Two in One Day?

May 11, 2010

 

Today I sat in a crowd of people, sleep deprived and teary eyed, and stared at ten men in wonder and awe and later was able to shake their hands as THEY thanked ME for being here. What an honor to be in the same room as these men. What courage they have. You may ask why I'm having this reaction. Three words: Operation Proper Exit.

 

For those of you who are unaware of the meaning behind those three words, I'll explain a little further. I first heard of this program via an AFN commercial (hooah!), thought it was wonderful and a little scary, and never thought much beyond that (funny how one can completely tune out AFN commercials unless the word "Iraq" is used). Anyways, this is a closure program for wounded warriors.

 

I had employed Kirsten to attend with me because I didn't know how emotional it would be. Who wants to be a sobbing basket case by herself, after all? I am happy to report that, though I got teary eyed on a few occasions, I did not once cry. All of the credit for that can be placed on the ten, though. There was not one ounce of self-pity apparent to anyone in the crowd, just a concern for and dedication to fellow service members and the mission.  They very matter-of-factly handed out information and threw in a little bit of comedy tour, too.

 

I watched each of the ten men stand individually and tell what had caused their physical injuries. Some looked physically normal and were (one will be returning to combat, probably in Afghanistan, soon), while others had lost various body parts, whether hands, legs, arms, or eyes. A few had been in comas for extended periods of time while their bodies healed. One told us that his parents were told that their son may never wake up from his coma, and if he did he'd never walk or talk again. Another's life sounded like a country song: woke up from a coma and his mama told him he lost his left arm and leg, his wife left him, and his dog had died. Someone else has had 66 surgeries thus far and has had to be reconstructed basically from head to toe, and is now enjoying the civilian world, getting an education, and wishing he could be back on the front lines. One had been through Balad before, though he didn't remember because of his injuries. When he returned this week the hospital showed him pictures of his innards from when he was med-evaced into and out of Balad.

 

All spoke about wishing they could have continued their mission, coming back to Iraq to keep promises to their troops, or the vast improvements that they have seen in the efforts in Iraq since they were last here. They spoke of patriotism, the love of their work, and faith. They thanked and encouraged those service members who are still here fighting for a cause that they feel justifies their missing limbs.

 

The floor was opened for questions and then the funny and down-to-earth heroes began talking about the real issues that the military is facing currently, not just physical ailments but especially mental ones: PTSD, suicide rates, how to help or at least try to help. There is no easy answer was the conclusion. Understand that it's difficult to seek help for something mental, especially when there's still more mission. Keep your eyes open. Always be there and willing to help.

 

How incredibly humbling.

A Month at Club Med

April 13, 2010

All trees lean in the same direction, as if beaten so often that they now must cower at the wind's howling force.

Two days ago, I was walking home from work and marveling at the beauty: blue skies, birds singing, and trees swaying in the breeze. Yesterday I walked home from work around the same time, fighting the wind that was furiously blowing dirt, dust, and who knows what else into my face. Once I reached my pod (living area), I looked over my shoulder. The far-reaching blue sky that I had enjoyed only the day before was replaced by vision limited by hazy white-yellow skies. This is not a dust storm; this is life.

Later in the day, I was awakened by a crashing clap of thunder that shook my room. Shortly after, I heard the rain commence, rapping loudly on our thin metal roof. Since previous experiences have taught me that this noise can mean either rain or mud falling from the sky, I decided to investigate. Carefully opening my door, I sniffed first: wet earth, mud, and dust storm. I then peeked a little further to see alligator-tear raindrops developing patterns on my dusty wooden steps.

When I awoke for work, I walked outside to find no evidence that there had been any precipitation. Since I work nights, my walk to work is generally dark, but tonight was different. So much dust still hung in the air that the reflection, from what I don't know, made the sky glow a dark purple. The hanging dust, sans dust storm, is truly an amazing sight to behold.

