How To Pass The Time When The Time Passes Slowly

Let's face it - not every day spent in Iraq is a day filled with action and adventure, courage and patriotism. There are days like today, when you are literally bored out of your ever loving mind.

And just so nobody out there thinks we are constantly bored either, I can assure you there are great many more days of action and adventure.

With those bases covered, I want to focus on the days of boredom. Any deployed soldier knows that slow days are our enemy - days when the time passes so slowly that you feel like you have been and will be in Iraq forever. The way to fight this enemy is with busywork, whether it is directed from higher authority or at your own initiative, busywork helps the slow days to move along a little faster.

However, if you have a choice between busywork at the hand of the commander and first sergeant or to take the initiative to find your own - the latter is always, hands-down, without argument the best way to go.

Of course living on a forward operating base (FOB) in the middle of Iraq doesn't offer much in the way of entertainment and variety when you are looking for a way to keep busy. So, for most of us we make a new project for ourselves or find some out-of-office (like out-of-body) diversion to keep our minds occupied and the second hand spinning.

Here are  a few examples.

A few weeks ago, SSG Burrell came to me with a proposal to enhance the visual appeal of our office. Note to all future leaders who may lead SSG Burrell someday - keep him so busy he doesn't have time to think up "projects".

"I have it all planned out first sergeant," says Burrell. "I've taken measurements, we can get some wood and I've made a drawing for the KBR contractors to follow. I even talked to 1Lt Sarratt and he thinks it's a good idea."

For the record, another interesting note about Burrell; when he wants to do something, he goes to everybody else to get a consensus about his scheme before he approaches those who make the final decision.  I believe he does this to show how he isn't the only one who believes in a project or idea -  it's his way of "closing the deal". 

"Alright, tell me what you want to do," I say.

"I want to have some framed boards placed on the walls in the hallway of the building where we can hang examples of the photos we have taken on assignments out in the field," he says. "Then I want to have a special board strategically placed 

across from those boards where we can hang framed portraits of ourselves so when people come to visit us in the MOC (media operations center) they will know who each of us are. I've talked to everybody about it and they all think it would be a great idea," He adds.

"How are you gonna pay for it?" I say.

"Well, what do you mean?" he says, "you just tell KBR to make it and they just do it!"

After some discussion about how to get the project off the ground, I agreed and away he went. It wasn't a full time job to make it happen, but when he had time to follow up on the project the busy work he had created for himself helped the slow times pass, and in the end we have a shrine of photos in our hallway - most of which are SSG Burrell's or at least 25 - 30% of them. It looks good and it really does add to the aesthetics of the place.

There are other ways to pass time too, though not quite as involved as Burrell's Board.

There's a bridge that crosses over a canal on the way to the DFAC (dining facility) here on Camp Liberty. On any given day, around the meal hours you can see a collection of soldiers standing on the bridge gazing into the water. Some are pensive, some are laughing, some are being mischievous. You see, it's not just feeding time for the restless soldiers, it's also feeding time for a school of canal carp and box turtles gathered in the murky green canal water below the bridge.

Some soldiers stay for just a few seconds and others stay for a while to feed the fish and turtles the leftover bread, cookies, cereal, chicken or whatever morsels they have left from the breakfast, lunch or dinner meal. I've done it myself, even in the hottest temperatures of the day. I don't know why it fascinates us so much, but it does, and those few moments we spend on the bridge just seem to help the moments pass by a little quicker.

I think part of why we are drawn to the bridge is that when we arrived here over 5 months ago the little swimmers were just tiny fishys and turtlettes. Now, after eating Coco Puffs, special K, herbed chicken and leftover dinner rolls, the once tiny animals are getting huge and it's fun to watch their progress. The bigger they get, the closer we are to heading home. Maybe that's not what's on our minds all the time, but it is a marker for the passage of time.

Blogging, reading, coffee, religion, golf and bootleg movies. These are a few more things we've found to help pass the time on slow days and for the down time between missions. As I mentioned before, we actually don't have too many boring, do nothing days around here. Most of the down time we have is between missions. Sometimes a couple hours here, twenty minutes there and late nights in our CHUs.

