Currently Listening Building the Perfect Beast By Don Henley Month of Sundays see related

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

I wish I could say that it is good to be back to business as usual, but as my time in Korea is drawing to a close, I am finding that business is far from usual.  Instead of returning from leave ready to take on the tedium of work, I’m finding that work is the last thing I want to think about.  I can’t wait to be home again.  However, it is good to get back to the ol’ blog here and bring you all up to date, if any of you are still left out there in Xangaland…

During the first week of school for as far back as I can remember it never failed that my English teacher would have us compose an essay about what we did on our summer vacation.  Although painful to compose at the time, I never realized that those teachers were using those essays to gauge our writing skills, and tailor their teaching approach accordingly.  If I could track them down today, I would thank them, for they managed to unlock and develop my passion for writing that I carry today.  In that tradition, I will now tell you about how I spent my summer vacation.

I left Korea in mid June with a heavy sense of melancholy nostalgia.  There was something about the summer weather on Yongsan Garrison that brought back distant memories of my high school years in Northern Virginia.  Perhaps it was the climate, or perhaps it was the faint smell of cherry blossoms as I walked to work.  Nevertheless, for as much as I hated Northern Virginia, its memories accompanied me on my walks to and from work.  Thankfully, I was on my way back to the desert that I have grown to love, and back to the family that I had been away from for too long.  After a brief layover in Tokyo, I was back in Arizona, itching to get started on some serious relaxation!

Dad met me at the airport, and after the longest day of my life (in crossing the International Date Line, I landed before I took off, making for a thirty-someodd hour day), managed to grab some sleep before heading down to Sierra Vista to reunite with Summer.  As I drove past the old Outpost, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness, which grew worse as I passed the front gate of Fort Huachuca.  I wouldn’t be going home to that lonely trailer tonight, and come Monday, I wouldn’t be going to work with the Cabledawgs.  While part of me longed for those days, my Inner Monologue reminded me that those things were just rungs on the ladder of life, and served their purpose on my way to bigger and better things. The ‘Dawgs were still in Iraq, and as if to underscore the point, my iPod once again chose an appropriate song by Boston

I’m just taking my time

I’m just a moving along

You’ll forget about me

After I’ve been gone…

I swear there is something supernatural about my iPod.

                A few days later, Summer and the girls joined me in Tucson, where we assembled Summer’s copy of the computer that I had built in Korea.  Sporting twin graphics cards, twin hard-drives, and a 64 bit operating system, the WoW box (short for World of Warcraft, for those of you who have been in a gaming cave for the past four years) is the ultimate in purpose-built computing.  There are those who express love by giving their loved ones flowers, or buying their loved ones jewelry or other such things.

I express my love by giving my beloved the power to crush her opponents on Azeroth.

I was also reunited with ‘Dawn.  While it should have been a happy reunion, my dear truck had other plans.  I knew there needed to be work done on her driveline, and attempted to do it myself after only a couple of days home.  I learned a few things:

1.       When working on the drivetrain, make sure you chock the wheels, lest you be run over by your own vehicle.

2.       The tools you need to get the job done will always be at the OTHER location you have your tools stored.

3.       There are just some things better left to professionals.

After an aborted run at replacing some driveline components, I decided to take it to the professionals at Midas.  As much as I would love to say that the trip to the mechanic went as planned, it was cut short by a loud bang as the driveline failed completely, and concluded with ‘Dawn going into the shop the way she always has; on the back of a tow truck.  Between that and intermittent air conditioning failure, ‘Dawn spent most of my leave in the shop.  Ah well, at least we saved some gas. 

 And they wonder why I didn't want to go back to work....

In the rush of all the things that had to be done while on leave, I did stop one evening, and let the memories of late Junes passed dance slowly through my mind as I sat beside the pool.  This time last year Mom was called home, and although each one of us struggled through and dealt with the loss, I couldn’t help but feel there was a void that was left that I was still having trouble with.   Perhaps these forgotten memories were resurfacing now out of fear that, over time, the void would be filled completely, and I would forget.   Mom may be gone, but her spirit was definitely felt over the next two days.  As I slid the golden band on Summer’s finger later that week, I was reminded of what Mom had said the afternoon she met Summer, and the doctors tried to herd us all out of the room.

“It’s okay, they are all family.”