April 17, 2010

Butterflies have invaded Iraq. I don't know how or from where they come, but I'm not complaining. I've never been an overly big fan of butterflies; they're beautiful but thinking of them usually stops there for me. On my walk home from work, there is a path the size of a one lane road between a building and some tall concrete. This seems to be the butterfly hangout. As I walk, my feet disturb them from their ground perches and they climb into the air, thus creating a fluttering flurry of beautiful wings surrounding me. It's all very Disney movie-ish, but I like it.

In more grim news, as I mentally marveled about the butterflies and finished my walk home (via the bathroom, so as to prevent the almost inevitable wake up in the middle of my sleep as a result of hydrating), I had quite a scare. This was not your typical "on-deployment" scare, but probably made me more nervous than the base receiving indirect fire. Something hissed at me. There is a raised wooden path on the way to the bathroom (to prevent walking in the mud during rainy season, I presume), which is, apparently, the perfect hiding place for critters. All I saw was something dark dart back under the planks, directly under my feet. Naturally imagining this to be a snake, I did my best (purposeful, of course) hop, skip, and jump to the nearest non-wooded area. Had I not twisted my ankle twice on this deployment already, I would have leapt from the concrete, over the planks, and to the ground. As it was, I simply moved as quickly as possible in that direction and away from the offending creature.

April 25, 2010

There are some things I will never understand.

What thought processes must a child have to make him or her decide that the only way to live is to not live at all? To take one's life as an adult or even a teenager, while still beyond my realm of comprehension, seems to make more sense to me. Stress, work, bills. But a child... what overbearing burdens and circumstances must that child have felt or dealt with to instill only feelings of hopelessness? Why aren't children running away from home when they're upset, only to return by nightfall anymore (not that this is as safe as it used to be)? Why are life and society changing toward this fashion? I know there aren't really answers out there, though I'm sure opinions are plentiful. I definitely have my own. My heart aches for the stolen innocence of our children.

On a much brighter note, we just finished our 24 hours of volunteer recognition on the 24th of April, the last day of National Volunteer Week. Huge props out to Kirsten who planned and organized the whole thing!!! I think it was a success, especially for a deployment AND our first function. Granted, we didn't have as many people as we would have liked, but you never will in a deployment setting. There was a LOT of food, some volleyball and other games, some karaoke... although I missed most of the "fun" stuff so I could get some sleep, it sounded awesome!

May 4, 2010

As I type, there is a young airman in the next room witnessing the (lengthy) birth of his first child, a son. He's been in and out, checking in with us, practically bursting with excitement, power walking to the restroom, grinning like a child, waiting. It renders me nigh speechless that, although in this brown land of seeming desolation and war, something as natural and yet magical as child birth can bring families together no matter how far apart. What an honor to be part, in a miniscule way, of something so heartwarming. There is good in the world; sometimes we need reminders.

One, two, three times in the desert...

My update is long overdue.

As some, probably most, of you know, I was stationed at Yokota Air Base with the Red Cross from February 2009 (at the end of my last deployment) through March of 2010, but was notified that I would be deploying to Balad, Iraq back in January. Here, once again, are my views, thoughts, opinions, struggles, and just plain boring updates from the desert. Let's start at the beginning. It is, after all, a very good place to start.

I had to travel from Tokyo to Ashburn, VA for deployment briefings at our National Headquarters prior to flying into theatre. While there for a few days, some family of mine was able to visit, which was much appreciated after not seeing most of my family in over a year. I also met the rest of the Red Cross people that are currently deployed alongside me, yet in different locations: Baghdad, Bagram, and Arifjan. Some people I already knew from past assignments, and it resembled coming home to family once again, as a new deployment with the Red Cross always does.

