"Through early morning fog I see visions of the things to be...the pains that are withheld for me.."
Devoted readers I know you cry every night over my lack of postings. I say to you that I am still alive. I DO still read your journal entries and (as many of you have seen) I comment on them when I think it is warranted.
Lots of "I's" in that opening. I'm a narcissist.
My birthday, the holidays and New Years were awesome, if not somewhat out of hand out at times.
Probably the highlight of all of the above was watching my nephew, Gavin, open gifts. This was the first time he probably was able to grasp the concept of getting toys and all. And in true Wright-Male-Genetic form he screamed "NO!" and threw clothes upon finding them instead of a toy inside his brightly colored box.
The reason for this post has little to do with all of that though. I've been tossing around an idea for some time of taking up writing on a more ambitious level. I've even gone so far as to open, design and post a bio on another bloging site. Sorry livejournal. While I rarely use this journal I WILL continue to post here about my life and it's goings ons.
Tomorrow I have a meeting with a local newspaper about a project that I've been brainstorming about for a couple of years. And recently I felt that I needed to stop thinking about it and DO IT.
The spark that finally lit the powder keg in my head (much like the spark of Arch Duke Francis Ferdinand getting shot sparked WWI) was a gift. A gift from someone I rarely see. Someone, who in the grand scheme of my life is not that important. Sure he is a nice guy and I've known him forever but he isn't part of the regular cast of characters. In fact outside of my immediate family I doubt anyone who reads this knows him.
But dad called the other day to let me know that he had given him a gift for me. So I drove out to mom and dad's to take dad the newspapers the other morning and grabbed the gift while I was there. Inside a little white box with "MADE IN CHINA" stamped on the outside I found a small, dull commemorative knife that read "USA MARINES" in a faux gold. A reprint of modern painting of Marines storming a beach accompanied it.
My first memories of Rex are very similar to all of my memories of him. Playing pool with a few of the "older" vets at the local AmVets. Along with another man named Bob Dwiggins and my dad, Rex taught Michael and I to play pool. Again in the grand scheme of things he is not the person that taught me to read or write. Nor did he raise me while my parents went on safari in Africa. Hell he probably doesn't even know where I live or work at now. But he did fight as a young Marine in WWII and he did suffer terrible wounds as a result.
He is among a group of characters that helped build my character as a person. People I only saw when I went to AmVets with my dad as a kid. He is grouped in with a wheelchair bound man named Mike. A guy whose lack of fingers on both hands always intrigued me. Not in disgusted morbid fascination, but in a way that made me want to learn what something called a "landmine" was.
Rex and I saw less and less of each other as I grew up. Occasionally I'd pop into AmVets to see dad, and get money, and see Rex in the corner playing cards (his eyes made playing pool impossible years ago). But when I graduated high school dad gave me a card from him. Inside I found a $100 bill and the message "Give 'em Hell!" inscribed. It was in reference to my immediate departure to Marine Corps Boot Camp.
13 weeks later I returned home a United States Marine. I don't recall when the first time was I saw Rex after that. I'd had fantasies of putting on my blues and going to show him. I'd even went as far to imagine myself taking him out to dinner and thanking him for his service and his support of me. But life is always busy. Volunteering, job, friends, drinking, Reserve weekends, girls, Murder She Wrote re-runs and assorted other excuses.
I equate it to all the other things we think "it would be nice if I would..." about. All the times we see that woman at the post office who has worked there since before you could see over the counter, and think "It would be nice if I gave HER a Christmas card instead of just having her mail mine." Or just thanking that waitress you've had every morning for the past 5 years with a REALLY nice tip. Things you think about but never actually do because, well, because you have a life.
But Rex has not seen me in about 3 months. Not since the day he happened to be driving by the fire department and saw me standing outside. I stood at his truck window and talked to him for about 30 minutes. Other than asking about what seems to be like his constant state of illness I don't recall what we talked about. Being Marines I'm sure it was some sort of bravado-ish bullshit of how great the Corps is and always will be. In fact I occasionally wonder if he'll be one of those people who will die and I won't find out about it until some time later.