Mom was always a good judge of character, and Summer, Rachel, and Vicky became part of the family on June 26^th, 2008.  It was a small ceremony in the courthouse conference room with just the judge, Summer’s parents, my Father, Vicky and Rachel.  The day prior saw Summer and me making an emergency run to Men’s Warehouse for a suit, as my Class A uniform had somehow shrunk to where I could no longer fit into it, as well as a run to Davis Monthan to get Summer a ring after the one we were looking at suddenly had to be ordered six to eight weeks in advance.  As for me, I am honored to be wearing the same ring that my father wore for thirty seven years.  It means a lot to me, but mostly it represents the strength to never give up, even when times got hard and things got overwhelming.  In all the rush and hustle of last minute preparations, I couldn’t help but think of Mom, sitting under the cherry tree on that hill that overlooks the mortal realm.  She was right, everything was going to be okay.

A few days later, the new Skalicky family went to Funtastics, a pocket amusement park near Tucson Mall.  Rachel brought one of her friends, and we commenced to taking over the park.  It was easy to do, as we were the only ones there for the longest time.  Vicky demonstrated an unnerving prowess behind the wheel of a go-kart, and Yours Truly got soaked to the bone when bumper boats degenerated into a four-on-one water cannon slugfest.  The evening culminated in a twenty minute romp in the laser tag arena where it was everyone for themselves.  I tried to practice some of the things I learned in Cav school, but the rules were such that the techniques I would use to save my skin would damage the electronic vest I was wearing, so my score was less than stellar.  In the end, we were all sore and sweaty, but a good time was had by all.

A few days later, we took Rachel out shooting real weapons.  Once again, my Saiga got a workout, along with Dad’s .22 marlin rifle.  We fired until my shoulder was purple from the Saiga, and we were all pretty sunburned.  It felt good to shoot again, as the job I have in Korea pretty much guarantees that I won’t be seeing a weapon, let alone firing it.

July started off with a bang, seeing the fulfillment of a promise that I had made to many people before I left Iraq two years ago.  It was my first college class, and I was stoked!  As of this writing, I am nearing the end of the course, and you can bet I’m going to keep the ball rolling and enroll in some more!  I honestly didn’t think it would be this enjoyable, but I’m having so much fun with it, that I don’t mind that I hate my job, for now I have something to occupy my off-time after Summer has gone to bed and Azeroth is left for the evening.  I chose my degree in military history, and hope that it will lay the foundation to explore another interest that has recently popped into my life.

I have recently discovered that I have an interest in something called “aviation archaeology”.  Aviation archaeology has many facets, from researching and rediscovering lost or abandoned airfields to going out and finding the wrecks of long ago aviation mishaps, to the relative mundane act of researching some random display at a museum and finding where that airplane has been in its career and how it came to be at that museum.  .

At one point in Dad’s career in the Air Force, he was part of a crew that flew airplanes out of Davis Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona.  When I was stationed at Fort Huachuca, less than a hundred miles away, he would tell me stories of almost forty years ago, when he used to fly over the same desert that I now lived in.  One such story involved the mysterious wreck of a World War II bomber that his airplane crew would use as a landmark.   To hear him tell it, the bomber had crashed in the middle of the desert, but looked undamaged from the air.  Nobody knew where it had come from, why it crashed, or why it hadn’t been salvaged.  It was just a navigational landmark, and nobody had bothered to learn more.   Dad would always end his story with, “I wonder what ever happened to that old bomber…”

After the third or fourth time hearing the story, I was starting to wonder as well.  I knew very little except that the airplane was a B-17, and it had crashed in the expanse of desert near Benson, Arizona.  I didn’t know much about the subject area, but I did know that somewhere there must be a record of someone losing an airplane, especially one that unique; for Dad had said it looked new, even twenty years after the last B-17 was retired from the Air Force.  I scoured the internet, where I found that the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) did keep records of all airplane crashes from the 1920s to the present.  Further contact with the FAA revealed that there were only three B-17 crashes in Arizona, ever.  More research and communication with the FAA and I learned that the bomber had been salvaged, restored, and was on display at a museum in southern California.   After three weeks of work, I now had the complete history of what I was calling ‘Dad’s mystery plane’, from its date of manufacture all the way to its final resting place.    While it may seem really mundane, I was proud of the fact that I started with nothing more than a story, and was able to find this airplane, discover how it crashed (fuel starvation), and what happened to it after sitting in the desert.   

