Green to Gold UNC Pembroke

A glimpse into the world of Julieanna's training at UNC PEMBROKE. The above photo shows some of the instructors, with Julies main teacher; JOHN TORRE at the far right. The below photos show some of the training a Officer Cadet undergoes during the college program. The physical training aspect remains as grueling as when on Active Duty...... however its cut down to only two days a week, verses five!

The trainings can be dangerous, as they train as if they are in actual combat, as far as outdoor endurance, all night land navigation's, swimming in full combat gear, inside (the pool) as well as outdoors in lakes in the surrounding woods.

On one of these 'Land Navigation courses, a soldier was bit by a poisonous snake, and died! Julie also encountered one of these snakes on a night Land Nav course. I asked her what in the world is a Land Navigation Course? She explained that they have to find various "places" from compass coordinates. They have no radio or means of communication on them, and they have a time limit to find or arrive at these navigation points. What I found creepy about this course is, Julie had to walk around the woods, all night, Alone! All she had was her water and compass, and flashlight. I cant imagine encountering a poisonous snake in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night, and all alone! Lucky for Julie, she found it before it found her.

The class is fairly small at this college, but the instructors are hard core. John Torre has been a drill Sergent, Ranger, 82nd Airborne, and who knows what else. I am sure the guys appreciate him, but, a girl? From what Julie tells me, he doesn't play favorites, and he trains the gals just as hard as the guys. He is very very tough, but she says he is fair. ~

There is class room time to the program as well. Besides attending UNC PEMBROKE as a full time student, Julie has to maintain the academic program for Officer Cadet as well. They teach these soldiers the 'school room aspects of becoming an officer. Its a full load physically and mentally, and its for the next three years!

Learning 'Teamwork..... no man left behind, especially in combat.

Soldiering skills for combat are kept sharp. That means drills with the guns, utilizing the "course"... ie:climbing high walls, low crawl with the gun, firing at the range, and "humping your ruck", which usually means anywhere from 5 to 12 mile treks up and down the terrain, carrying a 75 lb ruck on your back. You don't dare "fall out"............ its counted against you. As you feel the blisters beginning on your heels, toes, and balls of your feet, you just ignore the pain and 'soldier on. Julie is actually excited to have callouses building on her feet. She knows that will toughen them up, and make the next 'trek more endurable......

They continue with all combat skills including camouflage firing, surviving skills (two weeks in the woods, making your own shelters, honing all survival techniques).

No showers, no perfume, no fancy hairdos! Making your own hammock out of your shirts and coats..... digging latrines..... bandaging twisted ankles, and practicing Medic tricks, like giving each other IV's! Julies partner couldn't find her vein, and had to keep poking the needle in her arm over and over, and she came home with a bruise on her arm the size of a large grapefruit! Enduring endless invasions of mosquito's, ticks, and chiggers. Looking out for the numerous poisonous snakes and avoiding dehydration. Building fires out of 'wet and soggy stuff........

On and on......

Below is the infamous John Torre. Famous for just shouting...

"ITS TOOOO EASY!"

I guess that is suppose to inspire the troops to keep going when the going gets too tough.

All in all, Julieanna is facing the next three (2 1/2 now) years of this regime. It doesn't vary much except for the classes in college. She is shooting for a BA in Mass Communications, and will attend Officers Training at Fort Lewis Washington. She will graduate a Lieutenant Officer and will accept positions all over the world depending on her assignments and MOS at graduation. There is a possibility of a MOS in Military Intelligence.

Julie thus far is maintaining a 4.oo GPA, and has passed with excellence all Cadat Training exercises.

Julieanna is residing in Fayetteville, North Carolina and commuting to UNC Pembroke for class.

Dichotamy of the American Dream

They come here by the thousand, millions perhaps. They come from all nations and places across the world. They come from down under, from our little brother Mexico. They come legally, illegally, any way possible just to come here for "The American Dream".

The United States of America, land of the free, home of the brave?

The dream is spun of hopes of a better life. A life where you can earn an honest days wage, and at the end of the trail, a retirement to ensure your dream never ends.
We flaunt our riches with all of Hollywoods glint and glimmer. We showcase celebrities lifestyles of the rich and famous. We drip with the wealth of the nations, and others take heed.
So smugly we trade our American dollars..... 1 of ours to ten of theirs. We parade ourselves as the best of the best as we trade in our slightly used Lexus for a newer model.
A 3 bedroom house is not befitting us, we must have more. We must have the 3 car garage, the 5 bedroom mansion equipped with the hot tub and heated floors. We must have it all, for we are the royalty of the world.
Us, Americans...... the best of the best?

