Outrage

I was chatting online with yet another GWOT veteran whom I've never met last night. We've been corresponding for about 18 months, I'd guess. This guy is a Staff Sergeant (SSG/E-6) in the Army National Guard who served overseas shortly after the invasion of Iraq.

He's got 15 years in uniform, and went to the V.A. to get help with PTSD and mTBI (post-traumatic stress disorder and mild traumatic brain injury) a while ago. The V.A. did what they were supposed to do, and helped this guy to see that he was having a normal reaction to an incredibly abnormal circumstance, and his issues resolved over time.

Not too long ago, during the Periodic Health Assessment (PHA) each Soldier has to complete each year, he mentioned that he'd been to the V.A. to get help.

His National Guard unit is now sending him to a medical review board in order to kick him out of the Army. He'd just gotten the paperwork from the Army on Saturday morning.

"The guys in my unit look at me as though I have the plague," he mentioned.

THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!

I am so angry I cannot see straight.

A friend of mine who's a psychiatrist at a large military medical installation here in the States where they see lots of personnel experiencing post-deployment difficulties told me that the Active Duty Army is doing a pretty good job of working to de-stigmatize a diagnosis of PTSD. "But the National Guard in many States is just way behind the power curve here, and they still effectively punish Soldiers for getting the help they deserve and need, and which can restore them to full functionality in their military mission."

Not so long ago a Lieutenant General in the Army (three stars) went public with the fact of his struggle against PTSD, an act which ought to be lauded by all concerned. But this NCO, upon being honest with his superiors about his own experience, is going to be medically discharged from the Army because his State's National Guard Bureau is living in some other century, and operating out of complete blindness and stupidity.

Instead of censuring this guy, we should be applauding him and honoring his desire to accomplish the Army's mission by ensuring that he's fully mission capable.

By this action, his State's National Guard Bureau is sending the message that it's better to pretend that nothing is wrong until such time as the Soldier either commits homicide or suicide or both.

This Soldier has fifteen good years of service, wants to continue to retirement, has had his problems resolved as the result of taking the courageous action he took to acknowledge the truth of his situation, and the National Guard is going to kick him out because of it.

Disgusting dereliction.

May God grant those jerks every good gift I could wish for myself or those I love most.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Ex-Cadet

We met in an airport yesterday as I was flying to visit family members.

He and I boarded the same airport tram, and he looked young and fit and was carrying an envelope with an impressive Army eagle insignia on it, and upon closer inspection, the words "Official Documents."

I guess he noticed my Army-issued assault pack (backpack), and the bright orange name tag which reads "Chaplain" and my last name, because as we were dismounting the vehicle he asked me whether I were, in fact an Army Chaplain. I said yes, and asked him if he were in the Army.

"I just left the Military Academy," he said somewhat sheepishly.

"Good!" I replied.

He looked somewhat quizzically at me.

"I must have spoken with at least five Chaplains there before I left, but the place was just not for me," he continued.

"Good!" I replied again.

He looked positively confused.

"If your heart was telling you that's not the place for you, then it's a good decision to have left, and I would suppose one that was not easily reached. Good for you! That shows courage and self-knowledge, which are to be applauded."

He managed a somewhat wan smile.

"And besides, at worst it can only be a terrible mistake!" I continued. "Mistakes -- even terrible ones -- can be dealt with. Nuclear annihilation or the end-of-all-that-is cannot. I bet there were some there at the Academy who made this out to be the equivalent (or worse) of nuclear holocaust...?"

He nodded.

"So why did you leave, then?"

"It was just too much, too soon. I'd gotten into an ROTC program at a good school, and I'm going to see if I can get back into that program, but this just wasn't right for me."