From Ashburn, the entire team of 14 people was supposed to fly to Atlanta to process through CRC at Fort Benning. Here is what I quickly typed that day:

Comedy of errors. I'm currently traveling to Fort Benning from Ashburn. Our flight out of Dulles was delayed because of storms in Atlanta. On the plane. Wait. Off the plane. Hurry back. Wait. On the plane. Wait. Take off. Fly. Announcement: can't land in Atlanta. Not enough gas and too many delayed planes trying to land. Redirecting to Chattanooga, TN. Turbulence. Nausea. Woman behind me is crying. Man to my right is fiddling with his barf bag. Woman to my right is breathing heavily into hers, about to vomit. Almost everyone is either nervous or wants to throw up, maybe both. Suddenly, a loud pop and a bright traveling line of electricity above the aisle. Hit by lightning? No announcement. The engines are still running. The nausea has at least subsided and been replaced by uneasiness or downright fear. Still turbulent. Finally we land. Wait some more. Confirmation from the captain. Lightning struck the nose. Smoke in the cockpit-normal? If you say so. Waiting again. Fire trucks with bright flashing lights come to check our plane. We can see our pilots outside talking to men in shiny silver suits with large rubber boots. Can we get off? The flight attendant said we could in ten minutes... twenty minutes ago.

We made the Chattanooga news:
http://www.newschannel9.com/articles/landing-989528-plane-emergency.html

Once we finally arrived safely in Fort Benning around 0230 hours, Benning remained pretty standard. If you're reading for the first time, go back to my first posts to see what it was like. It is definitely improving, however. The hurry up and wait was not nearly as bad as it has been on past deployments of mine, and now we receive CAC cards which makes our ID process slightly easier. Not much, but slightly. It will, at least, make life easier in country. Also, more of my family was able to visit, so I got to see them and celebrate a quarter of a century of my life!

Written 3.22.2010
Ah, Kuwait at last. I had almost forgotten the stench of diesel fuel from our white Mercedes-Benz chariots as we take a short break before making our bumpy and dusty way to base. Half of the sky is filled with dust or some other kind of pollution, but soon the sun sets so we have only darkness offset by some large, generator-driven football stadium-like "street"lights. NOW I am back. Back to the flat, dusty, and hot land. Surprisingly, when we arrived the temperature was pleasant, almost cool. We were delayed in leaving Fort Benning because the deployment group was too large, so we took a much less crowded and therefore more comfortable military chartered flight. This seems to be the way to travel as this is the first time I've tried to get out of Benning without something going wrong with our plane at a stop along the way. Either this is a better way to travel or we got all of our bad "Atlanta flying" out of the way earlier in our trip. Hopefully we got ALL of our bad flying time out of the way since my least favorite flying part of deployment is yet to come: Kuwait to Iraq. We shall see... on the road again.

My team arrived with no further flying incidents. I actually got to sit in a seat on my way into country. We didn't get stuck in Kuwait and there were no sandstorms to delay us. I'm back on night shift, so I was able to jump in pretty quickly. Our office is by far the nicest one in Iraq that I've seen (and since I've been to every Red Cross station in Iraq, I think I have a leg on which to stand). We occupy an entire hard stand (i.e. not a trailer, therefore safer, dad) building. When you first walk in, there's a desk at which our wonderful volunteers sit to watch who comes in and to make sure everyone logs in if they want to use our internet and phone café or our TV room. Our internet/phone café has 5 non-military computers so people can keep up with their friends and family on instant messengers, skype, email, facebook, or whatever other means they might have of contacting their families. There are also 3 phones for that same "keeping in touch" purpose. Our office is around the corner, which is organized, well set up with everything that we need, and equipped with a DVD sign out/library. The TV room is behind our office, which has a TV, a VHS collection of movies, and both DVD and VHS players. This is also our canteen, where there is a refrigerator with cold water, a coffee pot, bread maker, snacks, a hot water dispenser, and a couch on which to enjoy it all. Lastly, we have the Legacy Room, which is by far my favorite. It's a small room with a computer with webcam, DSN phone, desk/chair, and a couple of recliners. The point is to allow people private time with their friends/families in 1 hour increments. Those people with appointments may be bumped for people with a "life event", i.e. the birth of a child or some other big event like that.