Our little brother to the south, can hardly pronounce most of our English words....but they try anyway. Something like "How ees you today?" "Dat esss goood" and stupid happy little jingles like "Don't worry be HOPI" rolls off their tongues in hopes of communicating with the royals of the world.
How daunting it must be, to be so close........ just 'under the USA, yet so very far away. A big metal wall is suppose to keep them out, but they find a way around, thru, over or under. Nothing will stop them, for they believe in the 'American Dream.

I try to say, "Its not what you think, this good ole USA"...

Our families have to work. There are no mama's in the kitchens anymore. The babies are shipped off to 'day care centers, and papa has two jobs just to pay the mortgage.
When the car breaks down, we don't know a quick Mexican fix, we have to go to the expensive car garage and pay a mechanic 60.00 an hour......... How do we pay for that? We charge it!
As a matter of fact, most of us have 2, 3 maybe 4 charge cards. We don't hope to ever get them paid off, we just hope to maintain a minimum payment.

We don't sit at each others verandas just to visit and sip tequila with the sundown...... planning the next fiesta, oh no,we don't have that kind of leisure, so we give a quick text on our cell phone and sit staring at it in silence, waiting for the buzz that means we have an answer. We could do that all day and never once hear a human voice......we text in the car, in the restaurant, in the house...that way, we don't even need to listen to the other person...... we can just read the words.

Our Mama's grab a pre-made 'Domino's Pizza on the way home...... hoping it will still be warm until Papa gets home........ but if not, that's OK, we all have a microwave for that. Zap it in the mic, and there you go! A nice warm radiated dinner..... it works, and everyone loves it!

I try to warn them when they drool over our 'mansions....... 'You don't actually own your home for the next 30 years. Its a fallacy to think you have 'bought a new home. What you actually did was enslave yourself to the fat cat banker. And if you don't believe me, try missing a couple of those payments, and see how long that house feels like YOURS! About the time you have paid for this thing called a house, its ready to fall down, and you have to get a new mortgage to repair the roof, fix the broken concrete, re-do the electrical and maybe even the plumbing........... you will never own this home.

I try to say, just stay in Mexico! You still have a culture! Mama is still at the hearth, rolling those homemade tortillas, and preparing the Mango juice fresh from the backyard tree.
Papa just finished with the latest addition to the casa, and its paid for even before he started!
Your concrete and stucco structure will still be there when the grand kids are grown.....
There are no 30 year enslavement loans in Mexico!
You may only average 90.00 a week, but, you live like a King. You always have warm food fresh from the oven, and day cares are un-heard of..... Grand Mama lives with you, and makes sure the babies are safe.... and you repay her with a home and love and care until she is no more, setting the example for the next generation.
You walk or take a cheap taxi to the market........... you sew a few garments............... you mend everything. There is no such thing as a Goodwill, because you make use of all your things...
And, at the end of the day, there are no bills, no worries, no overdue bills in the mail. You may not have all the embellishments of a society drowning in debt, but, you have family. You have culture. You have the next generation. You have hope.

Believe me Mexico, the American Dream is a never ending nightmare. Just stay home.
Stop sending your youth to die in our deserts, trying to find the American dream.
It is no more........
Your much richer than us...... don't believe the lie.
Mexican reality surpasses the American dream...

~Just stay home.~

What is your PURPOSE in life?

Somewhere lately, I read the quote... (author unknown)... that went something like this:

"There is an importance in knowing your purpose in life. Finding your stand."

Well, that got me to thinking, What is my LIFE PURPOSE? The more I thought about it, the more confused and unsettled I became. You see, I come from the generation of High School kids that were SUPPOSED to attend college, graduate from it, and carry on to some great, life fulfilling career. In my day, especially my senior year, I remember the agony of everyones question.... "What college are you going to?" "What career are you going for?" "What are you gonna be after graduation?" (No one considered, even for a moment, just getting married and being a housewife...)

