That's not me... this isn't happening...

I'd ask that if you can while you read this post, you listen to Radiohead "How to disappear completely".

Scene:

Your father is in the hospital bed. He can't speak, or understand others. His eyes are not opened, yet he tries to sit up and get out of the bed. His brothers, and family watch, but do nothing. 

You turn to see this as you talk with the doctor... You immediately move past them all and put your hands on your fathers shoulders and pull/ move him back into the bed so that he won't fall and hurt himself more. All the while you are saying, "It's ok dad, lay down, you're ok, come on dad, let's just rest, let's lay back and rest. You're ok." Although these are the words you say, you know he isn't ok, and you know he'll die here... soon. 

Your spouse and child watch you do this... and in some periphery of your hearing you catch your child say to your spouse "Dad's strong isn't he?" 

Fast forward three years and some change... (still listening to the song I hope)

Driving back home from the howl at the moon event where you helped setup and prep for the local animal shelter.

This song comes on... and you're there again.

You can feel his warm, but boney shoulders... the cancer has taken so much from this man. Soon it will take the rest... In this moment you know what to do, and how to act. No tears... no feeling... just the "correct" actions as  you know them to be. 

You know what? They are the correct actions. He may have heard me, and even if he didn't it was right. Everyone else was waiting for "someone" to come help him and just watching... his brothers... there wives... his grand children... just watching. 

As I'm driving home I realized two things... things I felt worth sharing. 

First, the Army has my thanks. Why? They taught me what the mental model is to use when someone is dying, and in pain, and you need to calm them, and get them into a position where you can help them... or at least keep them from hurting others, or giving away a position. 

It's ok dad, you're ok, just lie down and rest, you're going to be ok...

Thank you.

The second thing is that they taught me that service is about the experience of others, not your own. 

These other people were in their own experiences at the moment. Unable to move from them, and to think of his... whatever that may be. 

I was there talking to the doctor about his care, and moving on to hospice when all this happened. I was doing what he had asked me to do when he was well. In that moment I was there for him, and his experience. Just as I was when I saw him struggling to leave the bed. It still hurts to think of this, but I'm eternally grateful that I was able to be there, and that I had a mental model. I hope that he recognized my voice, or my touch. Even if he didn't, I'm glad I was able to be there for him. 

So in the end I wasn't all that strong, but I had a good mental model, and I was aware that this was not about me or my experience of this life ending event. It was his. 

I hope I have someone there for me in the same way. 

If not, it will still be an adventure to be sure. One of the most special, and meaningful. I hope to die well. 

What rarifies my life?

 What are the things that make my life... well, my life? What rarifies it? What combination of experiences, feelings, and thoughts make it my own? 

While we all have some shared experiences with some people, and different ones with others, to the point of being able to clearly express our feelings and thoughts with memes, and movie references. What if it's the combination of the rarified ones, the ones we don't share with others, that make us, ourselves? Particularly the ones that are poignant or life changing? This has me thinking about what experiences are rarified in my own life... what if someone has similar ones, would we vibe?

So thinking rarified... what are those? Are they always something with less people involved? Or are they sometimes a lot of people, but just "off the beaten path"? Like sky-diving?

Hmmm...

So for me... just what is rarified?

Well....

• The heat coming off of the back end of a Chinook chopper as you board it at night for a flight to your base during a time of war.
• Gaffing a pole in the middle of the night to restore service for customers.
• Standing in a trench splicing a line.
• The sound of incoming artillary or rockets.
• The sound of an explosion from said incoming
•  Pepper spray in the face as part of military training.
• The summer heat and humidity in Nicaragua while driving truck across the poorly maintained roads there.
• The smell of a cold diesel starting in the night.
• The smell of an active airstrip during "shock and aue".
• The feeling of sleeping in your jeep on the side of a mountain overnight, and hearing/ seeing a bull moose just outside.
• Playing a videogame on your laptop when the incoming alarm sounds... 
• DFAC food overseas being the BEST thing you've ever eaten after a mission.

Independence Pass and quiet time alone.

Yesterday I took a trip to independence pass. It was a great little get away. At some point I'd like to spend the night and see the stars from the midpoint on the trail.

I'm going to share some of the photos and a video the Google helped me create. As usual, they just don't capture the feeling of being surrounded by all that beauty. The parking lot for the pass was packed as one would expect, with people from around the world. I counted at least four languages. I was a bit concerned that I may not get the kind of relaxing and quiet afternoon I was in need of. Thankfully, as is often the case, the folks who were at the parking area were only interested in hopping out of the car, taking a quick photo, and then moving on.