For folks like SFC Burke, PFC Ward or SGT Fardette this is the time for coffee. Discussions about coffee, what's the best way to make it, what's the best blend, who can we get to send us free coffee. I know it doesn't seem to be a way to pass time but it is. It's not so much about the content of what you do to pass time, it's the mental break you get from being here that makes the time pass.

For the commander, blogging has become a way to pass those in between moments. She is one of our most consistent bloggers and she like to read too. It's her way of getting away. 1Lt Sarratt has taken it upon himself to help me pass the time by teaching me to drive a golf ball - how to stand, how to hold the club, how to keep your eye on the ball, how not to throw my back out in the process.

Some lift weights, others sit and watch bootleg copies of recently released movies. Heck, we had a copy of the new Star Trek movie here on Liberty before the week of its release was out. I personally spend my after hours time with other soldiers of my religious faith.

That's the way it is out here. Every hour is counted, every moment away from home is apparent. Time does not get away from you here, whether on mission, eating chow, cleaning your weapon, writing a story, preparing a brief or taking a dump in the latrine, the time does not pass without notice. So, we fill it up with something that makes the time well spent. Minor things maybe, but certainly not mindless.

Most of my blogs take several days to complete since I try to write them in between the normal events of the day. Today, I have a block of time to focus. And well, what do you know, almost 2 hours have passed and I have a completed blog. I guess that's two hours closer to home.

Several Things

The Heat

You may have heard the saying, “the dog days of Summer”, in reference to those hottest days in summer when the sun’s heat sinks into the very soul of your body causing an almost uncontrollable desire to simply sit and do nothing - like a bloodhound on the porch of a dilapidated wood-slat house in a holler of the West Virginia hills. Do you know that feeling?

Well, that’s what it feels like 24 hours-a-day, 7 days a week here in Iraq. We all just feel like doing that bloodhound thing. However, wish as we might, to sit on the porch and drool our way into oblivion, the mission goes on and our porch sleepin’ days will just have to be a mirage on the desert sands for now.

It’s simply amazing just how hot it can get here and we have yet to reach the hottest part of the summer. A few days ago temps climbed to an incredible 120 degrees! Now maybe in central California and some parts of the great state of Texas that’s no big deal, but for us it’s only the beginning – there’s promise on the horizon for that temperature to go up and up and up.

Now imagine yourself in this weather. Perhaps you have on your favorite OP shorts (a throwback to the 80’s there) and maybe your favorite pink Izod LaCoste pullover (second throw back, okay so I’m an old guy), multi-colored Vans sneakers and a pair of Vuarnet’s (alright I was born in the 60s and found fashion in the 80s – so sue me). The bottom line is – we don’t have those things here.

The fashion my soldiers are sporting these days is a set of full-length flame-retardant cargo pants and long sleeve shirt, 35-pound protective vest, leather boots, 3-pound helmet, gloves, knee-high boot socks, Camelback type personal hydration system, M-4 Rifle (6 lbs), 7lbs of ammo, and up to 10 lbs of video or photographic equipment. Do the math and you’ll find that when our soldiers step outside the wire they have added anywhere from 60-70 pounds to their body weight (not including their snacks and goodies to chomp on during the day, their notebooks, tapes, extra batteries and so on).

The temperatures are still climbing and my soldiers are still working, no dog days here. I’ve had my days in the sun too, but this is their time and they are doing a great job. I just thought you should know what your sons, daughters and friends are doing out here and the conditions 

they do it in. 

I dont' tell you this so you can develop a greater appreciation for them, those feelings are probably pretty strong already. I tell you this so you can know just how dedicated these great soldiers are. They go out every day in hopes to tell the story of the American soldier here in Iraq - no matter the weather, no matter the danger. I just thought maybe someone should tell their story too.