"Way to go, young man! I truly believe that God speaks to us in the inner longings of our hearts, and if your heart was telling you that this was not the right time and place for you, hooray that you had the courage and wisdom to listen to that still, small voice within you! It's *your* life, and *your* military career, so don't let anyone else try to live it for you. ROTC is a noble endeavor; my Dad went through ROTC and became an Army Officer, I'm proud to say. I myself have been involved with ROTC at the university where I teach biology, and am impressed by the caliber of the Cadets I've gotten to know. At worst, this can only be a terrible mistake!"

He smiled a genuine and relaxed smile.

We parted ways shortly after we'd met.

"Thank you, Sir. This has helped me probably more than any of the conversations I had while I was there at the Academy."

Who knew?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Donny

Many years ago now my path crossed that of a young man who was an ROTC Cadet. This was long before I ever imagined I would be a member of the United States Army. I was impressed by his military bearing and his natural intelligence (which means I probably wondered at why he was joining the Army -- shows you where *my* mindset was in those days, and how surprising it is that I am where I am these days!).

Over the years I lost track of where he was, but just after I was accessioned into the Army, we became reacquainted. By this time enough time had elapsed that he was out of the Army and into a profession that suited him well.

We actually met at a funeral of someone I didn't even know, as it turns out.

God is a bit weird in that way, I've found.

Like many former military, my friend had developed some rather significant substance abuse problems, and the physical changes in him were distressing, if not frightening. Heartbreaking doesn't begin to capture the experience.

One of his really good friends from his days in ROTC was there, and he was clean and sober and going to a lot of AA meetings at the time. I suspect it might have seemed as if this other guy and I were 'double-teaming' him throughout the weekend. But about a month later, my friend called to say that he was newly sober and going to AA meetings.

As can often be the case with very intellectually gifted addicts, my friend eventually slacked off on going to meetings, and began to drink again. Just before I shipped out to Iraq I spoke with him as he was struggling to regain his sobriety and serenity.

I tried to stay in touch with him as best I could throughout my deployment; there was no way for people without a government phone to call me, as my cell phone didn't work over there, so he couldn't call me. He made courageous decisions over the last year: to go into treatment, to move to a half-way house afterward (instead of returning home to wife and children), to get a 'sponsor' in AA and really follow that person's lead, to go to lots and lots of AA meetings, and to get back into even better physical condition than he'd been in when still in uniform.

He celebrated a year clean and sober this past weekend.

Hooray for the Higher Power!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Miguel

One of the Soldiers I've been corresponding with via modern technology has been home from a long deployment in Iraq (his second in five years, and he's a Reservist) for a few months now. It turns out that he's been sober from alcohol for a number of years, but he's having trouble with another addiction these days, which could well lead him back to drinking.

He's in a lot of pain.

I suspect it's the way the effects of his many trips outside the wire are manifesting themselves. If I'm correct, it's yet another instance of deployment stress response (I prefer that designation to "post traumatic stress disorder" since there's nothing 'disordered' about a powerful reaction to a powerfully abnormal situation).

He and I have been exchanging emails and talking on the phone since before he redeployed. Recently we were chatting by phone because he was in a lot of psychic pain, due to the consequences of his present addictive behaviors compounding (rather than relieving) the heartache of his deployment.

This Soldier has been in the military a good many years, and would seem to me to be a model Non-Commissioned Officer. It breaks my heart to hear him in so much distress, and to be powerless to change that for him. My friend Elizabeth, who goes to a lot of Al-Anon meetings would remind me that "messiah is not part of my job description."

He wanted not to be acting out in his addiction, but was afraid that day would be like any other. He was also losing faith in God, he said, because this other addiction was so difficult to overcome, as compared with his alcoholism.

I suggested that he could, in fact, give himself permission, just for that day, *not* to act out. I encouraged him to think of some other behavior(s) he could engage in which would help him to feel better about himself and his situation. The gym, perhaps? Soccer? Running? A movie? Gardening? Playing an instrument?

He responded by saying that he might go to the store and get himself some canvas and painting materials, because he'd not done any art during his deployment. That sounded like a great idea to me.

I sent him some money electronically, with a note suggesting he might use it toward his art.