Kirsten actually received a phone call the other night from a serviceman who has redeployed back to the states from Balad. He had apparently used the Legacy Room while here to watch the birth of his first child back in Arizona. He called to thank the Red Cross for what we do and to see if there's any way that he can give back to our station. Naturally, being able to witness the birth of his child, albeit from a distance, really spoke volumes to him about our organization and the lengths that we try to go to serve our service members. As I am the blubbering type when it comes to children or the military, his story via speakerphone and Kirsten's relay definitely brought tears to my eyes.

I'm on nights again, so my sleep schedule is, of course, less than stable. Sometimes I fall asleep shortly after I get off shift, sometimes (like when there was a spider above my bed), I can't sleep for awhile. I just hung up a semi-blackout curtain over my window, so hopefully that helps. Less than a week in theatre, and already my ankle is twisted. Contrary to popular belief, I am not graceful enough to twist my ankle and remain standing. Oh, no, I think the terminology 'thrown to the ground' fits the situation well. Thankfully, I had my boots on which provided enough stabilization for it to not be too bad. Good thing, because I was at the beginning of my walk to work over a who'lotta gravel. It's pretty different to be in civilian clothes. I'm so used to being in uniform in the desert that some habits have been hard to break, such as the tight and unmoving bun and the blousing of the pants. I guess I'll adjust. It has been nice to be able to wear some color instead of being in all khaki. I'm sure by the end of this, though, that I'll swear off blue for awhile just like I swore off brown for awhile on previous deployments.

While I am not old by any stretch of the imagination, and have yet to be anything other than the youngest on a Red Cross team in theatre, I am suddenly feeling old. This isn't a new feeling, even when I was first deployed at 22. Messages that come through are almost exclusively for people younger than I, and often by many years. It's hard to remind myself when I see a birth year of 1990 on an emergency message that those people are already 20 -- or nearly there. My own youngest siblings, born in 1993, will be old enough to enlist in a little over a year. What a concept. Where is the time going?

The little things on deployment are almost always the most exciting for me. The fact that I won an argument with a command post about how our messages are delivered, that I can do my own laundry on this deployment, going to see some fixed wing aircraft at an airfield, and the sweet things that the people with whom I work (both within the Red Cross and the S-3/S-1/etc) say are the things that make me pump my fist and do a little happy dance. Well, maybe not doing laundry...

Acronyms for the non-military:
CAC: common access card - a form of ID that military and civilians receive to obtain entrance into various military facilities
S-3 and S-1: the military shops (usually personnel, I think) that often take our messages

Elated Exhaustion

I guess it's time for an update. As I sit here, I am officially tired. I haven't quite figured out if I'm supposed to be asleep right now or not. I don't think I am, but tell that to my body, haha. The past few weeks have been an absolute blur/flurry of activity/I have no idea where the time has gone. At the same time, I feel I've been extremely productive concerning my mission here, so there's a sense of joy along with my exhaustion.

In the past few weeks:

I have been moved to day shift (hence why I'm tired) and have not quite figured out a legitimate sleeping pattern. I guess it's somewhere along the lines of: sleep when tired unless unable because I'm at work. I must say to step-pappy, though, I finally understand going to bed at 2000.

We had the September 11th Prayer Luncheon. I collected photos off the internet, the Chaplain had them blown up, and I mounted and put the finishing touches on the blown up pix. I can't say I was fully awake for the luncheon since it was noonish and I was still on night shift then, but it went well and I received my first coin from the Chaplain that I assisted, which really touched me.

I have been asked by the Chaplain to basically do the same thing for Veteran's Day that I did for September 11th, so I've been working on that as well.

I now do the hospital visits. I went with Jerry the first week and he showed me around. The next week, aka the first week I had to go by myself, I had myself pretty worked up about having to go by myself - nervous about how I would handle anyone that I came into contact with that had severe physical trauma or severe mental wounds that needed to talk. Thus far I have encountered neither. The more I ponder it, the more I think it will be similar to the first suicide prevention case I ever did - Thanksgiving Day 2007. I handled it, finished my shift, went back to my CHU, and bawled my eyes out. At least, I hope I can hold out that long. What I have encountered on the hospital visits I was so dreading are people bored out of their minds who really appreciate my being there and really want to chat because of said boredom. The first time I was there I was late picking up Steve for his shift because my watch is no longer working and I got carried away talking for over 2 hours (I know, I know... say it isn't so, right, haha).