I would put my research skills to the test again as I challenged myself to find out why the Korean National War Museum had a B-52 parked in front of the main building when such an airplane had never been stationed on the Korean peninsula, nor had it taken part in the Korean Conflict.  I started by jotting down the number that was displayed on the tail of the monstrous bomber.  This was a number that the Air Force used to keep track of its airplanes.  Hopefully this one was accurate, and not something just painted on by the museum.  So, at the start of the project I knew:

1.        This model B-52 was used in Vietnam, as evidenced by the way it was painted.

2.       The shape of the tail corroborated that this B-52 was one of the earlier models

3.        The tail number was painted in the correct place, using the correct color paint, so was probably accurate.

So, if B-52s were never stationed in Korea, and not used in the Korean Conflict, why was one staring at me every Friday when we took the new soldiers to the museum?  Here is what I found about this remarkable airplane:

1.        According to the tail number, this airplane was manufactured in the fall of 1961 at Boeing’s Seattle plant.

2.       Also according to the tail number, this airplane flew bombing missions over North Vietnam from 1969-1973 from a base called U-Tapao in Thailand.

3.       In 1983, this airplane flew from Dyess Airforce Base, Texas to Davis Monthan Airforce Base, where it was decommissioned and taken to the legendary ‘boneyard’

4.       In 1996, it was pulled out of storage, shipped to Seoul, and donated to the museum as a gift from the United States.  It was hoisted on its display stand the day before the museum opened its doors for the first time.

It’s amazing what you find on the internet, huh?

So what sparked this interest in Aviation Archaeology?

Bear with me, as my explanation is going to convince you that I am insane.

When I was a teenager, I went to a high school located down the street from an aging mall.  Beacon Hill Mall had definitely seen better days, as even its flagship store, a Marshalls, was on the brink of going out of business.  One night, I had a dream about the place where the mall stood, only it wasn’t a parking lot, but an airfield.  In my dream, old bi-planes made of wood and fabric took off and landed from a grassy strip of land right next to Route 1, which was nothing more than two lane blacktop.  There was nothing special about the dream, but unlike other nocturnal journeys of the mind, this one was not forgotten in the morning.

In fact, it wasn’t forgotten for eighteen years.

As  I was researching Dad’s mystery bomber, I stumbled upon a website that was dedicated to preserving the history of abandoned airfields across the United States, even if it is just through memories and photographs.  Out of curiosity, I clicked on the Virginia section, and was amazed at the number of airfields that used to be in my old neighborhood.  Heavily populated areas like Bailey’s Crossroads was once the home of a thriving airport, as was Huntley Meadows Park and Hybla Valley.  What I found out on the following page made my blood run cold.

Beacon Hill Mall was once Beacon Hill Aerodrome, and where the aging yellow Marshalls building now stood was a 2600 foot grass runway, two hangars, and a small control tower…from 1926-1947.

Although the field was in operation after the bi-plane era, I still can’t explain how my subconscious could know something like this.  The pictures on the site are nothing like what was in my dream, but the fact that somehow, on some level, I knew that piece of land had been an airfield still gives me goose bumps.  I can’t remember ever hearing even so much as a rumor that an airfield had existed there, nor did I know anyone that would have been around at that time to see it in operation.

Such is the mystique of the human mind.   However, it has opened the door into what I consider a fascinating hobby.

As for the new Skalicky family…

We just got our follow on assignment , and we will be together as a family.

I finally get the assignment I was hoping for.

I will finally get to be a Cavalry Scout, and make my ‘rendezvous with destiny’.

Take care, Xangaland!!

Currently Listening 8 Mile By Eminem, Various Artists Lose Yourself see related

I don't know which is worse; to have a job that you thoroughly despise...

...or being good at a job that you thoroughly despise.

This afternoon, as the briefing room emptied and we were getting ready to pack it up and call it another day, Chuck, Bryan, and I were approached by a crusty old senior warrant officer who had just completed his five day in-processing cycle with us.  Usually we have the soldiers that are headed out to their permanent assignments fill out a critique sheet to help us identify what we can change or what areas we need to take a look at.  Most of the time we get complaints that we have nothing to do with (i.e. the in-processing process should be cut down to three days, soldiers should be able to drink or go off post while in-processing, etc.).  This old warrant, however, not only put together a very well thought out critique sheet, he took the time to shake each one of our hands and thank us, giving each one of us words of wisdom and encouragement.  Chuck was identified as having a solid hold on the smooth operation of all the aspects of the in-processing cycle, but was cautioned not to get too heavy handed with forgetful soldiers.  Bryan was commended on his ability to make anything happen with nothing, and make the transistion process not only smooth, but fun.  However, he was also informed that while briefing, his comfort word was "alright", and that during a twenty minute briefing, Bryan used the word exactly 127 times.

As he shook my hand he said, "The crowd loves you; you make them laugh while getting your point across.  You are a natural briefer!"

I felt like laughing.  If he only knew that I'm terrified of public speaking.