While I don't have a whole lot of money (this pesky vow of poverty, don't you know?), I find that the more generous I am with what little I have, the more I have to be generous with.

What's up with *that*?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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The colonel

After driving for three hours from Home Station to my "home of record," I met for dinner with my first Battalion Commander from the Guard, who returned from a yearlong deployment to Afghanistan while I was deployed.

Among the things we discussed was the fact that lots of people have been asking me how I've changed as a result of being deployed.

I told him I wasn't sure, exactly. It frankly seems a bit surreal that I even went to Iraq at all.

The Colonel volunteered that, as he saw me walking toward him from a block away across the parking lot, he said to himself, "Chappy walks like a Soldier now."

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Chuck

Over the past couple of years, and especially since starting this blog and being deployed to Iraq, I've developed quite a lively and rich online correspondence with U.S. military personnel far from wherever I might happen to be.

At first, it was all by email. These days, at times, we're able to use an online instant messenger service (did you know that the Army has its own internal online instant messenger?), or even talk by phone. Lately, FaceBook and MySpace have become primary venues for this sort of interaction as well.

The list keeps growing, the longer I'm in uniform.

Because of this blog, I've become acquainted with Soldiers and their families whom I've never even met in person (yet). It's been a delight, and an awesome responsibility.

For some reason, more and more Veterans who've been through the wringer of war have been chatting with me online. Perhaps it's the anonymity of the internet (though I do know the names of most of them), or the personal security of vulnerability at a distance. I'm not sure.

But even with the geographical separation and the lack of having met in person, something good happens.

For both of us.

For example, one young man (I'll call him Chuck) whom I'd never known before contacted me via email quite some time ago. He was in the process of separation from the military after many years of courageous and honorable service, and two combat deployments to Iraq. Like many Veterans of the Global War on Terrorism (or whatever we're calling it these days), he had been wounded in combat -- both physically and psychically.

When we started our correspondence, he was drinking heavily and taking rather large doses of medication for pain. He was very depressed, and I feared for his safety. Jobless, living alone, wrangling a seemingly uncaring and uncompromising V.A. Hospital system, facing the immanent break-up of yet another relationship, he fought the demons of his past and present, alone.

It broke my heart.

I'm grateful that my friends who go to a lot of Al-Anon meetings have kept reminding me -- about every aspect of my life -- that "messiah" is not part of my job description.

That's a very painful lesson to learn, and it's taking me a lifetime to learn it!

Chuck and I began to speak by phone, tentatively at first, and then almost daily. For more than eighteen months we communicated via technology, having never met in person.

Slowly Chuck began to move away from the dark place which had almost engulfed him. Over the past three years now, he's overcome much of the agoraphobia which held him hostage to Iraq and a prisoner of his fears and resentments. I tried to speak with him from Iraq as often as I could (the time difference was a real pain!), and we emailed each other several times a week.

He's managed to rejoin society and has found an interest which captivates his attention and may grow into a rewarding career. Chuck still experiences frustration with a V.A. system fraught with delay and dereliction of duty. He still struggles against physical and psychic pain, soldiering ever onward in the midst of wounds still in need of healing, but with a lighter heart and a more hopeful spirit.

I'd hoped to be able to visit him after my deployment to Iraq ended, but with only a few days before having to report in for the train-up for Kosovo, that's just not to be.

I expect we'll continue to email one another, and I'll call whenever I can from Kosovo, and someday we'll find ourselves in the same place at the same time.

Until then, I'll keep praying, and ask that you do, too.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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And you thought you had a bad day?

On an otherwise ordinary day Down Range quite a while ago, not far from where my CHU was, an enemy rocket landed directly on another CHU. One can see what the CHUs are supposed to look like in the photo below, as well as what happened to the unit that was hit. (Click to enlarge any of the photos.)


In this next photo, it's clear that the roof has been removed by the blast, and that the Soldier's television was almost completely obliterated by the force of the impact and explosion. (This shot is looking from what's left of the back wall into the unit.)