We have worked the waterpoint for... I believe... 3 runs thus far, with 2 more on the way!

We're trying to coordinate for Halloween activities...including dressing up and working at a haunted house, having a drive-in movie double feature, and... ok, I think there's something else, but I can't remember right now (sleep deprived, remember).

We have begun experimenting with bread. We made peach bread the other night and have some ideas for improvement. I believe banana bread is next on the experimental bread list.

Something happened to the water some of the men have been drinking. It has made them bold, and I wish they'd stop.

I have realized I don't really mention the people I interact with on a day to day basis, which is mostly because I'm pretty sure I'll leave some out who should absolutely be added. There are some people that are or were (or should be) regulars in our office, so shout-out to Ardel, D, Dave, Elena, Gilbert, Holko, Jay, Jess, Lopez, and SSG Pashia... who am I kidding, just add almost all of SF! I'm sure there are people I'm leaving out, so sorry! These guys (and girls) are in to chat a lot, and I love hanging out with them! While I'm doing shout-outs, we have an amazing chapter that supports us by sending supplies for our canteen just about every week. Thanks!

In follow up to my last update, that week of weather was insane. We had white dust storms, yellow dust storms, red dust storms, black dust storms, orange dust storms, walls of dust attacking the COB, rain, mud, hot temps, and cold temps (and by cold I mean nearing 80). The weather here is never predictable and is rarely pleasant too many days in a row, but that was a truly bad week weather-wise.

I also realize that I haven't really networked here... if anyone is looking to donate something, troop donations are an excellent idea (or I think so, at least). Phone cards are an amazing morale booster. If you want to send some over, or want to get your school, church etc involved somehow, just leave a message here and I can get you our address here so we can pass them out. For ordering information, you can go to aafes.com as well. If there's something else that you'd like to donate, again, message me and we'll chat. Thanks everyone!

Acronym Finder
SF- Security Forces - the cops 'round these here parts
SSG - Army Staff Sergeant, E6 type

Sorry it's been so long... I have been working on it, though!

28AUG08
 
This week has been pretty rough. There are some days where you just want to call home and tell everyone not to get in a vehicle because everyone is dying in car or motorcycle accidents and other days when pneumonia is the leading cause of death of everyone. Sometimes babies die; sometimes soldiers cry. You might receive a message for someone you talk to all the time… praying as you dial that the person does not pick up the phone to receive his/her personally devastating news. It's just one of those weeks. It's not pretty, but we signed up for it. Just pile all the crappy messages together with lack of sleep, and you've got me!
 
I don't want anyone to get the impression that I'm upset (or depressed or whatever) about being here. Having some down days comes with the territory of dealing with death and dying as a job. I still love my job; I still love it here. Sometimes it's just easier to write about a couple bad things that stick out than a whole lot of little good things that just normally happen every day.
 
Let's see. More news.
 
I had my first real bout of sickness from DFAC food since I've been here. It was unpleasant, and we'll leave it at that. Trust me.
 
At first, I thought my skin and I would be fine out here in the desert. After over a month, I'm finally feeling the effects of the desert climate: dry skin. It makes you so itchy, but if you scratch too much you break skin because it's stretched thin. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Lotion, lotion, lotion. Fun, fun, fun.
 
I had a girl day (a couple of hours when I dressed – only in my CHU, mind you – in civilian clothes and did my hair) to remind myself that, despite the perpetual wearing of camouflage, I am, in fact, still a girl! What I wouldn't give for a good pair of pretty heels out here in the desert!! Ok, in honesty, that's totally impractical and I'd probably have two broken ankles or 15 blisters (or all of the above) in about five minutes. Scratch the heels.
 
