Celebrate & Remember

(Thank you in advance for reading this very long plea for “help")

Earlier this week, I had the privilege and honor to attend a red carpet premier of the documentary film, THE HORNET'S NEST, with some members of the 101st Airborne and the director, David Salzberg.  I was not prepared for what I witnessed.  It is real battle footage that shows a father/son photojournalism team as they embed with US troops in Afghanistan.  Our news suppresses a lot of what we see and hear from other parts of the world. 

This movie brings it straight forward and politely dumps it squarely in your lap.  Our military endures more than most of us would. Ever. They afford every luxury we sometimes take for granted and they sacrifice for us.

By the end of the screening, I couldn't stop crying. Grown men in the audience were crying. These were their brothers on screen. Some did not make it home. The film doesn't show grisly effects. It very eloquently and respectfully honors the fallen soldiers without any of the gore that we all know exists. 

They say that every person on earth has been touched in some form by cancer either themselves or a close friend/family member. I think the same can be said about the military, too.  We all have someone in our family who has or who is currently serving our country. Serving. What a word.  Our military is solely all volunteer now.  We have no draft. Every person in our military is there to do a job. They don't fight solely for democrats or republicans. They do their job to ensure the guy next to them gets to go home to his family. SEVERAL OF THE THOSE WHO DIED, APOLOGIZED FOR DYING BECAUSE THEY WERE NOT ABLE TO FULFILL THEIR JOB. 

I feel so ashamed of my government for every penny they waste when our troops need equipment and resources available to them when they return . I don't hate my government. I hate the agendas they force that do not support our troops. Most of the Afghanistan war is being fought with explosives (IED's) and our guys are getting blown to bits, pieced back together (if they are lucky) and sent home to make do. "Carry on. Thanks for what you did but we cannot afford to help you anymore. I have a $1,000-a-plate dinner to host to raise funds so I can get someone else elected so we can send more people out to get the next wave going." THIS IS TOTALLY UNACCEPTABLE. The Department of Defense is cutting military funding again. Why????

We turn a blind eye and keep on going. There has to be an end.

Mike Boettcher, one of the journalists of the film, said it best: "It is dangerous for a democracy to become disconnected with our people we send out there, in our name, to protect us.

We have to see what is happening. We have to see what OUR soldiers are going through. 

WE NEED TO SEE WHAT WE ARE TRULY THANKING OUR SOLDIERS FOR. 

This film does not have big-name actors or a big studio to promote it or push it into every theater in the country. It needs our help. 

Please.....share this: IT IS WORTH EVERY PENNY.

To every veteran: I THANK YOU FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEART.

Please listen to the interview at the link below with Mike Boettcher about the film and his experiences: 

http://www.spreaker.com/user/arroe/mike-boettcher-the-hornets-nest

Toast or No Toast

As I was dancing around in the kitchen this morning, it dawned on me that I had not danced in a very long time.
I am not certain if it is because of my newly found lack of coordination or the awkwardness of my body still moving around after I think I have stopped moving that has prompted this decision.
I should incorporate more movement into my life.  I took 9 years of tap, ballet and jazz dancing so I think I have some rhythm somewhere.  I save the baton twirling skills for impressing unsuspecting acquaintances at dinner parties.  I am glad my Momma taught me to dance and forced me to take these lessons. Having this knowledge is a good secret weapon to have in your back pocket. I hope.

In talking about dating and such with an old friend, it occurred to me that we have a really hard time opening up and selling ourselves. Dating websites have you fill out questionnaires and we (I say this collectively) have the ability to just write down anything with no actual validity to it.  We should work on selling our true selves better.

Up until today,  I have never liked my sandwiches toasted.  I have no idea where this came from but if given the opportunity, I would order them on bread....plain bread. I have eaten my last soggy sandwich.  I am one of those weird people who only eat cheddar cheese on sandwiches too. American cheese is not real. It is orange snot.  I am sorry. I hate to break it to you like this but it is true. The Americans did not section off "American only" cows and make cheese with their milk: it was cooked up in a time of military rations.  I'll wait here while you google that bit of info.

I watched a most amazing, quirky movie yesterday. I like quirky. It suits me well. I embrace it like an old friend. We laugh at inside jokes and innuendos that I think no one else understands. The Grand Budapest Hotel is not for everyone. I just fell in love with it. I do that often: fall in love with movies I view at certain times of my life. I do the same with photographs. They imprint a feeling or message somewhere in my brain. I recall standing at a museum in DC and being bored to death with paintings they were telling us were great works of art but falling totally in love with a postcard at the National Theatre there. I purchased it and kept it on my bulletin board for years. It had a small unicorn on it and, for some reason, it just spoke to me.  I purchased two copies and mailed the other off.  No one else even noticed him.  Funny how things happen that way.

When my Momma passed away we began cleaning things out. I found her pictures of Pinky and Blue Boy.  They hung in our house my whole life. Sometime during the last 5 years or so, she had taken them down. I figured she sold them at a yard sale but no. They were tucked quietly away in the closet. Just waiting.  I look back at old photographs and can embrace a moment with love, laughter or anguish. It takes a strong person to not remember their rebellious youth without some hint of pain.  I was always one of those people that if you told me I couldn't do something-I would prove you wrong.  ...no matter the cost. Foolish me.

I was afforded many luxuries I never knew other children didn't have. We grew up going to the beach each summer. Our last few summers at home were spent staying in ocean front vacation houses. We swam in a pool all summer. We played golf and tennis. We rarely went without. One summer, my Dad announced we could not afford to go to the beach for vacation. It was 1976. Instead we went to Nashville, Tennessee and we stayed with my aunt. We toured Cherokee, The Grand Old Opry and other various tourist attractions. I have no idea why we went there because adding up the money for fuel and such, it seems ridiculous thinking it was cheaper.  I remember riding in the way, way back of the station wagon facing backwards. And drinking a Dr. Pepper.  And laughing at people stuck behind us.  Good times, good times!

I think that is an essential key to good parenting:  Never letting your kids see the ugliness of life. They will face it soon enough on their own.  Teach them to dance. Teach them to swim, golf and throw a football. Teach them to paint, sew and cook.  Even if you don't know how.  Either take lessons with them or fake it.
It is time spent with family creating memories that will help them get through the worst of life.......even when they don't know it is the worst.