Those questions would cause me to flinch. Inwardly, I didn't know what I wanted to be for the rest of my life! I had NO idea! And, I felt like a failure because of it.
All my friends, in those days, were headed to this or that prestigious college. It seemed that everyone had already settled on a life goal at 17! Even though I was competitive as far as grades go, and popularity and all those childish high school measurements, I felt like a flop. I didn't have the rest of my life 'pinned down, signed sealed and delivered like the rest of them did. I didn't know what I was meant to be........ I didn't have a prestigious college picked out, and I had no clue what to do after high school.

So, upon graduation, I waved my friends and old life goodbye,and entered the hazy life of post high school blues. Feeling lost at sea with no ship to carry me, I did the next best thing. I decided to play around with community college, while I sought my life direction.

Now, a lifetime later, I reflect upon what I did in the ensuing years between then and now.
I ask myself, What is my purpose in life?
I answer myself, Well, I was a wife. (Nope, that is a position)
Well, I became a mother. (Nope, that is a natural event, like being born, having kids, and dying)
Well, I was a cosmetologist... founded two hair salons..? Would that answer suffice?
(Nope, that is a business endeavor I undertook.)
Hmmmmmm......
Thinking and pondering about this question has got me stumped. I have lived, you could say just over half my life, and I cant honestly yet answer the question that nags at my spirit. I can make a list a mile long of my 'accomplishments, titles and positions I have held, things I have done, places I have travelled and of people I have met. Yet, does all this show me my purpose in life?
I don't think so........... because I am still asking the question.
What is my purpose in life?

I always envied those few exceptional people that absolutely knew their purpose, and usually from a very early age. I think of the little boys that always knew that they wanted to become a fireman and save people from fires. Or the little girl that just knew she would become a skilled nurse, or doctor. Or the crafty kids that could always make a deal on the playground and end up being successful business men.
If you were to ask anyone of 'these type of people, what is their purpose in life, they could quickly tell you...........
I never had that privilege. I never knew! So, I tried many, MANY different things to fulfill that high school expectation to 'become somebody.
Yet, as many things that I tried, they never brought the fulfillment of a purpose driven life.

So, it hit me last year, when I got a phone call from my daughter in Germany, that she was coming home to the states, that I would like very much to go see her and help her unpack and adjust to being 'home. (Stateside as the military calls it)
I felt a deep urgency for one of the first times in my life. I just KNEW I had to be there for her.
I actually prayed about it.......... I had a little talk with God. And, I know, I KNOW he told me deep in my spirit, to go and just be a 'Mom!
I thought, how strange......... just be a MOM????
Isn't that kinda like admitting to being a failure? No-one is just a mom anymore. That is for the people that didn't do very good at school... The kids that weren't scholarly, that had no expectations for themselves...and a very old fashioned idea at that. That was something from my Grandparents era. The passive, submissive, stay at home mom cooking bread and apple pie! This isn't the stuff of a Microsoft and computer generation!
So, I pondered just 'being a mom. Is this my LIFE PURPOSE? Was I born, to just be a mom?
It doesn't seem very important...and hardly a rewarding 'career! As a matter of fact, moms are the most un-rewarded, overlooked, underpaid, less appreciated people I know of.... hardly what I think I was born for!

So, in coming to my daughters house, and helping arrange all the furniture, and paint the walls and refinish the wood floors, and rake up all the fall leaves, and in 'just being a mom, I see how important this job really is.
I am not sure yet if this is my life purpose in it's entirety, but, maybe I am looking at this all wrong.

Perhaps, I will see my life purpose thru this extension of myself called children.
Perhaps, I was born to give birth to them, to see a fulfillment beyond my wildest hopes and dreams. Perhaps, they will fulfill great expectations that I never could have, or the time wasn't right for it yet.
My imagination gives way to further pondering. Further ideas of grandiose thinking...
Every person of greatness had a mom. 'The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world.' Perhaps I am not meant to have or know any 'Life Purpose for myself....but, will live to see it in my procreation? Who knows...?

I still have half a lifetime to go (I hope).

However, if I don't find my 'Life Purpose..... I guess I will start pondering what my epitaph will read...

That is another one that haunts me!

Hobo Ethical Code

Hobo ethical code
An ethical code was created by Tourist Union #63 during its 1889 National Hobo Convention in St. Louis Missouri.[4] This code was voted upon as a concrete set of laws to govern the Nation-wide Hobo Body, it reads this way;

Decide your own life, don't let another person run or rule you.