Jerry had this great idea for a combat bicycle race, so that's what our Saturday morning is going to consist of: starting at 0415 we get to come together, get food and water ready, register people, take pictures (and/or video if we can get it approved), and watch people hop on their bikes with their flak vests and Kevlar helmets and ride 4k over sand and rock. It should be interesting!!
 
I am kind of heading up decorations at a September 11 Prayer Luncheon to which I am looking forward.
 
I guess that's all for now, so I'll practice my new lingo: Deuces!
 
 
08SEP08
 
Currently it's 1515, and I'm sitting awake in my CHU. I guarantee you, this rarely happens (since this is directly in the middle of my sleep), and by rarely I mean maybe three times since I've been here. We are, however, in the midst of the most severe dust storm I have ever witnessed. I originally thought it was raining outside because… well, it sounds like rain hitting the roof. Since my window is blacked out (day sleeper), I walked to the common area where the window is covered, but not blacked. Everything seemed to have an orange-ish hue. It still didn't register (in my defense, I had just rudely been awakened). So, I cracked the door.
 
Can't see (eyes refuse to focus properly when there's bright light and one first wakes up)! Sniff. Close the door. Try to wake the eyes up. Crack the door again. Everything is orange. I have never seen anything so orange in my life, but it's not a normal hue of orange. It's more red-orange, almost like a fire glowing near the embers. It's unbelievable. Shut the door. It smells. Get the camera (the crappy one for just these times). Crack the door. Take a picture. Crap! Flash! (The flash in a dust storm will highlight the 15 million particles DIRECTLY in front of the camera but will basically not be useful otherwise; however, there is still an orange glow in the picture). Shut the door. Wait for the camera to take its time being ready to snap another. Turn the flash off. Steady the hands. Orange picture extraordinaire. Close the door.
 
It's beautiful, really… in a disgusting, smelly, dirty way. I walked back into my room and turned off the air conditioner. It really can have no positive effect right now. Even with the few minutes since the storm has started, I can already smell the dust in my room from the a/c and see a bit of a haze. Hopefully most of that will be avoided once it's completely off. I sit down on my bed and decide to write this blog. The CHU is shaking with the force of the wind. It still sounds like there is rain pouring down in different levels of intensity: sometimes loudly and without interruption, sometimes just a few spurts in a minute. After 20 minutes it seems to have calmed down. There is no shaking; there is no "raining". There is still, always, perpetually, the smell.
 
Time to go take out the contacts and try to get some more sleep.
 
…10 minutes later…
 
I stand corrected. I just opened my door and realized that there was no more orange hue from the outside world. Naturally this piques my curiosity and I crack the door. There is no orange, there is no dust smell (why it's still in my room, I'm unsure). There is, however, the smell of a springtime rain storm having just passed (not your typical scent in the desert, I assure you). I swing wide the door to explore further, and yes, it must be true: it just rained. I hesitantly tap the toe of my socked foot on the step – dry as bone. In the ten minutes since the storm passed, the natural heat has also dried everything. I step fully onto the step and with my eyes explore my surroundings. First I look at my bike seat, which would normally be covered with a thin layer of dust (or thick layer depending on the dust storm status). It has large mud droplets on it. The steps' railing is the same. I look at the CHU across from mine: covered with mud
splatters. The only wet evidence lies in the fact that the dust is unusually darker than it usually appears – surefire evidence of rain… if you're in the States. Apparently it rains orange mud in Iraq, completely unlike any rain I have ever seen.
 
I think one of the most puzzling things about this experience is that there is very little shelter once the common area door is opened, which I opened a few times to snap some photos. Never did I feel the semblance of any type of moisture, despite the whipping wind and lack of overhanging shelter. Chalk another one up to new experiences in Iraq – raining mud.
 
And I had already put on my glasses. Bummer. Now, sleep.