As I began up the 2.25 mile trail, I noted only a few people were venturing beyond the pavement. A sigh of relief. The further I got, the less people I noted. At one point I had to laugh, as a couple who where speaking french were taking video of each other in full running garb "running" down the side of the mountain. (they really only ran for about one minute each, and then began to walk back to the car). Too funny I thought, and wondered what the story would be... did they go all the way to the top? Did they run the entire way back? Who knows. People are funny critters.

The smells were amazing, this late in the season, at this altitude, there were still a variety of flowers in bloom, and the air had a strong sweet scent.

Finally as I crested the first hill, I noted that I had departed both the throngs of photo seekers, selfie sticks, and the hikers. It was quiet. I took a moment to take it all in, and was surprised that despite the brisk wind, there were small butterflies everywhere! How they manage in that kind of wind is beyond me.

After the first hill, the trail ran directly on the ridge line affording a spectacular, and slightly unnerving view all around. I remembered reading about the hiker last week who died after "falling a significant distance" and again, my morbid sense of humor said in the back of my mind "He died doing what he loved.... you know, falling!!!" I laughed, and the mountain was silent.

As I crested the second peak, I noted that I was just beginning to feel the altitude. I made a conscious effort to slow down, and make each foot fall a sure one. At this point there is a small, what I would call boulder field on the crest of the mountain. It is easily maneuvered through, but slowly as there is not much room for error.

Just past this peak you encounter an entirely different type of peak, from here to the end the entire trail is all pumice like volcanic stone. No dirt, just many many stones piled on one another. I liken them to ankle biters. It had the sound of walking on broken porcelain. I noted at this point also, the sweet smell of flowers was gone. I was now well past the altitude of flowers, and the air here was slightly thin, but crisp and clear.

I continued on this porcelain path until abruptly, it came to a cliff edge. I stopped in awe of both the view, the my proximity to the side of the cliff. It was spectacular.

I turned left to head straight to the peak, and was surprised to find two "fox hole" like positions built out of the surrounding rocks. I dropped my pack and had a seat at the top of the final peak on this trail. It was still accept for the wind, the occasional aircraft overhead. Stunning. I must have sat transfixed for damn near an hour. This I believe is the closest I have come to what some might call meditation.

Perspective check

At one time in my life I was so relevant that people wanted me dead,  and they did their best to make that come to pass.

I sometimes lose my perspective on life,  and I find that thankfully someone or something usually reaches out to remind me and set me straight.

Today it was a leader I will always look up to,  and I bet he doesn't even know what he did.

He is once again, and in fact has never ceased to be, in the situation I mention above. He is a highly relevant, trained, and motivated leader. He is engaged in doing good, and making things right in all corners of the world at the behest of our great nation.

Today, as I sat in a parking lot in Denver, CO fresh into my new job at a corporate office of a telecommunications company, wondering what I was getting into, and just generally over-thinking my life choices. This man, this leader, took a moment from his day and let me know he was in fact thinking of me. He said he was thinking of 12 years ago tonight when we were under SCUD attack in Kuwait, and that he hoped I was doing well.

Wow…

The parking lot faded away…

12 years….

They were trying to kill me, him, all of us. We were relevant, alive, dashing to don our MOPP gear, then over and over running to the bunker and waiting.

Hearing the patriot battery fire nearby, then waiting…. Then BOOM…. Then waiting…. And waiting…. Using our M256A1 kits to see what we could see.

It became mundane over the next 2-3 days… so much so that my entire tent slept through one air raid siren and giant voice… never even roused. Our PL came through on her way back to her tent after the all-clear and threw our tent door open… banging loudly… and yelled “where the hell were you guys… I was worried about you” we all shot bolt upright in our racks… My mouth was moving before I could stop it…” So why didn’t you get us on the way to the bunker, why did you wait until the all-clear to get us???” She was not amused. I was not amused. There was no amusement. The door slowly slid shut. The only sound was that of the string holding the water bottle rubbing through the wooden frame…. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz…. Followed by the dull, quiet thud of the plywood door as it met it’s frame. We never spoke of it again.

All of this flashed through my mind… as I sat in this rental truck… in the parking lot… where I’m so irrelevant that no one even notices me.

However, today I was reminded that at one point in my life… I was relevant, people wanted me dead,  and some people will never experience that.

I roam

I am destined to roam

A weapon at my side


What home can I find here?