This next view, from the front looking in, gives an insight into the damage, as well as the proximity of this unit to my own. I was in 705B. The air conditioner has been blown out of its location next to the doorway.

Here's another view from the front looking inward through what used to be the front door (note that the door is no longer present).

The wall of CHU 609B, directly behind the unit that was hit by the rocket, was sprayed with shrapnel which caused significant damage to the inside of that unit. You can get a sense of how far the shrapnel traveled by looking back at the first photo in this series. There was no one in the CHU that was hit at the time the rocket landed; its occupant had left perhaps five minutes earlier. No one was seriously wounded in the attack, thank God.

And you thought *you* were having a bad day?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Star Jasmine

I rented a vehicle in Sacramento in order to get all my stuff home to the Bay Area on Friday, after we'd finished with our paperwork at Home Station. SFC McG and his wife drove off north on their way home, and I headed east briefly so I could meet up with a friend who goes to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings, Mary O. She moved to the Sierra Nevada mountains from the Bay Area a few years ago and we met up in Roseville to have lunch.

It was great to see her, and to catch up on what's gone on over the past year.

After lunch I drove west and south to the Bay Area, while the traffic on Interstate 80 headed east (toward Lake Tahoe) was a parking lot for miles and miles and miles. Good thing many people had the day off, because the traffic in my direction was light and moved along steadily!

By the time I neared home, it was supper time, and when I was about 45 minutes out, I got a phone call from my first Battalion Commander in the Guard, who wanted to know whether I was free to have a meal with his family. They were on the road themselves, but were about as far from their home as I was, so we'd be able to meet up without much delay.

I got there a little before they did, so I went to a coffee shop to get a vanilla smoothie. As I got out of the car, I smelled the star jasmine (Jasminum multiflorum) that was growing outside the shop. It was nearing the end of its blooming season, but still gave off its powerful and lovely fragrance.

It was a surprise and a delight.

It meant I was truly home.Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Independence

SFC McG and I discovered on Thursday morning -- after we'd lugged all of our gear to the Transportation office and basically had an old-fashioned 'sit-in' there -- that we had missed the flight the Transpo people had booked us on for the day before.

No one had let us know of the reservations, despite our having written down our cell phone numbers for the NCO who had taken our other information on Wednesday. No one could find our cell phone numbers on Thursday morning.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that the reservations that we'd missed had us leaving for California from South Carolina, though we were in Mississippi.

While we waited for our tickets, we returned to the headquarters building to get our orders amended (because otherwise we'd have lost a day of leave),. Fortunately for us, there weren't many other Soldiers going through admin stuff Thursday morning, so it didn't take very long.

We loaded our gear onto a school bus around 1100 hours, for the one-hour trip to Gulfport. Because of a problem with that vehicle it took us about 90 minutes to get there, however. It turns out that we had nine pieces of luggage to check, when the airlines would only check four per passenger, so I was able to consolidate a rucksack and tough box (bringing the latter to the limit of 99 pounds!), so we got all our gear checked to Sacramento.

SFC McG and I wore our Stetsons as we deplaned in Sacramento late Thursday night -- but we neglected to get any photos! Rats. The Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major, as well as one of the First Sergeants from our parent unit were there to greet us. So was a Chaplain (and his family) and Chaplain Assistant (and his wife) from the State Chaplain's office.

More importantly, though, SFC McG's wife and parents were there to greet him. Hooray!

They drove back up north to their home for the night, about 90 minutes away or so. The Guard got me a room at a hotel near the Armory where SFC McG and I had to turn in gear and do some paperwork on Friday.

It's great to be back in California!

Independence on Independence Day.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Scotty, beam us up!

Three nights ago SFC McGee and I played hooky from Summer Camp with my parents. They drove the two of us down to Gulfport so that we could meet up with my friend Stan who lives in New Orleans and who drove over to rendezvous with us. My parents adopted him as their fourth son while Stan and I were in the Jesuit Novitiate more than 30 years ago.