When in town, always respect the local law and officials, and try to be a gentleman at all times.

Don't take advantage of someone who is in a vulnerable situation, locals or other hobos.

Always try to find work, even if temporary, and always seek out jobs nobody wants. By doing so you not only help a business along, but ensure employment should you return to that town again.
When no employment is available, make your own work by using your added talents at crafts.
Do not allow yourself to become a stupid drunk and set a bad example for locals treatment of other hobos.

When jungling in town, respect handouts, do not wear them out, another hobo will be coming along who will need them as bad, if not worse than you.

Always respect nature, do not leave garbage where you are jungling.

If in a community jungle, always pitch in and help.

Try to stay clean, and boil up wherever possible.

When traveling, ride your train respectfully, take no personal chances, cause no problems with the operating crew or host railroad, act like an extra crew member.

Do not cause problems in a train yard, another hobo will be coming along who will need passage through that yard.

Do not allow other hobos to molest children, expose to authorities all molesters, they are the worst garbage to infest any society.

Help all runaway children, and try to induce them to return home.

Help your fellow hobos whenever and wherever needed, you may need their help someday.

Love, International Style

This is a story how love crosses borders, cultures, and even languages. Its remarkable how two people in love, can overcome the craziest barriers to love and relationship. It speaks miles of the power of love and trust and respect. In all this whole wide world, we found each other and we found love, international style, as romantic and improbable as that is, it worked for us, and will continue to work as we face each day commited to each others ideals, and individuality.

I am so proud to be called his wife... And, I strive each day with all its challanges and obstacles to remember what a great gift God gave to me, when I met and fell in love with Jesus Mosso, or more commonly known as just; 'Chuy.

I would like to introduce you to my husband. He is a man of unbelievable intrigue, ethics, and intelligence. I must say that when I first saw him, even before I knew his name, my first thoughts were ... 'What a cute man, with such a funny haircut! He had smiled at me as I passed him by, on a hurry to get to my dental appointment in Los Algodones Mexico. With that said, I should back up a bit.

I was living in Yuma, Arizona and undergoing four months of intermittent dentist appointments. I was having extensive dental work done, that took many weeks of appointments, drilling, root canals, and caps. Most of the time I was in a 'painkiller and antibiotic haze, but, I do remember a 'cute Mexican man, with a funny hairstyle that often smiled at me.

During one particularly painful appointment, I went outside to take a break. As I walked down the busy street to find a shady quiet place to just take a breather, I had to pass all the street vendors that were hoping to make a quick sale. It was like walking the gauntlet every time I dared to venture outside the dentists office. Imagine that your mouth is numb with Novocaine and you feel like it is a huge cotton ball, your lips and tongue refuse to form a decent sounding word, and your trying to be polite to all the vendors shouts of : "Hey Barbie Doll, over here!" or "Hey Lady, I have what you want...." or my favorite...."Buy what you want... pay tomorrow". (Never understood that one)

I tried my very best to be a really nice American women. I would give a glimmer of a smile, a nod of my head, and keep on walking. You would think that they (the vendors) would take the hint and leave one alone, but oh no... they are not to be put off that easy. They persisted in their vendorous shouts of false flattery, hoping to lure me to one of their tables and be prey to a sale.

All this attention, when all I wanted was to be invisible and disappear around some corner for a break from the dentists drill. It made me irritable and grumpy.
It was on a day like that, that I first saw him. He stood there amongst his friends, so short that he was barely noticeable at first glance. I think the only reason I even noticed him, was that he had my FAVORITE tennis shoes on; Black Converse high tops! My eyes landed on his feet first, (as I had learned to keep my eyes down to avert the gaze of the persistant and irritating vendors.) I suppose as I looked up, I saw the black corduroy pants, and the wide appealing smile, but then, I saw the funniest looking hairstyle on a Mexican that I ever could have imagined. He had some sort of steel strong gel, holding his hair straight up, ALL OVER! It looked like a porcupine on high alert!

I know that I smirked, and probably gave a slight smile (as good as a numbed mouth can) and now looking back, I suppose he took that as smiling at him!

I didn't stop and linger though, it was only a smile, and a slight acknowledgement. Harmless, right?

Two more days passed by. Each day, he was there on the corner, just happening to 'catch me as I passed by for my dental appointment. And, each day, he had a nice smile and comment for me.