It's true.  There is something about getting up in front of a group of people that really scares me.  I brief the same things every day, week in and week out, and it has never gotten easier.  I'm always a nervous wreck right before "showtime", and when it's over I always breathe a sigh of relief and thank goodness nobody had any questions on the material that I had just briefed. 

Sure, I took a class on public speaking in high-school, and once briefed a construction proposal to the Hayfield Ladies Club as part of my Eagle Scout project.  A few weeks ago I briefed a program I knew nothing about using just the powerpoint slides as a reference when the briefer didn't show.  It wasn't that I wanted to, it was because I felt that there was valuable information that needed to be put out there for the soldiers and their families to use.   People that do this for a living have told me that it gets easier over time, and soon I'll be anxious to jump in front of a crowd and brief just about anything.

It's been four months.

I'm scheduled to brief Noncombatant Evacuation Operations first thing tomorrow morning...

...and my hands are already starting to shake.

In Memorium.....

It never ceases to amaze me how long it takes news to reach me.  This week I have learned of the passing of two heroes from my formative years.  The Stars and Stripes newspaper here never mentioned a thing of their passing, so I had to find out through a magazine I bought at random, and from someone else's Xanga site.

The first person is Edwin Gary Gygax.  For those of you that even had a passing interest in the fantasy world of Dungeons and Dragons, you know this name very well, for he is considered the founding father of the Role Playing Game.  Through his games, he showed people that with imagination, anything was possible.  The meekest could rule kingdoms, the socially awkward could become great leaders, and the even the seemingly cowardly could be elevated to heroic status.  His worlds gave both kids and adults a place to escape to, and regardless of the negative press, his games taught the world that it was okay to make-believe, no matter how old you are.  Holywood has tried twice to replicate the world Mr. Gygax had engineered in his mind, and both times the movies have failed miserably.   I guess there really are some places that can only come alive in one's mind.

 Edwin Gary Gygax:  1941-2008,  You will be missed, DM

The second person came as quite a shock.  Before I left for Korea, I would keep abreast of his TV show, American Hotrod, as well as the projects that his company released to the public.   Back in the 80's he was responsible for building the car that would become one of ZZ-Top's trademarks, as well as building cars that were featured in every magazine that catered to Hot Rodders and Gearheads alike.   It was on the front page of Popular Hot Rodding that I learned that he had passed on very suddenly at the age of 63.   This man is Hot Rod legend Boyd Coddington.   

Boyd Coddington: 1947-2008.  Thank you for providing many of us with the inspiration to start, and the determination to finish.

I can say with certainty that there is nobody in the custom car and truck business that has not been influenced by Mr. Coddington's revolutionary thinking when it comes to building custom vehicles.  Another custom building legend, Chip Foose, owes his entire well being to Boyd Coddington, as Mr. Foose was his apprentice before parting company to pursue their own visions.  When I was bitten by the custom bug and started building Annie, I would look at Boyd's truck renderings and imagine how Annie would look someday.  While Boyd had undoubtedly a bigger budget to work with, he did come from humble beginnings, and it has given me the strength to not give up on the project, even though it seems stalled indefinitely.

The ZZ-Top mobile

While these men fall on complete opposites of the spectrum, both men left this world a better place through their individual passions, and gave us positive role models in an era where such people are increasingly harder to find.  If there is in fact a heaven, I'm sure we will find these two there...

*Special thanks To AtaiDanu, for posting about Gary Gygax, otherwise I would have never known...

Currently Listening The World Needs a Hero By Megadeth 1000 times goodbye see related

Just returned from the gym in what has become a nightly effort to get back to my pre-smoking ban weight.  That's the funny thing about extra pounds:  They seem to be incredibly easy to gain, but near impossible to lose.  Last week's battle resulted in a three pound loss, with twenty seven more to go.   As with all my gym trips, my iPod provides the companionship and motivation I need to push myself to the very limit in the name of personal fitness.  For those that have just joined me in my ramblings, I believe that music is the key ingredient in life that can make any situation bearable, or just give voice to feelings we mere mortals cannot accurately describe. 

So where am I going with this, you ask?

As I was pounding along on the treadmill, a song came on that my 'pod's shuffle feature had long forgotten.  It was a song that I thought I had deleted a long time ago, having no use for a song that could bring back so many angry memories.  However, as the rage-driven guitars thundered in my ears, those angry memories gave me what I needed to not only finish my three mile routine, but go one more mile until the rage-fueled adrenaline wore off, and my legs cried enough.

Until today, I always thought that rage was a useless feature in human beings, much like racing stripes on a minivan.