And that scares me. Like all of us Rex has a story. Unlike all of us his is probably very interesting. He is someone that went out of his way, multiple times in his life, to act upon the "it would be nice if I would..." feeling.
And that he did last week when he passed a small knife to my dad at AmVets.
This all coming back around to my idea, I promise.
While thinking about what I knew for sure about Rex and his service I realized something; I don't know much.
He served in the Marine Corps during WWII.
He fought and was injured on the Aleutian Islands.
Not much to go on.
So the crux of my project relies upon me interviewing Rex. Taking that interview and writing a story about, well about HIS story. Where he is from. What he did prior to the war. How he ended up wearing the Eagle, Globe,and Anchor. What the Marine Corps was like to him. Who were his friends. Where was his family and what did they know about his service. Where did he fight? How was he injured? What did he do after the war? How did he end up being the man that taught me to play pool?
Then I thought to myself "Self. What good is this information to only you. Why not see if the local paper would print his story." And the second voice in my head (who sounds eerily like Sean Connery) said "Whoa! Thats a decent idea! And if its any good why not find one veteran a month and tell their story."
While I know this has been done, most recently and famously by Tom Brokaw, I want this to be more personal. More personal to me and my community. The story of people who we see but don't really give second thought to. Or the person that maybe we all know but have no clue what they did during their early life. It is not at all intended to be a story of the medal winning heros. Nor someone who has had plenty of press coverage.
Its an "everyman" piece. Just the description of what happened during those extraordinary times and what that person did after that. How they came to be the "old man who sits at the gas station smoking and drinking coffee all day."
And as with all projects I start it will be difficult to keep this going. Difficult to finish. I have a tentative goal of 24 stories. I have a realistic goal of 4. I'll have to consult those of you who have "formal training" in word smithing because Lord knows my use of commas and run on sentences is atrocious.
If I can't get the paper to agree, which I should know about by tomorrow, I'll still write Rex's story and post it on blogspot. I at least owe that to the guy that taught me that "slop counts."
Lots of "I's" in that opening. I'm a narcissist.
My birthday, the holidays and New Years were awesome, if not somewhat out of hand out at times.
Probably the highlight of all of the above was watching my nephew, Gavin, open gifts. This was the first time he probably was able to grasp the concept of getting toys and all. And in true Wright-Male-Genetic form he screamed "NO!" and threw clothes upon finding them instead of a toy inside his brightly colored box.
The reason for this post has little to do with all of that though. I've been tossing around an idea for some time of taking up writing on a more ambitious level. I've even gone so far as to open, design and post a bio on another bloging site. Sorry livejournal. While I rarely use this journal I WILL continue to post here about my life and it's goings ons.
Tomorrow I have a meeting with a local newspaper about a project that I've been brainstorming about for a couple of years. And recently I felt that I needed to stop thinking about it and DO IT.
The spark that finally lit the powder keg in my head (much like the spark of Arch Duke Francis Ferdinand getting shot sparked WWI) was a gift. A gift from someone I rarely see. Someone, who in the grand scheme of my life is not that important. Sure he is a nice guy and I've known him forever but he isn't part of the regular cast of characters. In fact outside of my immediate family I doubt anyone who reads this knows him.
But dad called the other day to let me know that he had given him a gift for me. So I drove out to mom and dad's to take dad the newspapers the other morning and grabbed the gift while I was there. Inside a little white box with "MADE IN CHINA" stamped on the outside I found a small, dull commemorative knife that read "USA MARINES" in a faux gold. A reprint of modern painting of Marines storming a beach accompanied it.
My first memories of Rex are very similar to all of my memories of him. Playing pool with a few of the "older" vets at the local AmVets. Along with another man named Bob Dwiggins and my dad, Rex taught Michael and I to play pool. Again in the grand scheme of things he is not the person that taught me to read or write. Nor did he raise me while my parents went on safari in Africa. Hell he probably doesn't even know where I live or work at now. But he did fight as a young Marine in WWII and he did suffer terrible wounds as a result.
