My experiences in the Army have been etched in my design so profoundly that I seldom verbalize the experience. I'm not sure why... or maybe I do.
The decision to enlist could be compared to throwing a dart at a map.
June 25th 1973... Just graduated from Pennridge High School (that in itself deserved a medal) and as I remember it, I'm riding a Greyhound bus to NE Philly headed to the Military Entrance Processing Station. I'm a soft, punky, overweight cigarette/weed smoking kid, and now I'm registering that profile... and I can't get off the bus. I look around to find similar lost souls, but I'm hearing most have been drafted and I might be the only one on the bus who volunteered. I'm keeping my mouth shut.
Processing station wasn't bad.... I knew my name, my next of kin, and I can suck up inoculations with the best of them. I'm feeling good about how independent I am. I could muster 'yes,' 'no' and I don't know.' "Army life isn't going to be that tough," I said, still in my civilian clothes. And then, Ft. Dix, N.J. happened.
I'm not going to blog a play-by-play about boot camp and how the Army reached down into my soft exterior and pulled out something hard and disciplined (not to be confused w/ other possible parts of that same description). Briefly, the Army was teaching a Perkasie Pa. kid how to survive. This was a camp about life and death realities and the D.I.s were tough loving us to death.
Vietnam was ugly. I was never there. Families lost their children without choice. I remember wondering what souls lay on this same cot before me. I'm processing those same kids who walked the same hallways, had the same training and were later shipped to Southeast Asia with the tools they were given at Ft. Dix. Not to take a morbid slant but, I felt I could be laying in somebody else's coffin, that's how weird it felt... cause I knew chances are...it was true.
Memorial Day for me is more than a holiday and a hamburger. I may not wear a hat with Vietnam Era pins or parade my American Legion membership to enhance my contribution. I will, though, always remember those forgotten souls like the ones I felt at Ft. Dix... who were kids like myself. Laughing, making friendships, doing Army stuff, and then dying in a far away place or wounded emotionally. It's a real thing. They are not 60 something... they will never blog... they will never harvest a generous life. They are dead. Vietnam wasn't a threat to our Constitution, but they laid down their LIVES under the name of Freedom. I salute my brothers who make my comfortable day possible. I remember who you were.
I found a place where the Pacific Ocean replenishes a beaten soul and where the sunsets are affordable. It's on a Peninsula.
It may be another chapter in my journey that I could call my last....and have no regrets. It offers earthly gifts, gifts of majesty and wonder that Alaska has laid at my feet daily....for 37 plus yrs. I'll miss Alaska... With wild enthusiasm I absorbed it's opportunities and adventures. Alaska had challenged me to survive my good decisions as well as my bad.....and it is me.
It is time to live in new surroundings that renew me without a sub-zero weather signature-- mornings scraping ice off the windshield, weather-proofing my survival tools and black out curtains from the midnight sun....I surrender, its a young man's game.
This Peninsula, I visit daily....through the laptop and actual reconnaissance -- not once but twice. The Hemlock, Holly and giant aged Cedar trees offer this Alaskan a story book setting....almost a secretive hamlet isolated from the chaotic America I don't recognize nor want too. I'm almost ashamed to blog about my Shangri-La...... but no fear, only seven people read these blogs anyway.
Launching to Southwest Washington, for me can be compared to a Rolling Stones' farewell tour. I keep saying good-bye to Alaska...but I'm still here.
Last Aug. my house sold in just five days on the market...full asking price. I was already in Long Beach Wa. when the offers came rolling in I could taste the adventure before me. Judith and I were giddy with the possibilities of beach living and what appeared to be a fast moving dream.
(note: giddy is a word I may use three times in my life....two of those times came during the reading of The Christmas Carol )
Only thing left to do was sell Judiths' house. Until then we follow the Long Beach real estate websites and when we tire of that we view the Long Beach cams or read the local Long Beach paper. In today's world you can relocate to another place collecting the necessary survival tools and still find yourself on the comfort of your couch with a drink and snacks at your side.... laptops are awesome.
The following our tips on how to survive....please read if you need a smile.
When - not if - it arrives, it is unlikely the people of coastal Oregon, Washington and California will be able to escape.
But if they want to try, there are a few tips they should keep in mind.