Well, by now your probably wondering how we went from casual acquaintances, to being married. That is a bit of a story......and a thousand events transpired between first meeting and our wedding, but, for the sake of this short story, I will keep it brief.

It was nearing the end of my dental work. And, by now I had taken notice of this charming, short, and really intriguing Mexican. I was sitting down, during another one of my dental 'breaks...and here he comes, walking towords me with one of his hands behind his back. He approached me, smiling as broad as a guy can, and extended his hand to give me a huge bright red hibiscus flower ..."for all the painful dental appointments."

He won my heart!

I tried to smile, a funny novacained smile, and attempted a slurry thank you, and I put the flower in my hair, and my heart skipped a beat. How romantic! How Sweet! Wowwwww....!!

That little red plucked flower did the trick. I took notice! And, this time I noticed alot more than his Black Converse tennis shoes, and funny hair do. I noticed a man six feet tall, romantically bestowing me with a beautiful red flower, and wishing me well.

I made sure to return to Los Algodones again, AFTER my mouth felt better. This time to try to see that short, nice Mexican man again...... and as you know, I did! We had lunches, we shared our life stories, we laughed and laughed and laughed as I often tried to guess what he was trying to say in his broken English........

I found myself thinking about him alot, and laughing to myself when thinking of all the fun times we were having.

I remember one particular day we were all sitting around. I was trying to follow some fang dangled story he was telling me....and he was trying to say that his parents used to have sheep..................well, it sounded like he was saying.......SHIP.................... and the storey was NOT making sense, as it sounded like he was telling us how the 'Ship's did this and that.......

The Ships would run away, and the Ships would follow him around? I tried my best to make sense of this story, and quizzed him over and over........... HOW do SHIPS follow you around?

He would wrinkle his brow, and try to tell the story in a different way. I still could not follow it.

Finally, I suppose I said............. SHIPS? And, he said, ..."Yah! You know.... BLAAAH BLAH....

I finally understood. He was trying to say, SHEEP! ! I guess Mexicans pronounce the letter 'E the way we pronounce it as 'I. So, Sheep became Ship.

I laughed until I thought my stomach would turn inside out. I grinned until I thought my mouth would stay in that shape. My face hurt from smiling. It was the beginning of love, international style.

I come from the uppermost corner of USA, Washington State. I never had much interaction with people of other races or countries...and certainly not other accents. So, this was proving to be a real challenge. To fall in love with a man from another country, another language, and culture is alot of work! I never had to try SO hard before just to communicate the most basic of words.

Time went by..... and just to see this guy, I had to cross the border every time. Its not so bad going into Mexico, but its the wait in the line to come home that gets on your nerves. Sometimes the wait is 2-4 hours depending on the season and time of day or night. But, when you are in love, you will do just about anything, so cross the border I did.....day after day after day after day. After work, I would anxiously drive 'South of the Border', and dread the drive back home.

We took to riding together in the car for the long wait in the line at the border, and just as I was about to cross back into USA, he would jump out, and wish me a safe drive home.

A year and a half (and a thousand adventures) passed, and I finally told him that I just couldn't take much more of this border crossing stuff. I knew I had met the best man in the world, and I wanted to be with him always. I didn't care how or where, but I wanted to be with him.

So, I did the next best logical thing, I proposed marriage. And, he accepted! It was the only logical thing to do, and it would mean tackling immigration. I absolutely knew I wanted him here in the USA with me; LEGALLY! (Little did I know what that would entail!)

Later, he admitted to me, that he felt that he just couldn't propose to me first, because he was so afraid that it would look like the typical Mexican, seeking a quick route to the Green Card..... (little did he know, I knew that all along........ so, I took the pressure off of him, and just proposed first! I just hoped he would say yes!)

So, I am proud and pleased to introduce you to the most wonderful man in the world. He is the man that I will be beside for life. He is the man that loves and supports me like no other. He is ten feet tall, and he is Jesus Gonzalez Mosso, My Husband, and father to my kids, and son-in-law to my parents.

And, now, soon to be United States Citizen!

I am so proud of him.

Long Pauses and Thanking God

Julie Carsen far right with TV camera. "Shooting" the rapids in Austria!