The Perks and Pitfalls of Working for the Red Cross in Iraq

8 AUG 08
Today, for the first time on Speicher, I was deliberately saluted when there was full knowledge of the fact that I am not someone it is necessary to salute (every so often we get the "I'm not sure what rank you are, but you're shiny, so I'll half salute until I realize that you're Red Cross" salute). I don't know about anyone else, but a voluntary salute is just a big huge, "I respect you; thank you for what you do to support us". It's a warm and fuzzy feeling to know that we really do make a difference for the good of service members. It kind of makes me wonder: did we help you or someone you know, or is it simply the knowledge of what we do that earns your respect? We may not be out there physically fighting the war, but by golly, we'll try to support you in whatever way we can so you can go fight that war.

On the other hand, the reason I was even by those particular servicemen was because there's going to be a power outage in our building Saturday and we're not sure if we're hooked up to the emergency generator, so we may have to go to a different building in order to be able to do our work at all. Sigh. The good definitely outweighs the bad, though.

My bike is also now in working order (thank you, Dave). I've had a good little time trekking over the gravel and pot-holed roads trying to break myself in to bike riding again. We (the bike and I) have only been fully operational for the past two days, so we're slowsly and surely getting used to each other. I'm confident that in no time at all we'll be racing all over base (or at least that parts onto which we're allowed, haha).

9 AUG 08
Ah, just another day of good Red Cross vibes. Today we got a call from a young soldier who was in Kuwait trying to get home to take care of his kids. Somehow he traveled the whole way from northern Iraq to Kuwait and manifested on a flight to the States without a very vital part of leaving theatre: his release from theatre orders. So, what does someone with no unit phone numbers who is supposed to be a role call in a couple hours do? Why, call the Red Cross, of course. Basically, he couldn't call his unit, even when we got the phone number for him, and no one (not us or his unit) could call him (crazy Kuwait phones). We had his brigade on one phone and him on the other while we arranged for all his paperwork to be emailed to him. He was incredibly grateful; there was an audible sigh of relief from the other end of the phone.

18 AUG 08
The other morning, for whatever reason, I was extremely motivated to clean my room. Those of you who know me know that when the mood strikes, it's practically a blow...but it doesn't strike often. I spent around 4-5 hours cleaning my room (which is not very big) - literally from top to bottom. I was completely unaware that dust could collect thickly on a wall. To me, dust falls and sticks to horizontal surfaces and floors etc. No, no, ladies and gents - not in Iraq! Not only does it do that, but it also congregates on the walls as well. My sponge and I attacked with fervor until my room was as close to spotless as Iraq deems possible. I took the well-intentioned advice of a friend who said to pour water on the OUTSIDE of our air conditioning unit a little too far. I poured water on the outside unit AND the inside unit. All I can claim is sleep deprivation or stupidity.

Around 1100 hours (well past my bedtime, might I note), right when Iraq is starting into the 110s or 120s, I tried to turn my AC on. No luck. Our air conditioners are such that you must operate them with a remote control. If something happens to the remote or it's lost, you're stuck with your current setting indefinitely.My remote worked; however, I could get my AC to do nothing. It wouldn't beep (its usual groan of operation), it wouldn't move - nothing. I decided that I would attempt to bear the heat and get some sleep (with my only other option being to ride my bike or walk a mile up the road - in the direct sunlight - to put in a work order to maybe get it fixed that day, maybe not). After all, I don't have AC in the States. Yeah, right. That worked pretty well (with the accompaniment of a small fan and a squirt bottle) for a couple of hours. About 1330 I woke up and could not go back to sleep for the life of me (the fan and bottle trick no longer
worked). Finally, I decided to check out the breaker box in the common area, an idea I had formerly shunned because I figured opening my door would let in more heat. I flipped the breaker. The glorious chime of the AC unit coming to life was my instantaneous and fleeting reward.