We drove along the coastline looking for someplace to eat, but to no avail. The damage from Hurricane Katrina to coastal businesses -- especially restaurants -- seems largely to have gone unrepaired, unfortunately for the locals. We finally ended up at a seafood restaurant not too far from the Gulfport Airport, and had a great dinner.

Since we'd met up with Stan in the parking lot of a Home Depot there in Gulfport, SFC McG went inside the store to see if he could find whether the wife of one of the Soldiers we'd befriended in Iraq worked there, but to no avail. Perhaps it wasn't the correct Home Depot. Rats.

Early Wednesday morning SFC McG and I showed up to have our PPD (tuberculosis) skin tests read so we could finish the medical outprocessing in about 20 minutes and get on our way. Our hope was that by getting that test out of the way as early as possible, we could then complete the rest of the remaining paperwork quickly, get our plane tickets, and blow that pop-stand by mid-day.

Instead, after we finished with the PPD test, we found there were about forty Soldiers already waiting in line ahead of us at one of the other medical buildings when we went to finish our medical outprocessing. That building, though new, is not spacious enough to accommodate large groups, so we waited outside. As the day was already quite warm (southern Mississippi in July, after all) at 0700 hours, the time spent outside on the bleachers behind the building seemed longer than it probably was.

I found a few flowers to photograph along the edge of the woods behind the building, and then read "The Soul of Sponsorship" (about Fr. Ed Dowling, SJ, the Jesuit who befriended Bill W., the co-founder of AA, and then served as his mentor, sponsor, spiritual director, and friend until Dowling's death in 1960) which my friend Stan had given me the night before. It's an easy and interesting read, and helped the time to pass more quickly.

SFC McG, bless him, was reading "Theology and Social Theory" by John Milbank, of which I've written a couple of times (and not with great affection, to say the least!). I admire his thirst for knowledge and his inquisitive spirit.

Upon finishing up our medical stuff, each of us picked up a prescription at the pharmacy (a couple of blocks away by foot), closed out our paperwork in yet another building, and went to the Transportation office to request flights home. The seemingly helpful young Sergeant took down our information, got our cell phone numbers, and told us we'd be contacted when the reservations were ticketed.

It was not quite 1000 hours at this point (two hours later than we'd hoped), but we still actually believed we might get out of Dodge by mid-to-late afternoon Wednesday.

1700 hours rolled around, and we'd still not heard anything, much to our chagrin. I especially felt bad for SFC McG because Mrs SFC McG was waiting in California to meet him, and they had been exchanging calls and text messages all day in anticipation of their planned reunion Wednesday night.

Once it became clear that we *weren't* going to get home Wednesday, we decided that Thursday morning we'd load all of our stuff into a vehicle and arrive back at the Transpo office at 0700, offload our bags at that office, and not leave until we were outta there.

When I mentioned this plan to my Dad Wednesday night, he said, approvingly, "That sounds like a course of action SFC McG probably came up with."

Correct, as usual.

I was more than ready to get home. Scotty, beam us up!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Restraint of pen and tongue

It seems as though there are a lot of military-types who come through Summer Camp. Yesterday I heard that one person was on Post with whom I've had some issues in the past.

Friends of mine who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings have told me that Bill W., the co-founder of AA with Dr. Bob S., wrote somewhere that "Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue."

I've always found that hard to believe, quite frankly.

But I decided to exercise some of that yesterday when our paths crossed.

You see, when I was in the process of seeing whether I could get a commission in the Army as a Chaplain at my advanced age, and without prior military experience, a couple of "interest groups" (shall we call them?) got into a tug-of-war over me.

The skirmishes escalated to a point such that a very, very high-ranking individual got involved and made a decision in favor of one of the parties involved, to the exclusion of the other. This was not very good news for me, as it meant many hassles, more paperwork, and two missed trips to Asia that summer.

It also meant having to travel across the country to go to the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS), when I can see the local one from my home of record!