It was a few years ago that I got news that felt like a punch to my stomach. You know what I mean? The kind of phone call where the person on the other end of the receiver sounds grave, and talks with a kind of pause .... they tell you they have news, and then they pause........ those pauses can give one a chance to run a million things thru ones head. You imagine someone died, or a car crash, or really REALLY bad news all in a millisecond.

Well, I got one of those "Pause" calls.

It came when I was at work. I answered a personal call from my daughter who is in the military. She was stationed in Yokota Japan with the Air Force, and serving as a broadcaster for the AFN news. Her career with the Air Force had her doing "jobs" all over the world. She would travel to Guam, Alaska, and all over Japan to do her news stories.
I didn't mind that part of her job as a military journalist. It all sounded extremely exciting and adventurous. I recall her interviewing Condaleeza Rice, famous four star Generals, and doing news reports on inter flight refueling of Military Jets over Alaska!
She often called and told me of the latest exciting assignment...and every time I oohed and awed over her wonderful luck and adventures that the Air Force was giving to her.
Even though my daughter was half way around the world, and far away from family, I had a good feeling about her new career and all the achievements she was accomplishing. I praised her and felt extremely proud every time she told us of the latest award, or acknowledgment. I cryed when she won Airman of the YEAR award, and received a Bronze Statue and medal!

It all seemed to good to be true! I never imagined that joining the military would offer so much adventure and opportunities as Julie often described. All in all, I always had a warm glow when thinking of my daughter, and where life was taking her, and even the fun and silly times she was having being a journalist/broadcast producer for the Air Force, until that fateful day when the "pause" phone call came.


Julieanna in the Eagle Mascot costume, posing for the AFN Yokota Airforce news.
Yokota Japan.

I was sitting down when the phone rang, so I was prepared in a sense, for the news.
It went something like this: " Hi Mom".
I responded with: "Oh HI Julie!! Whats going on!! Are you OK?"

(Controlled, choppy conversational Chit Chat ensued for a comfortable amount of time. Just long enough for a mother to sense that this wasn't the real reason for the phone call.)
As a mother, with that sixth sense we possess, I asked her what was bothering her?

....then came that long "PAUSE"...

...the kind of pause that causes you to get a real sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your heart is racing, and the adrenaline starts shooting up your stomach, to your face and ends in your hands. You get hot, your breathing gets faster, but more shallow, and your heart starts pounding right on cue. Then, the receiver in your hands starts shaking, and you look to sit down, and realize you are sitting down. I guess that's the longest "pause" moment ever..... and its the worst over the phone.
Then the stoic news is given in an artificially cheerful way........

"Well, I just got the news that my unit is deploying to Iraq in September..." (Another quiet pause from both ends, as the news hits.)

Again, my mind races ahead a million times faster than her words are being spoken. Something deep inside signals me to respond with a calm collected answer, even though I want to hang up and cry.
The good and strong supportive mother should answer...... " OH...honey.... I know it will all be okay! You know your job, your well trained, you will be protected....NOTHING bad will happen."
I found out that day, that I am NOT a Good, strong, supportive military mom.

My world crumbled. I fought the urge to scream "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO".

I fought a shaky voice that would belie my real feelings.

I fought the shaky hands that trembled my phone receiver so badly that I barely heard the rest of the conversation.
I suppose it was her turn for a long "Pause".....

I now believe those pauses serve for the brain to assimilate the words of bad news. The shock to ones mind is enormous with certain words arranged in a sentence that convey to ones mind the revelation of a event that you dread or will not face.
Its almost odd how a physical reaction occurs to words..... little harmless words spoken over a telephone! I honestly don't remember much about that phone call. I don't remember all the little details, or specifics, or my favorite 5 W's. (Who, What,Where,When, and Why?)

I just remember hanging up, and feeling nauseated, and putting my face down in my hands as I cryed and cryed right there at work. I knew then and there I had to find a way to stop this deployment. I didn't know what I would do. But, I had to do something. I was NOT going to accept the possibility of loosing my one and only daughter to a ill fated war.

I became deeply troubled in my spirit after that phone call. Every day seemed grey and dismal in the bright blue Arizona sky's. Not much mattered except this unwavering sense of doom.
The war reports about the suicide bombers became more vivid and closer to home. I dreaded the nightly news and the faces of dead soldiers showcased over their news broadcast's.