The Dust

Two days ago we had an incredible dust storm. Now, I know I have mentioned this in a previous post about how crazy the dust storms are here in Iraq. But, this one was simply amazing. Think of a blizzard in the dead of winter somewhere in Wisconsin (or some other icy cold place of your choice). This was a dust blizzard. Hot winds gusting, dust blowing so thick you can’t see 4 feet in front you. At the same time the dust was so fine that it blew in through every nook and cranny of our CHU’s, filling our rooms with a billowing mini storm inside.

In the morning, although the dust was still settling, there was literally a blanket of dust all around. It reminded me of the pictures and video I saw back in 1980 when Mt. St. Helens erupted and ash had settled everywhere. The dust left behind had stolen any color around us, everything was the color of a potato skin just digged up. With so much dust still hanging in the air, there was a lingering smell that reminded me of those first days of summer when you sweep all the dust out of the garage for the first time – musty and dusty.

I’m including a picture here to give you a glimpse of what a storm like this looks like as it rolls in (I'm trying to find out the name of the photographer). This is the edge of the storm that hit us as it comes in over the Al Faw Palace at Camp Victory. We’ve been coughing it up ever since (okay, that might be a bit gross).

R&R

About 50% of the unit has now or presently is on R&R (rest and recuperation leave). Even as we speak one of our soldiers is headed to meet family and friends in Thailand. That’s a pretty exotic place and of course most of us haven’t and won’t go to such places, but it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that no matter how or where we choose to spend our 15 days of time away, the fact that it is away from here and with those we love most, is what makes the difference.

We are about half way through the deployment now and even though we are busy and doing a great job, the tempo of all work and very little play can wear you down. I’ll be honest, there are times here that feel like a prison sentence. Accommodations, although nice compared to other places here in Iraq, are still pretty crappy. From shower points and latrines to round the clock sweating and long walks to get a meal. No matter how much we love our work here, this lifestyle eventually gets to you and you need a break.

I went in May. It took me 49 hours to get home, from the moment I left my CHU to the minute I stepped off the plane to see my family in Idaho. The two weeks that followed were worth every second it took to get back home. You forget how colorful life is outside of Iraq. Back in the states, trees are green, cars have colors (other than tan, white or dust); clothes have patterns and variety. There are other food groups besides chicken, chicken and chicken. The latrine is just a few steps away from the bedroom and you don’t have to put on all your clothes to get there. Nobody is yelling at you to get your work done; instead they say things like, “just sit down and relax for a while”, “watch TV”, “take a nap,” and “I love you.”

I love the Army, I really do, and I love my job, but nothing compares to being home. For those that have had their soldier come home for R&R, I hope you enjoyed your time together. For those still looking forward to that R&R, I encourage you to spend it wisely. Make every moment count, don’t quibble over the small stuff, focus on the quiet moments, don’t over plan, don’t try to live a lifetime in two weeks, you simply can’t do it. Just spend time talking, laughing and looking forward. Before you know it, we’ll all be home again.

That's all I have to say about that. Good day.

What Good Is A Single Sock?

I have learned for myself the value of a single sock. No doubt, many of you have experienced that washing machine oddity in which two socks go in and only one sock comes out. I can't explain how this phenomena occurs, but it does.

What most of us do, when this strange phenomena does happen, is simply wait a couple wash cycles to see if it shows up then we toss it in the trash. After all, what difference can one sock make without its companion snugly nestled up next to it?

I am here to tell you not to dump that sock too quickly. You never know when an orphaned sock can become your best friend. A few nights ago, after a long day of work and climbing temperatures coaxing my pores to open up and sweat like a dog, I determined to take a shower to get that shower fresh feeling back before heading to bed.

I prepared myself for the trek to the shower point, slipping on my PT uniform, grabbing my shower kit and shower shoes (you don't want to step in a shower without shower shoes since nobody knows what diseases from the feet of other boot wearers lingers on the shower floor). Then I reached for my towel. That's when the value of an orphaned sock became apparent to me.