Rather than rehash here a rather frustrating experience, suffice it to note that the individual I mentioned above wound up publishing an order (almost four months after I'd been commissioned) which would have reduced me in rank to a First Lieutenant (1LT) , simply because the individual was upset that I'd been commissioned as a Captain (CPT).

That person and I had never met at that point, and had only spoken by phone once (the day the person discovered I'd been brought in as a CPT). I didn't find out about the reduction-in-rank order until months later when I just happened to be examining my files on one military site on the web I'd never visited before.

That order hadn't taken effect because of poor timing on the individual's part, it seems, so the reduction in rank never took place (well, at least not yet!), but it's still in my official file, which is more than a little annoying.

Upon hearing the person was spotted on Post, I really had hoped that we'd not wind up in the same place at the same time, but alas! that was not to be.

Instead, as it became clear that I'd have to speak to the individual, I prayed: God bless this person with every good gift I could wish for myself or those I love most.

Because of that prayer, I believe, I remained courteous and perhaps even cordial. I chose deliberately not to mention anything associated with my accessions process or the person's actions subsequent to my commissioning.

I guess Bill W. was correct after all.

Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue: I didn't say or do anything untoward, unbecoming, or unkind.

Hooray for the Higher Power (as friends of mine who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings say)!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Connectivity

As was the case last summer here at Summer Camp, access to the internet is tough, and involves computers which have all sorts of dire warnings pop up on the screen indicating that any one of a number of worms, viruses, bots have been detected but not cleared from the machine. (It’s clearly an effort to get someone to pay for virus protection, so I’m not sure whether the infections are really there, but would rather not take the chance.)

Moreover, there are lots of Junior Enlisted personnel who are trying to use those computers during the time when I’m free to use them, so I’d rather not make it even more difficult for them to stay connected with their friends and relatives.

I’ll just wind up having to post this and other updates at a later time.

It’s great to be back in the U.S., and to see my parents who drove a long way over several days to be here so they could thank SFC McG in person for bringing me back safely.

(I think they were more interested in seeing him than me, quite frankly....)

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Accommodations

Everybody in the National Guard coming back from a year in Iraq (and Afghanistan, it would seem) has to take a tuberculin skin test. They’re not particularly painful; they’re just annoying in that the test is administered (subcutaneously) one day and the results are read 48 hours later.

This means at least three days at the demobilization site.

SFC McG and I have wound up in the same room here at Summer Camp as we’d had last year, and it’s now looking as though we were trend-setters in that regard. There had been another Chaplain Detachment team that had showed up shortly after we arrived last year, and they were housed for a month in the barracks with the other Soldiers going through the mobilization process (forty bunks to each room).

Not surprisingly, they were more than a bit annoyed that SFC McG and I had our own room in a quiet building somewhat off the beaten path.

Those other guys were told that it was a mistake that SFC McG and I were placed in that building, that it had happened because I arrived on 03JUL08 after everyone who knew better had left, and that a Major who was working the desk that night had overstepped his authority in placing us there.

But that they weren’t going to move us.

This year, that other Unit Ministry Team has been housed in that same building with us as they demobilize at the same time we are. Another UMT that’s in the process of mobilizing for a year Down Range has also been placed in our building.

So much for SFC McG and I having been put there last year by mistake, I guess! We were just the vanguard of the new way of doing things.

Last year, though, he and I at least had a small electric fan I’d brought with me, seeing as the air conditioning in that building doesn’t work so well. This year, it is sauna time pretty much all hours of the day and night, with the air barely moving.

The other UMT is a bit disconcerted by that fact.

Be careful what you pray for, I guess!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Terra Firma

SFC McG and I were up before 0300 on Saturday morning, Iraq time, and as of 0430 Monday morning, Iraq time, neither of us had yet been to bed. SFC McG got lots of sleep during that time frame, while I did not. (We've been over this before here at "Curmudgeon," now, haven't we. 'Nuff said.)