I know what you are thinking, that I'm crazy to still be carrying all this anger around even after all this time.  Truth be told, you are absolutely right.  However, my anger isn't borne of regret, for my life right now is exactly where I want it to be.  My anger is left over from the powerlessness I felt watching it all unravel back then, and the fact that even though I did everything right, I was still treated like the bad guy.

However, that is my anger to carry, and mine alone.  It's the last remnant of a past life that fades more each time I hear Summer's voice on the phone, and grows dimmer each moment I get to spend with family, both present and future. 

So after a round-about approach, I come to my earth shattering point:

Anger, if harnessed and used, can be productive.  However, there are those that let it consume them, and do stupid things, like seeking revenge.

Which brings me to my next rambling.

More than one eastern culture has a saying that goes something like "Those seeking revenge must first dig two graves."

That saying is very true, to an extent.  However, it doesn't make the person who has been wronged feel any better.   Yes, I will admit that I have had many an interesting daydream centered around revenge, but in the end, they are just that: daydreams. 

You see, the best revenge doesn't come from bloodshed or violence.

It doesn't even come from getting even in any way, shape or form.

So what is the best revenge? 

Success.

With that, I'm putting away my soapbox and going to bed.  Goodnight, Xangaland!

Currently Listening Letters from Home By John Michael Montgomery Letters from Home see related

Great Technological Disasters part III

So, having lost both my computer and my cellphone within days of each other, one might ask, "What else could possibly happen??"  Was I really that bad of a person that karma had chosen to punish me this severely all at once?  I was pondering this as I was filling out an online Western Union form to get Summer some emergency money to get The 'Yota fixed. (The car was immaculately maintained when it was Mom's, and I have every intention of upholding that tradition, since although it is mine now, I will always think of it as Mom's car.) I finished entering in my credit card info, and pressed the send button only to find that Western Union had declined my card!  Cards usually get declined because they don't have any funds available on them, but mine was quite the opposite.  Just fifteen minutes prior, I had verified that the very hefty payment that I had sent in did indeed post to the account.  Frustrated, I logged into my credit card account.

Or tried to, rather.  My account had been locked.

Blood pressure rising, I dialed the emergency number on the back of my credit card only to be connected to a fax machine.  Further attempts to talk to a human being were frustrated by a voice mail system that dumped me to either a fax machine, or just hung up on me altogether.  I really didn't have time to deal with this issue at the moment, so I went to plan B.  There was a Western Union office in the PX.  I'll withdraw cash out of the ATM and wire the money that way.

The ATM machine, however, spat out my card, telling me "Card Not Accepted At This Machine".

A quick trip to the PX verified that my card wasn't accepted at that machine either.

Desperate, I called my Credit Union, who informed me that, due to new security measures, all members were issued new ATM cards, and their old ones discontinued.

Thanks, guys, how about a warning email next time?

That explained the problem, but didn't solve it.  You see, my mail was being bounced off Dad's address in Arizona.  A quick call to him verified that all the mail that he had collected was put in a box and sent out weeks ago...why didn't I have it yet?

I dashed over to the mailroom, which is pretty far away, so I only check my mail when I am expecting something.  Sure enough, the box Dad sent was there, along with a letter.   I ran back to my place and popped open the box.

What was inside brought me up short.

In all the excitement and drudgery of daily life here, Easter had come and gone without so much as a blip on my seasonal radar screen.  My father, however, knew the impact of being away from loved ones during holidays, and sent an Easter basket (Some assembly required)!

Chuckling to myself, I assembled the Easter basket, and took the time to read the card that came with the box:

"I got this card after a guy stopped me in the parking lot at Home Depot.  I was using your truck to pick up some stuff, and he saw the Cavalry stickers.  He wanted to thank the owner for his service.  I told him the truck belonged to my son who had three trips to the mideast, and currently in Korea.  He told me to tell you how much your service was appreciated.  I told him thanks, and that his Dad was pretty proud too!

Luv, Dad"

Tears in my eyes, I sat down on my bed, and suddenly all my problems didn't seem that horrendous.  In my rush to solve daily disasters and handle each crisis four at a time, I had lost sight of the important things in life.  Up until now, I believed that being in a relatively cushy job away from the combat zone somehow made me less of a Soldier, and in turn, less of a man.  I had forgotten that I had already been there three times before, and this was someone's idea of giving me a break.  Dad, I don't think you will ever know just how much that card means to me, but it rearranged my thinking just in time for the biggest challenge that I would have to face yet over here.

However, that story will have to wait until next post.

Take care everyone!

P.S. The new ATM card was in the box, and strangely enough, a week after my credit card account was locked, it was mysteriously unlocked, and now life is back to some sort of normal.