Due to poor planning, I had put both of my towels (primary and alternate as I refer to them in Army speak), into the laundry at the same time. I had no towel. Looking around my CHU I considered my Courses of Action using the Military Decision Making Process (MDMP). COA 1: I could use one of my T-shirts. This was a no go, the 2nd and 3rd order effects could cause a shortage in my underclothes later in the week. COA 2: Don't dry off at all. Also a no go, for me at least. I hate that feeling of clothes sticking to me, I might as well be sweating cause I would not achieve that shower fresh feeling I was longing to have. COA 3: Use that orphaned sock I had not yet thrown in the trash.

Thank the heavens for the MDMP, I was able to determine the best COA for my situation . . . I chose COA 3.

Without hesitation (the sign of a confident leader) I reached down to this single white athletic sock, clutched it in my sweat-salt covered hand and moved out to the shower point. As can be expected, the shower was everything one living in 120 degree weather and covered from head to toe in flame resistant clothing might expect - it was refreshing.

Sweeping the shower curtain aside with my now squeaky clean hand, I reached down to my orphaned athletic sock and began to dry off. I treated it just like any towel, stretching it across my back, moving it in a back and forth motion from the tops of my shoulders to my lower back (don't get excited now, I ain't that kind of man). At some point, my orphaned sock, now full blown towel, lost its absorbency and I had to wring out the excess water, but I was not dismayed. I continued on, proudly drying from head to toe in spite of the sideways glances from others in the shower area whom I am sure wondered about my mental state.

In the end, the little fellow was up to the task. Sure it was a tight stretch across the back. Maybe the absorbency of an old athletic sock doesn't compare to a teri cloth towel. And let's face it, drying off with a sock makes for an odd scene in a public shower, but the job was a success.

So, here's my AAR (After Action Review), my lessons learned (First Sergeants are always looking for lessons learned). At some point everything has value. There will be times when the seemingly useless will make all the difference. I plan to keep at least one orphaned sock around at all times. You never know what other capabilities a single sock might have. Who knows, maybe it will save my life some day.

Ali, The Birdman of Baghdad

I recently made a trip to the International Zone (IZ) in downtown Baghdad. While I was there, SGM Troy Falardeau, a fellow public affairs puke like me, took me on the nickel tour of Camp Prosperity there.

As we walked, talked and toured the joint we happened upon a carpet salesman there who was holding a little fledgling sparrow in his hand. I couldn't pass it up, I just had to meet the little Iraqi with a little bird. Turns out he had more than just one bird, he has several. He kept a number of pigeons in a little cage across the street from his rug shop and apparently he kept his little bird in his pocket, when he wasn't perched on his finger. 

Oh, and one more thing. He said the little bird in his pocket wasn't actually a bird, but his son. It must be an Iraqi thing. At any rate, I nicknamed him Ali, The Birdman of Baghdad. Here's a clip of the Birdman.

What Do You Need? What Can I Send You?

I've been deployed a couple of times and I am always amazed at how this question is asked by so many people who know you are down range or going down range. They ask because they want to help. They want to support you on your mission; serving the country, defending freedom, living in semi-primitive conditions, being away from home, etc.

For many people, sending a care box filled with a few American goodies, American magazines, and anything American, is a simple way to show their support and concern - and you know what? We all appreciate it and look forward to those packages.

But, there are other care packages you can send, just in case you are wondering how you can show your support, that are just as effective and needed.

Today, I got an email from a former Sergeant Major of mine. It surprised me to find myself smiling, almost beaming as I read her message. It wasn't that the message was the most incredible and enlightening message I had ever received, that made me feel so good. It was that someone took the time to say hello, to offer words of encouragement and let me know that somewhere, someone was thinking of me.

This is the kind of care package I'm talking about - emails, letters, comments on a blog, writing on someone's facebook wall. Don't get me wrong, goodies are great, snail mail care packages are awesome, nobody will deny a delivery of that caliber but, sending a few heartfelt words in a letter or electronic message can really make a dull day brighter. 

Each time I put an entry in this blog, the text is automatically emailed to a select group of friends who I think will be interested to know what my unit is doing out here. Inevitably, a couple days after I publish a post I get an email or two from someone in that group who comments about the entry.