Run, don't drive, to higher ground, says Kevin Cupples, the city planner for the town of Seaside, Oregon, in an interview with the New Yorker.
The force of the quake will cause liquefaction, when solid ground acts like liquid, across vast swathes of the porous region.
In the areas that aren't 'liquefied', the highways will likely be crumpled by landslides, with 30,000 avalanches set to hit Seattle alone.
Citizens will have a 20-minute interval to climb to the highest altitude possible before the full force of the tsunami hits, scientists predict.
Their alert will be when dogs start barking.
The first sign the quake is coming will be a set of compressional waves, only audible by dogs. Then there will be the quake, then 20 minutes later, the tsunami.
Geographers estimate that many could survive just by walking - however, they need to be going at least 3.5mph.
If everyone ups their average speed from 2.5mph to 3.5mph, the death toll drops to 15,970. About 70 per cent of them would be in Washington, nearly 30 per cent in Oregon and only 4 per cent in California.
And there is no point being a hero. 'When that tsunami is coming, you run,' Jay Wilson, the chair of the Oregon Seismic Safety Policy Advisory Commission, tells the New Yorker.
'You protect yourself, you don't turn around, you don't go back to save anybody. You run for your life.'
The only other safety measure is to relocate away from the Pacific north west.
So,....The Cascadia Subduction Zone..... It's my fault.
Retirement is a strong powerful word. One envisions retirement status as throwing the alarm clock into a black hole. This almost unreachable goal means... ' I win !' (cheering in the background as I receive my Federal S.S. document...
I imagine the S.S. check has a watermark stain saying 'Good Luck!') ... the watermark symbol must represent the tears one wells up when they harvest that monthly token.
Fortunately, my profile is different. Love has spared me from a lonely bitter taste of bad decisions and storing my winter nuts in the wrong places. (<--adult theme) So why am I working again ? Why am I designing my weekdays that pull me off the mattress and gives me a purpose ?
........and so lies the answer.
Oh, and something about keeping harmony in the household. Whatever.
Throwing my work history into cyberspace I was hired...sight unseen. What ! Todays hiring practices are a lot easier than I remember them to be. Gone are the awkward interviews where babbling nervous replies to a potential employer were the norm. I mean, I was ready with stock answers.
" Mr. Wehrle , why do you want to work for our organization...at your age ?" "Because I enjoy greeting people and I look good in a Blue vest ?"
I jest... but my first offer to accept a position was via internet. I loved it. No multi-tasking, no deadlines or monthly reports. It was heaven. That job lasted 3 weeks.... another offer came in that offered better pay and daylight hours. I was torn....I really didn't want to dismiss this no brainer job but I was missing quality time with my baby, so...
I swear .....God loves me and has guided me through all sorts of doors and opportunities.
Unfortunately, this job could be mentally and physically draining. Even though it's part-time it feels of the last non-profit job I had. So,.....I ask myself 'why'. Why do this to myself. I don't need it..... but it certainly needs me.
Yes,...there was an interview. That should of been the first clue. Yes,...I was interviewed in a Board room with some staff and management. That should of been the second clue. After two weeks of background checks...I accepted the job. <--stupid! Idiot!... look at you stressing again!
Without mentioning the particulars cause I'm shadowed by a 45CFR Here for CFR that protects the clients. I transport folks who have made wrong choices in life. I transport children who are the victims of those wrong choices and I transport them in an unmarked van on a road system that is fresh and all new to me ! Documentation and logs seem to follow me. What a cool retirement job....not.
So,.. my questionable history into the subculture (a feel good word for an ugly hard lonesome life) is now producing dividends. I don't judge... I know the unspoken language that I transport. It's a fit.
I can't wait till I see the Pacific and live out my days with my companion. Hopefully,this summer but until then,...I see *God has other plans for me. I could have said 'no' to this job. Why didn't I ? (see *)
The following picture has nothing to do with this blog...today the sun felt good on my face.
I workout.
I work out the funk, the emotional baggage and perhaps last nights' guilty pleasures. (discipline in a dimly lit kitchen......not good)
So,..in the Cardiac workout room or "Situation" room as I call it ..........CNN, FOX, the VIEW, CNBC, ...peppered w/ court TV, Hollywood gossip and the like are being broadcast. Side by side on a bank of flat screen TVs. All of them struggling to shape the main stream... the viewers.
