Received 2/4/08

Psalm 18: “I will love You, O LORD, my strength. The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; My God, my strength, in whom I will trust; My shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I will call upon the LORD; who is worthy to be praised; So shall I be saved from my enemies.”

Thursday, December 13, 2007

12:07 P.M., Houston

9:07 P.M., Al Fallujah

What a glorious weekend,

Chris wrote two more poems dedicated to G and I as well as being about us.  He’s giving us the best Christmas present ever with his writing.  Clearly he has noticed a lot about us and our struggles over the years.  It’s nice to be appreciated.  I’ll be sending most of his poems along to share.  He requested that we do that.

Chris was in high spirits.  He’s not in need of movies anymore (phew!) as one of his buddies is loaded with movies and a small television to watch them on.  I was having trouble finding the movies he’d requested in the past.  It’s great to have that small weight taken from me.

He’ll be out on a mission for Christmas.  I asked him if they’d have church for the guys anywhere and he told me that they’d be sending a priest for Mass and the Christmas blessing.  Mass over there lasts all of twenty minutes.  It’s all the time they can afford out in the field.

J, the interpreter from Baghdad, was not at FOB Reaper at this time.  He was sent somewhere else before his wedding.

10:15 P.M., Houston, the same day

7:15 A.M., Al Fallujah

Chris read us some new Christmas poems.  I love to hear them from him first.  It’s great to hear the way that they come from his heart.  He puts his all into the reading.  Later, he puts them up on the computer on MySpace and sends them to me that way.  I’m keeping all of them safe.  I print out copies for the book I’m keeping for him and I save them to the computer as well.  I would hate to lose any of his treasures.

Monday, December 17, 2007

5:21 A.M., Houston

3:21 P.M., Al Fallujah

Well, Chris has been sick for the last two days.  It turns out that dysentery was making the rounds on base.  What a charming malady to have.  Chris even went so far as to write a poem about this little problem.  It’s bad enough to have at any time, but when you’re fortunate enough to have to stand post with it for eight hours…  There are a great many things we learn to hold in life: our tempers, our tongues, bad news.  Chris learned to do it with what he now lovingly refers to as “Mohammed’s Revenge”.  He was given an IV afterwards to combat the dehydration.  I think I want to go to Iraq and share these experiences on my next vacation.  Then, again, perhaps I’ll reconsider.  At least with the IV’s the guys got their antibiotics as well as the hydration simultaneously.  Modern medicine is a wonder.  It’s easy to see where even during WW I we lost so many men to illnesses that are totally treatable today.

Chris has talked more about becoming a part time teacher eventually.  He’d like a degree in Criminal Justice with a minor in history.  I enjoy his plans so much.  He’s really been transformed during this deployment.  On the last one he never really looked to the future or made plans.  He saw so much death that I guess it made it hard.  Survival was the only thing on his mind.

He enjoyed hearing about a wedding and reception that we went to.  Chris loves to dance and would have had a fine time there.  I doubt that we could have gotten him off the dance floor.  Greg and I spent the entire evening dancing.  The reception boasted of ten courses of food and we needed the exercise after consuming all that food.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

5:40 A.M., Houston

3:40 P.M., Al Fallujah

Chris has been writing all of his poetry in the little black journal that the Wiegands gave him.  He uses it on a daily basis.  He had written two more poems that I will include with this update.  He enjoys doing this while he’s on post guarding.  Apparently the hours stretch out pretty long while he’s watching the barren landscape.

He was quite excited by some news he’d received.  It looks as if he’s going to receive specialized instruction in swimming.  There has been talk about sending him to school to train as a CWIS instructor (something about water instruction, I don’t know what the C or the S stand for).  Only twenty percent of the people enrolled in this course actually make it.  They would send him sometime after he gets back from this deployment.  The school itself is in Scandinavia and he would train there for three weeks.  He’s so pumped up about this opportunity to see more of the world.  There was one part that I was less than thrilled about.  Apparently the trainees are drowned and resuscitated on a regular basis.  What’s to like about being drowned?  It seems a bit extreme to me.  But then, I’m only his mother.  I know nothing of the military!  With news like this I am glad to have not had to drown (regularly or not).  I love to swim, snorkel, and SCUBA dive.  I make it a point to avoid drowning on all occasions.  As a matter of fact the fear of it has been quite healthy for me.  Chris is hoping to be able to use this further training later on when he gets back here.  He hopes to use it to acquire a part time job at a nearby athletic club once he’s out of the Corps.  He’ll certainly have some excellent stepping stones to get him where he wants to go in life.  I’m going to end this update here.  I am including some more poems after it.

Take care and have a blessed week,

J

Some Days Just Stink,
by C.D.M.

Sitting up here,
in this boring tower,
It’s been twenty days
since I took a shower.
My hair is a mess;
my feet ache and stink.
My father was right,
as I begin to think.

My enemy is not a terrorist,
but a squirrel that is cunning,
Who feasted on brownies,
before we came running.

But who had the last laugh?
not the squirrel of chocolate fur.
For he was shot and beheaded,
by men who say errrr.

We were happy it was gone;
the happiness didn’t last,
For the mice then invaded,
and took over fast.

So now we are besieged,
with rodents on all sides
No hope for the future,
we need stronger pesticides.

So why did I join,
as I wonder and pray.
Please God no more rodents,
for they are evil and gay!

As you read this pray,
for a tired ass Marine
Who is now hating life,
dying on the latrine.

The Celts

They were the children of the forest,
both tall and proud.
The Celts were a race,
who were violent and loud.
They roamed the forests free,
giving each tree a name.
They protected them well,
before the Romans came.

In battle they were fierce,
tattooed and ocean blue.
With longs swords of iron,
they hacked and slew.

They lived for battle,
for death was never vain.
Dying in battle
was ever their greatest gain.

They were hunters and farmers,
who loved their land
When they were threatened with death,
they all took a stand.

For they were a nation,
of warring tribes
United by the insults,
of petty Roman bribes.

Their priests were the Druids,
who lived in temples of stone.
Deep in the forests
they lived on their own.

They loved their forests,
these people clothed in pelts.
They are remembered in songs,
as the mighty Celts.

The Sea Lords

Sea lords they were,
and Viking was their name.
Upon their great ships of wood,
they pursued glory and fame.

A giant race of men,
they dwelt in the north.
When the time came to raid,
their long boats came forth.

Masters of the axe and
ferocious with sword,
They fell upon England,
as an evil barbaric horde.

Strong they were,
broad shouldered and mean.
Going to Valhalla,
was every Viking’s dream.

No fear in battle,
for that was their way.
Cleaving a skull
was a typical day.

Their women were fair,
both tall and pale.
They were strong women,
who drank mead and ale.

Their two chief gods
were Odin and Thor.
To those gods they prayed,
especially during war.

There was a beauty in death,
to burn on a ship.
With all their possessions,
to the afterlife with.

For that was their custom,
and that was their way.
We remember the Vikings,
as the Sea Lords of their day.