While the unit had turned on, there was a flashing green light: a sign of some internal mechanical protest. The remote refused to communicate with the unit despite my initially gentle prodding. I tried resetting the remote. I tried pushing all the buttons. I tried pushing them all with a little more fervor, and finally, I will admit, I pounded them pretty hard. Alas, t'was to no avail. With no other hope (and no toolbox), I pulled out my knife determined to MAKE the unit listen to me. In true Godfather style, I gave it an offer it couldn't refuse. (Ok, in honesty, I pulled the cover off and found a reset button which turned it on - but doesn't the Godfather sound better?) For some reason the remote still didn't work, but I was NOT complaining. Miraculously, when I woke up that night, the remote also worked.

A couple of helicopters just flew overhead shaking the whole CHU, a much less frequent occasion than that to which I was accustomed in Baghdad, I must say.

New News? No...

What I've learned thus far on deployment:
-Contacts and dust storms are a bad idea. There is a reason they make you bring 2 sets of glasses. In my defense, however, the one BIG dust storm we've had since I've been here started after I was already out of the CHU for the night. Yep, that's right. They seem to happen mostly at night. Perhaps this is only because I work at night, so I don't really see what goes on during the day… but I'm going to say it's because they happen mostly at night. The great thing about dust storms: it's hot. You have a choice. If you're going to be inside, you can turn off the AC and deal more with the heat and less with the dust or you can leave the AC on and just breathe in a pound of dust. And yes, once again, these are dust storms, not sand storms. What we see here is not really sand – at least not sand like normally thought of—beachy sand. No, sir! Sandy dirt – same as Baghdad.
- Hydrate enough during a dust storm and you can skip chow cuz you just ate mud. Ok, this hasn't exactly been proved; it just seems to be the case to me.
-There is an ice cream truck on the COB. No, I have not seen it, but I heard about it at a very reliable meeting. Yep, and ice cream truck in 100-something degrees. Figure it out.
-Days fly by. It's unbelievable that it's August already! (OK, I didn't really learn this – I learned it on my last deployment)
-Thursday night is rib night, Friday night is Mexican night, Sunday night is steak night (in all honesty, midnight chow is different and I don't go to dinner chow so this is hearsay)
-People here really will look out for you, even if they try to brush it off or say they won't (jokingly)
-Water is not exciting. One can only drink so much…
-Speicher is called the Cupcake (or some other snack product) because there are so few attacks – ever.
-Making friends is super helpful to maintaining some semblance of sanity (haha)! Caveat for any/all work people reading this: no I'm not actually going insane, nor do I need an EAP consult.
-That I love Speicher. Interacting with people, whether service members or civilians of some sort, is something that I thoroughly enjoy.
-Perhaps I shouldn't blog when it's bedtime.

Headline News (hopefully CNN or whatever station doesn't have a patent on that name):
A friend of mine took me for a ride around the COB to "see the sights" or something like that. It was actually very interesting and informative. He is also a water plant inspector and a guard tower inspector in addition to his actual job, so he told me about how the wells are dug and what the water bottles are made out of and how the water is bottled. He also explained some things about the guard towers to me… such as how it's sometimes necessary to take a break halfway up when it's hot because the stairs just become overwhelming.
I bought a bike. Yep, I asked one of my friends to go with me to help me pick out a bike (a Bike Guru, as it were), and now I have a bike. Granted, I can't ride it yet, but the initial action is completed. Said Bike Guru is going to be adjusting it (handlebars, seat, etc) for me today so that I have the ability to ride it (ok, I just bought it yesterday… and I'm honestly not that tall…). I'll keep you updated as developments occur.
I started my own version of quilting. Ok, I'm just cutting squares (of very colorful fabric that I brought with me, might I add) and sewing the pieces together to make a pillowcase. I don't really know what quantifies quilting, so I'll just say I'm making a pillowcase… but it requires a needle, thread, and material. Thus far my little sewing kit has sufficed, amusing as that may be.

AND NOW: the answer to the question you've all asked: Is it really that hot over there?
Yes. Yes, it is. Is it as bad as the really humid hot that we can get in the States? Not to my thinking. I'll let you know more if I actually leave my bed during daylight hours.