One of these folks usually pokes fun at my entries, sarcastically telling me how "touched he is" by my somewhat softy style of writing but, at the same time he offers a few words of encouragement to keep up the good work too. Another one often says how much he appreciates the work we are doing here and to tell my soldiers to hang in there. My wife makes comments too, telling me to stay tough and not to worry about things at home, that my Soldiers are doing a great job.

Each blog comment, email or letter from these folks, and others who have taken an interest in our lives out here, is just as good as opening a boxed care package from home. They are unexpected, personal and quite honestly they don't add to our calorie intake like all those goodies we get (not that they aren't wanted, you can always send those too).

So, if you're one of those people wondering what you can send and trying to figure out just what we need out here, I tell you this. A boxed care package will work just fine, but a quick note in the mail, a comment on one of our blogs or an unexpected email just might be what we need the most and it doesn't cost anything but a few minutes of your time.

Thanks to all our friends and family for your support, keep it coming. We look forward to hearing from you soon.

Mustache Men in Iraq

Iraq is a country filled with mustache men. I'm just guessing here, but I believe it's one of those "cultural things".

Americans have a "cultural thing" too. It does involve the almighty mustache, but it's the motivation behind it that makes it different from the cultural norms we see here in the Mideast.

A couple days after we left the states, one of our compadres came up with the great idea for all men in the unit to grow out a mustache. Apparently this is  a time honored tradition among many Soldiers as they deploy - a rite of passage, as they say. 

The end result is that we feel a certain kinship with one another, having shared this hair growing experience. On the other side of the gender line, this rite of passage is equally inclusive. The females in the unit are able to watch a bunch of baby faced goofballs transform their persona's into the rugged Tom Selleck-like men that we wish we were. 

The slow and almost indistinguishable transformation provides the she-soldier with hours of entertainment and certain laughs, scoffs and general teasery (what good is a journalist who can't make up a word every once in a while) that comes with the childish competition we man-soldiers inflicted upon ourselves.

For one month the whiskers, if you want to call the fine hair on our upper lips whiskers, raced to some unknown end. A competition for what? Who has the bushiest, the most colorful, the most glamorous, the sexiest, manliest or most stylish? Who knows. The key thing here is, we did it together. We conquered whatever it is or was and we did it as a team. No one can take that from us - no matter how many laughs and scoffs were directed our way.

This is what Soldiers do. We do things together. We fight side by side. We win battles with our buddies next to us. We suffer separation from family and friends together. We eat, work, sweat and sometimes even cry together. Then why not grow a mustache together.

That said, here are my opinions on why each person joined in on the challenge.

SPC (P) Soles: He came into the unit later than most and he just wanted to have a good male bonding experience with all the other boys. It worked! It's as if he has always been with us and we couldn't be a whole unit without him.

SSG Burrell: This is easy. He has some fetish for the French lifestyle. This was his way of saying, "Hey! Pierre, I can look just like you, no? Oui, oui." Besides, the babes really dig a man with a "stache". (just more French wishful thinking)

1SG Martinez: Hey, I'm the 1SG, I'm supposed to lead from the front. I had no choice. Who wants to follow a 1SG into war who can't grow a mustache.

SFC Quebec: Probably the only one in the unit that can actually grow a full mustache without looking like a goofball. Deep down, he knows this and so I believe he grew it just to show us how it's done.

SSG Ford: It's all about style for SSG Ford. He's done this before. Quebec may be able to grow a mustache out, but SSG Ford knows how to make it look good - neat, trimmed and classic.

I only have a few photos here for illustrative purposes. If I get a few more I'll add them. But, you should know that the rest of our male soldiers participated as well; SPC Alperin, SFC Burke, SGT Fardette, SGT Risner and 1Lt Sarratt.

All of them had their reasons too.

SPC Alperin: It's all about having fun for SPC Alperin. It was a great way to mark the moment and have a laugh - ahh, the memories.

SFC Burke: "Aw heck, I can do that and still drink my coffee! Count me in."