Alaska Airlines 1st rate service and employees

To whom it may concern,
During a recent flight from Billings to Portland, I had an opportunity to experience something rare these days. Excellent customer service.
Your team members Salvatore and Melanie in the cabin crew were exceptional. From the start of our boarding process and safety briefing, Salvatore brought gentle humor and a very human approach to his briefing. It was refreshing to hear it given in the same tone as you would normally talk with someone rather than a chore or reading a dusty script.
Furthermore, while our flight was in route, we encountered rough air on several occasions. On one such bump, a passenger toward the rear of the aircraft made use of your air sick bags, or rather, should have, but didn’t. Both Salvatore and Melanie reacted professionally and with the utmost care. They cleaned things up, and made sure the passenger was OK.
As the rough air continued, so did their professionalism. They did have two very short opportunities to make quick runs through the cabin with the beverage cart. They were quick, clear, and managed to take care of the group prior to the seatbelt sign coming back on.
As the flight drew to a close we were again treated to a rendition of your Alaska Airlines Visa card pitch as only Salvatore could give it. I would attempt to regale you with it, but it would pail in comparison. Had I not already been carrying my own Alaska Airlines card, I would have grabbed an application forthright.
This cabin crew reflects great credit upon your company as a whole, their respective teams, and your training team. Thank you, and please do pass along my thanks to both Salvatore and Melanie!

Relationships as windows

The other day I grew a year older, and someone who I am connected to through a loss we both felt in very different ways sent me a nice message. It made me stop, yet again and think of the great person we both shared a loss for.

I thought of this and wanted to share it here...

Relationships are windows in our life and heart.
I see a large white open room, big like your schools gym when you were little.
But all white, and quiet and clean.
It's impossibly tall, and has windows all over it. As we look around the room we see that the windows all have different views of out them.
It's incongrous and disorienting, but not unpleasant just the same.
As we look at each window we know, just know that each of them is a relationship we have with someone in our life.
Some are closed and locked against the storm, others are just dusty and rusty with lack of use.
Some are near, and opened, and we see that one in perticular makes us feel for the one we lost.
We recall that in the last this window was full of sun, and joy, and we could hear... no... actually feel joy coming through it.
But now it's differnet, it has been since he was lost.
Initally, some of us closed that window, against the storm and rain and cold.
She couldn't, she had opened that window and hapily given up the ability to close it years ago.
She kept it opened through the storms, and rain, because she knew that there would always be sun, and joy eventually.
She stood at this window happily for years.
Now since he has gone, she still keeps it opened.
She stood there in the rain and cold that chilled her to the bone over the last year and more.
She wouldn't leave... she needed to feel the loss, the pain.
And from time to time, the sun would come out, and the warm wind would blow the curtans in that loveley lazy way a summer breeze does.
She lives for these times.
As time went on, the sun stayed longer, and the breeze kept it's warmpth through the nights.
It was getting better.
She did notice that while the storms had passed, that now too, even the sun began to seem somehow hazy, and distant... but not in a painfull or sad way, rather in a comfortable and reassuring way.
It was many months before she relized she was no longer standing directly at the window, but was beginning to look at, and indeed through others again.
Her children could be heard through some of them, and close friends through others.
She looked back, frightend for just a moment that the window of her love would be gone, or closed, or something terrible.
But it was there, as she rememberd it, opened, with a warm sunny breeze.
She had weatherd the worst, and could now feel free again to walk around the room, knowing that she could always come back when she wanted... or needed to.


We all have these windows,
we choose which ones to open, and when. Some open to sun, and others to storm and rain. Sometimes we do what others call silly or even morose, and stand there with the rain coming in the window, and we just let it come in. We stand in the puddle, getting chilled to the bone, just as she had, but still we can't leave. We won't leave. Then sometimes the storm lifts, and we see sun, and beauty, and a warm breeze moves the curtains lazily, and we bask in this joy.

When we loose someone dear to us, I imagine we walk close to the window initally uppon hearing the news and gaze at it in a new way, seeing the small bits of paint missing, and the notes we have stuck to it in the past, or in some cases the cobwebs across it,  All in a new light. the light of loss.
It starts as a cold blue light, but over time can become warm again.

Opening these windows is taking a chance, so some of us keep them locked up, closed, we hope it protects us, but really we just isolate ourselves.
I urge us all to open them, and try it out.
See just what adventures await us.
It won't always be sun, but remember,
It can't rain all the time.