Sweat flows from unknown ports on my forehead. I'm feeling the 'Chi'....until my eyes catch Trump or Clinton spewing from those 40 inch screens. I kind of puke up a little in my mouth but no taste of bile...it taste of Fox or CNN. I'm force fed rude behavior and ugly displays of statesmanship until I retch with disappointment. Both parties are dumbing down and their supporters are cheering ! What ?
How can thousands...'thousands'.... gather and turn the arena into a professional wrestling display ?
I'm ready for Hulk Hogan to come out and body slam Hillary to the mat....roar! Here comes Trump in his rubber speedos' jumping up and down. Fake wrestlers tan and fake hair comb. The crowd chants,.. 'U-S-A!'. U-S-A!' Like they're proud they can spell it.
....time to rinse and spit that weird taste.
'Thank God, I was never into pep-rally's in High school'. I say this to myself as I move on to the elliptical. What a stupid machine. It forces you to motor your arms 'to and fro' while your legs are pedaling..... standing up. ...but it feels challenging so it must but good for you. I'm feeling the pain... life is good and then..... My eyes looked away and up to the TV screens again. Whoopi Goldberg is telling the masses how too interpret what is good for them.......
I kind of puke up a little in my mouth but no taste of bile...it taste of Fox or CNN. I'm forced fed this 'eat this' dish.
No wonder the voting masses are team zombies....it's the force fed brain-dishes ! The only food they can feel through their drive-in TV windows. I love my work outs,...I make sense out of all the pain.
....time to rinse and spit.
As I retreat to the tread mill my 'Chi' redirects me through the artificial miles I tread. I'm going nowhere fast but it feels good. The endorphins are blooming and all is.......drat. My eyes are 20/20 but they keep me out of focus. I gave my pupils instructions to ignore this visual cafeteria of crap. What now ?
I see folks screaming, some with signs held high. False alarm.....the Price is Right is on that screen.
My Generation was raised on Sky King,(Eisenhower)Frank Sinatra, (JFK) and Walt Disney,(Ronald Reagan).
Generation X and the Millennios have Pokey Man,(Bush) Call of Duty(Fellatio in the Oval office) and Cage Fighting-UFC,(Obama)
Why would I expect anything less from the political arena.
What a workout,...time to rinse and spit. Never swallow.
Last week I've disengaged from my job. The employment that supported my son and I since he was two yrs. old. The job that paid the bills, the job that captured the American Dream...a house.
Yes,.... like all jobs over a period of time, fashioned it into a life preserver... involuntarily. (Though I did swim with the sharks long ago. Another blog I suspect). I'm 61 and I've pulled the plug.
My son has left the proverbial nest, sold the nest in five days, paid off my debts and now anxiously waited for my better three-quarter (far from half) to sell her house and ride the dream we forged. The dream includes the Pacific Ocean... a Peninsula and a dash of bliss...hold the relish.
I'm living in the valley with my J-girl, (name is changed to protect the innocent) helping her sell her house. 50 miles away from my home of 40 yrs., Anchorage. Yes,... I'm residing in 'that' valley. The Sarah Palin claim to fame valley...though no one claims her here. It's beautiful, surrounded by Mt. ranges and lakes and it taste of retreat living for me but....not.
Odd that I'm not obligated to the clock much anymore. Early mornings, late afternoons...coming home tired. No more. I feel my wings coming back to me...those wings that I clipped shut since leaving the Army, those wings that help lift me into adventure. I'm almost ashamed that I sacrificed them for main stream swimming.
As I was going to the gym this morning I was surrounded by traffic that had a purpose. Folks commuting to work.. paying the bills. Just for a second I felt empty... Like my car violated the space it was in. I had a work ethic but no work. So I started a song...singing out loud like I did when my son was with me... making up lyrics. "You guys are going to work today...not me, not me".
Not an i-tunes hit.... but it was 'i' tunes for me.
So,...here I am. Blogging cause I want to share and record adventures ahead of me and interpret the adventures I had. I like to thank my big brother ...who inspired me to create this one. His link is here...http://brucewehrle.blogspot.com/2016/02/senior-gym-rat.html
...and of course J-girl, for without her my wings would be useless.