Suffice it to say that he and I are now back at "Summer Camp" in southern Mississippi, after quite a trip back to the States from Iraq and Kuwait and Ireland's Shannon Airport. Perhaps we'll go over this more later, but for the moment, since at the time of this writing I've still not slept, thank God we're back in the States!

A multitude of thanks to all who have supported the two of us -- and through us all the Service Members and civilians we've been privileged to minister to -- during this past year. Your prayers, and packages, and postings bostered our spirits and lightened our hearts while we have been far from those we love most.

The day this post is published, Monday, is day 365 of my mobilization.

I remarked to SFC McG in the car shortly before our arrival at "Summer Camp," as we passed under the Military Order of the Purple Heart Memorial Overpass, how grateful I am *not* to have a Purple Heart, and how grateful I am to all who do.

He promised my parents that he'd bring me back safe and sound, and that he'd shoot me in the foot if I tried anything stupid, so that I'd at least arrive home alive.

I'm grateful he didn't discharge his weapon in my direction, despite the stupid things I *did* do....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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On the ground

Summer Camp hasn’t changed much since SFC McG and I were here a year ago, though it doesn’t seem quite as crowded now as it was then.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you!

We arrived at the Atlanta Airport Sunday morning amid the crush of units redeploying and other Soldiers and civilians going on leave. It seems as though we were originally supposed to have stops in Ireland and in Bangor, Maine. While we were in Ireland someone decided that we’d skip Bangor entirely, and fly non-stop to Atlanta. This meant a much longer (read: five-hour) layover in Ireland.

It also meant no welcome-home phalanx of greeters, as it turns out.

I’m told that the crowds in Bangor are legion, and the welcome enthusiastic and positively overwhelming.

There was no one there, other than airline personnel who had jobs to do when we got off the plane in Atlanta.

Upon arriving in Dallas when I was on my way home for leave in January, I experienced the Texas version of that kind of raucous welcome, but Soldiers on the plane who’d been through both Bangor and Dallas told me that nothing beats the intensity of the Bangor greeting.

All that being said, it’s good to be home, knowing that I won’t be going back to a war zone.

At least, not for a while, anyway.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Sweltering

It was 132 degrees Fahrenheit in Kuwait yesterday as we sat, sweltering, in lockdown prior to boarding the bus that took us to the airport. It was not nearly so hot in the tent (thank God for A/C), but the heat radiating off the wall into the tent was significant, and with the tent full of people with nowhere else to go, it was definitely warm-ish inside.

Later, it was 103 degrees on the bus to the airport, even with the air conditioner running, such as it was.

Though it was only some 60 kilometers from where we were in lockdown to the airport, we were on the bus for almost 2.5 hours. SFC McG and I had all of our carry-on baggage with us (including carriers for our Stetsons), on our laps, for the duration of the time we were on the bus.

Unlike the other times I've ridden from or to the airport on those buses, we had no plastic bottles of water available. Not that we could have easily extricated ourselves from the seats to get up and get them! But it would have been nice.

Fortunately for SFC McG, he was directly under the A/C vent, so what air was moving, was blowing right down on his head. I can't remember a time when I've sweated so much while just sitting in place (other than being in a sauna, I suppose).

Now we're on a long layover at Shannon Airport, and unlike the last time I was here (flying home for R&R) I'm able to get on the internet. Hooray!

Not much sleep on the plane, but at least a little. Hooray!!

We will soon be back Stateside, and I'm looking forward to it.

I doubt it'll be 132 degrees Fahrenheit, too.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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On the road again....

Well, now it looks as if I might be unable to post for a few days. So please be patient.

I suspect that today might be a very long one, indeed. SFC McG and I were up at 0300, and may not get any sleep tonight. It wouldn't surprise me if we might well spend much of the day on our feet.

Ku-waiting.

Oh well, as my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings say, 'This too shall pass'.

And as many of my friends in the Army are wont to say, 'It's all good'.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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