Sad moment in the airport

I sat in a quiet, isolated corner of the Atlanta airport earlier in the month, facing a large window with a view of Delta planes bathed in the late afternoon light.

As I read my magazine, employees from all over the terminal started gathering around me. When their chitchat grew louder, I blocked them out by focusing harder on each sentence on the page.

When I finally looked up minutes later, no one was talking any more. Staff and passengers stood with their hands over their hearts, looking out through the glass.

A group of men holding flags marched to the side of the Delta plane in front of me and stood at attention near a conveyor belt. They saluted as a white, coffin-sized box slowly moved down the ramp.

It took me a second to understand what was happening. But then I heard sniffling, and one woman began reciting the pledge of allegiance. One middle-aged man broke down in tears.

The moment snapped time into focus. And for a second I felt a truth I know intellectually, but rarely process—that these sites, though jarring to me, have become a regular occurrence during the last nine years.

At first I read the newspapers to follow the wars--to really live in the moment--and when those grew old I turned to books. In recent years, I wrote articles about soldiers and had the privilege of covering two military funerals – among the most heartbreaking assignments I’ve ever had.

But now that this chapter in American history is closing, I can’t help but wish I had paused to reflect more, taken in more information about Islam, learned more about the Armed Forces, or spent more time studying a map of Iraq or Afghanistan. When I talk to grandchildren about this period years from now, I want them to see me as a discerning witness during a fascinating time.

I’m not quite sure yet what influence the war has had on me, or society at large. But I do hope it’s had some effect. If it hasn’t, I’ll wonder whether we weren’t paying enough attention.

Another day, another wrinkle

My latest wrinkle arrived on Friday. I first noticed it a few days earlier, under a patch of dry skin, but hoped in vain that I was being duped by low-quality bathroom light.

This new wrinkle begins above the right corner of my mouth and slants, at a 45-degree angle, toward my nose. It’s a relatively new addition to my face, but it won’t be lonely. It now lies symmetrical to my left lip wrinkle, which has been there to greet me in the mirror every morning since I was 29.

On some days, I tell myself I’m fine with these pesky little creases. Laugh lines. Wrinkles of wisdom. But if that were the case, I probably wouldn’t feel compelled to track their expansion as if they were surging rivers or fault lines threatening to tear apart my face.

To remember what I looked like pre-wrinkle invasion, I’ve started taking more pictures of my countenance than most people do of their firstborns. Right side profile, left side profile, chin up, chin down. I have it covered. (While flipping through my photos on the computer a few months ago, a friend remarked, ‘Nice pictures. Have you noticed there happen to be a lot of you?’)

At 31, of course, there should be no surprise that I am aging. But I’m struck by how young I still feel.

Does my face have something to say about how little my lifestyle has changed since my late twenties? Even if it does, I don’t necessarily feel like listening. There are so many great late night conversations to have, so many new people to meet, so many new places to see.

God's Country Gave me Something Good

So it wasn't easy (hardest thing I've done in my life).

And it wasn't quick (took about two years, with two 6-month breaks in between).

And it wasn't an emotional breeze (more than a few shed tears of my own frustration, and quite a few from others as well).

But it wasn't all for nothing, either.

THANK GOD. I finally got the damn article published!

I will have a life again now. I'll have time for friends. I'll have free weekends. I'll have time for...my blog?

Thanks to all who put up with my low moments. Couldn't have done it without you!

I guess I'm not a true Hoosier

An email forward I received today:

THE RULES OF RURAL INDIANA ARE AS FOLLOWS:
Listen up City Slickers !

1. Pull your droopy pants up. You look like an idiot.
2. Turn your cap right, your head isn't crooked.
3. Let's get this straight; it's called a 'dirt road.' I drive a pickup truck because I want to. No matter how slow you drive, you're going to get dust on your Lexus. Drive it or get out of the way.
4. They are cattle. They're live steaks. That's why they smell funny to you. But they smell like money to us. Get over it. Don't like it? I-70 goes east and west, I-65 goes north and south. Pick one.
5. So you have a $60,000 car. We're impressed. We have $150,000 corn pickers and hay balers that are driven only 3 weeks a year.
6. So every person in southern Indiana waves. It's called being friendly. Try to understand the concept.
7. If that cell phone rings while an 8-point buck and 3 does are coming in, we WILL shoot it out of your hand. You better hope you don't have it up to your ear at the time.
8. Yeah, we eat taters & gravy, beans & cornbread. You really want sushi & caviar? It's available at the corner bait shop.
9. The 'Opener' refers to the first day of deer season. It's a religious holiday held the closest Saturday to the first of November.
10. We open doors for women. That is applied to all women, regardless of age.
11. No, there's no 'vegetarian special' on the menu. Order steak. Or you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the 2 pounds of ham & turkey.
12. You bring 'coke' into my house, it better be brown, wet and served over ice.
13. You bring 'Mary Jane' into my house, she better be cute, know how to shoot, drive a truck, and have long hair.
14. Colleges? We have them all over. We have State Universities , Community Colleges, and Vo-techs. They come outta there with an education plus a love for God and country, and they still wave at everybody when they come for the holidays.
15. We have a whole ton of folks in the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines. So don't mess with us. If you do, you will get whipped by the best.

A true Hoosier will send this on!!!

I join staff of 60 Minutes

Not really. But I did pick up a camera last week and do some filming for the first time. (See bottom right on the screen, and please don't read the story.)

It wasn't exactly hard hitting documentary work. I shot a lot of wagging tails. That said, I now know how to correctly use phrases like, "establishing shot" and "b-roll," which makes me feel pretty cool.

This is the second time work has made me feel cool in the last two weeks. Last Monday, we published a front-page story I wrote about Indiana soldiers who were exposed to toxic chemicals in Iraq. It was so up my alley that I dreamed about it for two nights. (I never said I was cool, mind you, just that I sometimes feel that way.)

To catch up: Earlier this summer, our editor nearly gave me an anxiety attack by abruptly taking me off the features desk and assigning me to the military and education beats. I love talking to soldiers, who I see as a foreign yet intriguing species. But I'd almost prefer to parachute into a war zone than sit through some of these school board meetings.

I've had to learn about school corporation budgets (not exactly a strength) and write about them in under twenty minutes. The resulting stories are so painfully boring that my mom can't even read them. But I haven't had to write any corrections so far, so that's a miracle.

(Now if I could only get a handle on my own finances, I could declare true victory. My credit card debt almost rivals the school corp.'s deficit.)

When I go into work today, I'm looking in to donating plasma.

($200 a month if you donate regularly. Who can say no to that?)

At first I thought they were kidding...

Last week, I accompanied my parents to a nearby farmer's market. Sole purpose: to have a puppy pumpkin photo shoot. More photos to come.