SGT Fardette: Hey, he's from Hawaii. It's part of the Hawaiian spirit to join in with your bruddas and make it a family affair. Life is good, a mustache can only make it better.

SGT Risner: It took me a while to figure his out but, this is what I came up with. This man can play a mean guitar and he has the voice to go with it. He may just make it to the big time with his music. I think he was just testing his stage persona on the rest of us to see if it was marketable. Uhh, I'd say, try another gimmick.

1Lt Sarratt: He likes sweet treats, but has limited his sweet treat intake to once a week, on Saturdays. I think he did this so he could secretly hide a pecan pie in his stache for consumption later in the week, but I can't prove it.

So there you have it. A milestone in our deployment history; now, come and gone. Next up? I believe the she-Soldiers have already begun growing out their leg hair. I can't prove it, there's no way to tell for sure but, I think SGT Anderson's is starting to flow out the top of her boots. Just an observation.

What You Hear In A War Zone

Many years ago, while living in Portsmouth, Ohio, I had an apartment located no more than 150 feet from a rail yard. My first few weeks living there were difficult. I had a hard time sleeping through the screeches, bangs, bumps and grumbles in the night as rail workers prepared trains for their departures across the country.

Over time, my mind and ears seemed to filter out the once annoying sounds and I was able to sleep peacefully. It seems that those sounds became so common place that I was able to tune them out. The situation had changed so drastically, that even if a mouse or mosquito moved or buzzed in the night I could hear it and respond accordingly, even over the industrial sounds emanating from the rail yard just outside my front door.

In some circles, this ability to filter out ambient noise is also called Mommy/Daddy deafness. A syndrome experienced by parents whose children are able to tune out the voices of parents and peacefully go on their merry way, as if their parents aren't actually talking - but I digress.

Today, I discovered that I am once again filtering out the noise of unwanted sounds to allow me a peaceful nights sleep, and further, to filter out the everyday sounds of a war zone.

At 0530 today our unit met at the base of signal hill for another installment of unit PT. (see SFC Burke's blog entry for greater detail on that). SSG Burrell put us in a PT formation, got us all stretched out, warmed up and ready for an unexpected 3-mile run around what we call Z lake here on Camp Liberty.

That's when it hit me. As I ran, I noticed a few things. I could hear the breeze rustling the reeds that line the lake shore, I heard a duck and a bird squawk on the shoreline. I could hear my feet strike the pavement (when there is pavement) and the crunch of gravel under foot as I ran. I could hear my breathing and the rhythmic jangling of my dog tags bouncing between my chest and shirt. I could hear the voices of my Soldiers yelling at me across a small span of lake saying, "you go first sergeant!" What I heard were the peaceful sounds of a morning run along a beautiful lake. It was invigorating.

Here is what I did not hear, though I can promise you these sounds fill the air around us 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

The whopping rotor blades of helicopters over head. The constant drone of hundreds of diesel generators, from which there truly is no escape. The revving of engines from Humvee's, MRAP's, strykers, buses and cars. The thrust of jet engines from airplanes taking off from Baghdad International Airport, BIAP as we call it. Whining sirens from the lead vehicle in convoys headed outside the wire. Automatic weapons fire from ranges on the camp and distant combat engagements from off post. And a cornucopia of everyday sounds and noises that are the constant audible backdrop to our life here.

Somehow in the past few weeks my mind has made a change. Like the change that occurred years ago in Portsmouth, Ohio. All those noises that, when I arrived, were so obvious to me, that at times raised my adrenaline level, or might have made me duck and cover, have become almost silent to me.

And again, just like those days next to the rail yard when I could hear a mouse or mosquito, it's the noises that aren't normal that raise my attention now. I always wondered about that before coming here. How it was that our groundpounder's (infantrymen), MP's and EOD (ordnance) Soldiers could know when something bad was going to happen or how they knew when not to go around a corner, go into a building or avoid certain areas of the city or road. It's all about filtering; knowing the difference between normal and, - not normal.

It's a strange shift in reality. When the sounds of a war zone actually become peaceful. When what once brought fear brings comfort.