He is among a group of characters that helped build my character as a person. People I only saw when I went to AmVets with my dad as a kid. He is grouped in with a wheelchair bound man named Mike. A guy whose lack of fingers on both hands always intrigued me. Not in disgusted morbid fascination, but in a way that made me want to learn what something called a "landmine" was.
Rex and I saw less and less of each other as I grew up. Occasionally I'd pop into AmVets to see dad, and get money, and see Rex in the corner playing cards (his eyes made playing pool impossible years ago). But when I graduated high school dad gave me a card from him. Inside I found a $100 bill and the message "Give 'em Hell!" inscribed. It was in reference to my immediate departure to Marine Corps Boot Camp.
13 weeks later I returned home a United States Marine. I don't recall when the first time was I saw Rex after that. I'd had fantasies of putting on my blues and going to show him. I'd even went as far to imagine myself taking him out to dinner and thanking him for his service and his support of me. But life is always busy. Volunteering, job, friends, drinking, Reserve weekends, girls, Murder She Wrote re-runs and assorted other excuses.
I equate it to all the other things we think "it would be nice if I would..." about. All the times we see that woman at the post office who has worked there since before you could see over the counter, and think "It would be nice if I gave HER a Christmas card instead of just having her mail mine." Or just thanking that waitress you've had every morning for the past 5 years with a REALLY nice tip. Things you think about but never actually do because, well, because you have a life.
But Rex has not seen me in about 3 months. Not since the day he happened to be driving by the fire department and saw me standing outside. I stood at his truck window and talked to him for about 30 minutes. Other than asking about what seems to be like his constant state of illness I don't recall what we talked about. Being Marines I'm sure it was some sort of bravado-ish bullshit of how great the Corps is and always will be. In fact I occasionally wonder if he'll be one of those people who will die and I won't find out about it until some time later.
And that scares me. Like all of us Rex has a story. Unlike all of us his is probably very interesting. He is someone that went out of his way, multiple times in his life, to act upon the "it would be nice if I would..." feeling.
And that he did last week when he passed a small knife to my dad at AmVets.
This all coming back around to my idea, I promise.
While thinking about what I knew for sure about Rex and his service I realized something; I don't know much.
He served in the Marine Corps during WWII.
He fought and was injured on the Aleutian Islands.
Not much to go on.
So the crux of my project relies upon me interviewing Rex. Taking that interview and writing a story about, well about HIS story. Where he is from. What he did prior to the war. How he ended up wearing the Eagle, Globe,and Anchor. What the Marine Corps was like to him. Who were his friends. Where was his family and what did they know about his service. Where did he fight? How was he injured? What did he do after the war? How did he end up being the man that taught me to play pool?
Then I thought to myself "Self. What good is this information to only you. Why not see if the local paper would print his story." And the second voice in my head (who sounds eerily like Sean Connery) said "Whoa! Thats a decent idea! And if its any good why not find one veteran a month and tell their story."
While I know this has been done, most recently and famously by Tom Brokaw, I want this to be more personal. More personal to me and my community. The story of people who we see but don't really give second thought to. Or the person that maybe we all know but have no clue what they did during their early life. It is not at all intended to be a story of the medal winning heros. Nor someone who has had plenty of press coverage.
Its an "everyman" piece. Just the description of what happened during those extraordinary times and what that person did after that. How they came to be the "old man who sits at the gas station smoking and drinking coffee all day."
And as with all projects I start it will be difficult to keep this going. Difficult to finish. I have a tentative goal of 24 stories. I have a realistic goal of 4. I'll have to consult those of you who have "formal training" in word smithing because Lord knows my use of commas and run on sentences is atrocious.
If I can't get the paper to agree, which I should know about by tomorrow, I'll still write Rex's story and post it on blogspot. I at least owe that to the guy that taught me that "slop counts."