too-tight 30-30 511 pants. Those pants fit very well when I got to California but they’re a bit snug now. Right next to that is my red-and-white checkered cowboy shirt. That’ll likely be my “getting on the airplane for California” shirt. Darn, I need one more. Well, it’ll be June, so I may use my Disney T-shirt for the first leg, the Baghdad-to-Amman leg. And I may carry that shirt in the cabin, putting it on in Frankfurt so I’ll look not too disheveled when I arrive at SFO, to see one more time my large, smiling son, the one who’s now on my desktop.
Strange musings, no? I started this piece talking about Richie and ended with him.
Umm Qasr 01022009
This is Sandbag, our unofficial POETT member. He's not quite tame, as he likes to bark a lot. But he's friendly enough, sitting with his ribs next to my leg so I can rub his head and talk to him.
Today the schedule was a bit different. It seems that Fridays are no-work days for both the Iraqis and the Americans. Not entirely a goof-off day, though.
The day started a bit sparse- breakfast was almost non-existent, consisting of cold cereal and milk. That was OK, Muesli kept me going until 10:30 when brunch was on the schedule. I spent some time scouring my toilet and sink, then swept my rug. I went a bit late to brunch because I was looking at emails. Brunch looked a lot like a combination of breakfast and lunch: French toast and hamburgers, bacon and salad.
After Brunch, I took a walk around the camp. My trailer is against the west road so all I did is go around back and begin walking. The camp is small, maybe a five minute walk. As I walked around the perimeter, I smoked a small cigar. The walk is so short, I didn’t quite finish the cigar. Walking was good but the wind was so cold that I got chilled. I came inside to warm up a bit, straddling my heater and letting the heat rise up to keep me warm. It got so cold, I took a shower. Then I went to look for my laundry again with no success.
I plugged my new speakers into my iPod and listened to the music Richie loaded into it for me while I used my laptop to write more of “for Caitlin,” a continuation of Bube in which the main character is a small girl named Medlitsa. Heck, in this story, Bube was there, too. As I wrote, the story seemed to need a woman that I saw in my mind as Sue, so I named the character Oma Mama. And Bube’s Uncle Vincent sorta became me. Aida, Green Riding Hood’s mom, was a sort of Aida that I met in Kyrgyzstan and Sue’s daughter Donna. Hey, this is my story, so I can people it with whomever I want. Paul, Medlitsa’s dad, isn’t anyone I know personally. Not yet. I’ll give him some time to become someone real. One strange thing- in the Bube story, I was his dad. But in this story, I seem to fit Vincent, Bube’s uncle. No, I’m not vain. But some parts of me seem appropriate for each character. Ah, maybe I am vain.
After I wrote, I saved the story to my thumb drive and went back to the Spawar café to check emails. I sent some photos to Jason Actis, one of which was a really good photo of him, with the Syrian gate behind him in Tower One. I tried to save some stuff from DynCorp but couldn’t. And then I uploaded the story to Sue, asking her to tell the story to Caitlin. I’ll give Sue a few days and see what happens. Me, I like the story. I hope Caitlin does, too. If Caitlin likes it, then Sue will like it and tell me so.
I stopped by the haji shop and told the man that one of my movies didn’t play well. He said to get another. So I came back with “Australia” with Nicole Kidman.
On the way back from getting my movie, I went to the laundry bin and there was my missing laundry. Woo hooo! I came back, put away my clothes and went to dinner.
Ate dinner, which was a bit special. The table reserved for officers and senior NCOs had wine glasses and white tablecloths. I felt awkward sitting there. MSGT Smith was behind me and I asked him where we were sitting. He found a “regular” table away from there. Even the Navy commander sat with us and he’s the highest-ranking officer here.
I liked the lamb. Some rice and veggies and a few crackers with cheese went before I got two dishes of apple pie stuff. MSGT Smith said the cream behind was good, so I put that on my second helping and he was right- it was delicious.
Been thinking about this place. It feels almost like stealing when I think of the money I’m making here and the comfort I’m enjoying. I’ve got my own hooch with shower and toilet, my own bed and furniture. I can watch all the $4 movies I want. And the work isn’t even challenging. Tonight I asked one of the majors when he would like to have a Customs Inspector go to the port. Apparently tomorrow will be a slow day- only going around two PM to check on passenger stuff.
I compare the work and the living here with what I did in Husaibah and Camp Gannon and the difference seems unfair- I earn the same here as there but I work less and suffer a lot less.
Pretty soon I’ve got to think about where I’ll go for vacation. Not right away but I can’t let this matter slide indefinitely.
Pretty soon I’ve got to think about where I’ll go for vacation. Not right away but I can’t let this matter slide indefinitely.
Well, back to the movie. Maybe another time, I’ll re-read my first Gannon entries anc compare them to this one. I seem a lot more at peace with everything. My divorce seems more like an inconvenience than a tragedy; living here isn’t half-bad; even my Pensebaby and Schaffemann’s behavior seems to bother me less. Yep, life isn’t so bad these days.