I cried at every recollection of a brave, but dead soldier. I carried a horrible dread deep inside of me. It would not leave me alone. I couldn't stop worrying about my daughters future. I imagined the worst over and over. A pretty, young, smart, blue eyed, blond journalist, captured by the enemy......beheaded, and on a news reel made by some crazy Iraqi enemy.

The images loomed uncontrolled in my minds eye.

I couldn't concentrate at work, nothing consoled my doom.
Finally, I realized I had to DO SOMETHING! I had to TRY to do something.
The only thing I felt that I could do, was to appeal to my President. I couldn't talk to a military commander, or General or anyone important like that, but I COULD appeal to MY president'!


Julieanna interviewing "somebody?"

So I did!
I appealed to TWO 'Commanders in Chief. One here on earth, and the other in the Heavenly Place.

For the one here on earth, I decided to write him a letter. I wrote about #200. I sent a photo copy of my daughter in uniform with the letter of appeal, and sent out about 3-8 letters everyday, in a continuous manner, until they ran out.
I looked up the White House web site, and flooded their "comment" section with appeals to spare my daughter. I also posted her picture there as well.

The second Commander in Chief was deafened by my "Pounding on Heavens Door" ......
never mind, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCKING ON HEAVENS DOOR...... I pounded it down.
As the news of the immanent deployment got out to the family, I know others were helping me pray as well.
But, since this is my story, I will tell you what I did!

~The summer was passing. My daughter planned her "last vacation" to Thailand. She wanted to go ride the Elephants.
She did get to ride the Elephants................
She returned from Thailand...................
Still NO news on her impending deployment.............
Still NO news for the anxious family back home in the states.............

Still NO nothing.

Back home, crazy mom kept up pounding the earthly Commander in Chief.......
everyday, sending more and more letters. Posting on the website over and over. It became my side job, and helped to dispel some of the doom. At least I was trying my best to spare my daughter.
You see, she would have been sent to the war as a "Combat Camera" journalist. That means she would have rode with the troops in the heat of the fire. She would have taken all the pictures of the dead and blown up soldiers. She would be responsible for the gory stories being documented for the death count. She would be making all the videos of the blown up guys....

I knew that NO woman should ever do that job. And, if she had to, she would never be the same again.
I pleaded to the President to just take me! I pleaded to God, to spare me my only daughter.
Then one day, I got a letter from the White House.
Of course it was a pre-typed letter consoling me as a mother to a soldier................. but, it was something! Then the ominous letter from the Pentagon came a few weeks behind the White House letter.
OH DEAR...
I was a bit hesitant opening it. But, it basically was a kiss off letter, telling me to mind my own business. I didn't know if I could accomplish anything for Julie, but, I felt better trying. Actually, she didn't know I was doing this at all, and would have been horrified at me. I was a good stealth mission mom!
Time passed............. and NO NEWS!
The deployment date was approaching.
and still NO NEWS.?

Is NO NEWS, GOOD NEWS?
Well, in this case yes it was!

One morning, kinda off the cuff, Julies superior in command offhandedly commented that her unit was "pulled off the rotation list for deployment".
WOW! I knew the hand of God had moved this time. The Doom left me, and I just knew it was all going to be OK....from here on out.

I like this story, because it proves that not all "Long Pauses" will turn out for the worse, and it renews my faith in prayer and persistence.
Julie eventually came back home to the USA, is now in College on a Green to Gold Scholarship, and will graduate an Officer. I pray that this title will elevate her from ever having to see combat first hand. I may be selfish, but more than that, I am a mother. No mother wants to see her daughter face combat....

But, to all the troops that were and are deployed, May Gods Peace and Safety go with you.
May you have someone out there that cares and prays like a true military mom should!

For our Soldiers... we remember you.

For our soldiers, who so selflessly serve, month after month, for this great nation. They seldom ask who, what, where, when, or why.
They just do it.
Here's to you...... especially all the guys from the 82nd Airborne unit Special Forces Fort Bragg, North Carolina.


When a soldier comes home, he finds it hard....

...to listen to his son whine about being bored.


...to keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.

...to be tolerant of people who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work.

...to be understanding when a co-worker complains about a bad nights sleep.

...to be silent when people pray to God for a new car.

....to control his panic when his wife tells him he needs to drive slower.

...to be compassionate when a business man expresses a fear of flying....

...to keep from laughing when anxious parents say they're afraid to send their kids off to summer camp.

...to keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather.

...to control his frustration when a colleague gripes about his coffee being cold.

...to remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog.

...to try to be more understanding to people who complain about the stress in their jobs.

...to just walk away when someone says they only get two weeks of vacation a year.

...to be happy for a friends new hot tub.

...to be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house.

...not to punch a wall when someone says we should pull out immediately.

THE ONLY THING HARDER THAN BEING A SOLDIER................

......IS LOVING ONE.

...GOD BLESS THE SOLDIER...

"THANK YOU GUYS"

.... YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN.

In remembrance of all the fallen, but not forgotten.

MAJ. Megan McClung

1st Marine Expeditionary Force Headquarters in Camp Pendleton, Calif.

"... The first woman Marine officer to be killed in Iraq. December 06 2006.

She managed the Marine media embedding program. She was in her final month of a year long deployment to Iraq." "She was a Marine's Marine." stated Navy Lt. Cmdr. Cliff Carnes.

For a true Princess

Tribute to a Princess.....

Your beautiful in every aspect of the word. You grace our lives with intelligence, endurance, loyalty and that wide blue eyed wonder..... you give us your view of the world through those ever wondering eyes.

I used to rock you to a lullaby, and night after night, we would sing:

~ "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, how I wonder what you are? Up above the world so high, like a diamond sky..."~

In my arms you would gaze, and I suppose in your little mind, you imagined a wonderful magical place of princesses and princes and fairy tale castles and ..."happy ever after" endings. A beautiful Princess rescued by her handsome Prince, and riding a galloping White steed thru the castle gates......
I bred those hopes and dreams. I encouraged all the fantasy with the little bedtime stories from those old green books Gramma bought me as a child. I encouraged you to dream. To hope. To think Big.... to never let others tell you different. I also promised in little nighttime whispers that you could become anything you wanted, if only you believed.

You did believe. You did find a prince. He did carry you away to a far off land........ a land away from who you were. Slowly under his presence, you forgot that you also were a Princess. Your glow dulled, your eyes narrowed. Your heart broke,when.........you .......realized........he wasn't a prince at all, but only a charlatan fraud.

All the twinkling stars of heaven, fell.
A hush settled over the broken pieces of your heart.
Slowly............. the broken pieces............... will mend?

There I go, wishing ..."Once upon a time..." again.

I give up on Fairy tale's.
The real world doesn't care if you are a Princess. It doesn't heed a soul so beautiful and innocent.
The real world is a cold, hard, sometimes ugly place. Void of the romantic nuances that Shakespearean authors taught us to believe in.

Just live. Do the Best you can. Follow your heart. Be kind to others less fortunate. Never think too highly of yourself. Stop and give that puppy a moment, and pick a flower for your vase.
Live for today, forget yesterday, pray for a tomorrow.

Anyway, you will always be MY Princess.

Blogging

It just occured to me that blogging is alot like writing editorials, except that you dont get paid for it! You can fill in all the blank white space with type written words, any words that come to mind..... You can choose almost any topic to "blog" about, and there is no one to argue your point with. No devils adversary, no professor challenging your English grammer or spelling, and maybe no audience. Maybe I am writing to just open empty white space! Maybe, I am just writing to myself! Is that akin to talking to yourself? Then, does that make me mentally ....um.... well, I wont go that far.
In perspective, blogging is to me, a creative way to use technology to capture ones life events. You can share your thoughts, insights, pictures, and perceptions of almost anything you experience in life. I guess its a way to communicate, technology style.
I dont know that anything I have to 'Blog about is all that important to anyone other than myself, but, blogging does serve to put all ones thoughts and meaningful events down in one place.
Blogging is easy, its free (other than the cost to run your computer) and its fun to see your writing online. I dont know how any one else on the WWW gets here, other than if I invite them, but, even if its only for me, I think this might just be a good thing.
I wonder if you could 'pass on your password" to your Blog............or write meaningful things on here like your will, or a living trust, or things like that. Would they hold up in court as intellectual property? I wonder if you can inherit a Blog?
Well, perhaps this place wont serve all those legal avenues, but it does seem a nice way to document (for whatever its worth) ones life, thoughts, ideals, outlooks, even photographic journal.....
'Heres to my Blogging....... Cheers~
Bandita