Rain

I've made a decision. I'm not going to try to publish my letters from Iraq right now. I don't want to dredge up the war right now. Maybe someday, but not now. And dredge it would be. Mom saved all of my e-mails, not just from Iraq, but from both stints in Germany. The problem is, she didn't exactly keep them in order. She handed over a 4" think binder of printed e-mails with pages sticking out in all directions. Even if I didn't mind the thought of revisiting my old letters, looking at that notebook would be enough for me to call it off.

But, I still want to keep writing. Which, after a day struggling to get a few things down, I've realized is HARD! I thought I might try to submit an article for the Reader's Write for the Sun Magazine. The next topic is rain. I've got a few stories about rain, but as soon as I try to write them down it's like trying to bathe a cat. I just can't get the cat to stay in the tub.

Here are my latest tries. They're a bit bland, in need of work, but at least cohesive, which my first attempt was NOT.

Rain

People often talk about Ireland. They mention the green hills, the rain, the pubs, and the people. Sometimes you’ll see a travel picture that shows impressive cliffs, quaint cottages, or a photo of a black nosed sheep. I have to admit, I saw all of that in Ireland.

After a week in Dublin we decided to get away from the city. Driving down narrow lanes G and I left Galway for the Cliffs of Moher on a cloudy January morning. January is always cloudy in Ireland, or so I’ve been led to believe. It’s cold too. Not like the Boston winter I’ve become accustomed to, but far worse than the Januaries I spent in Albuquerque.

I made G stop along the way, and not just because 80 k/hr seemed a bit fast on wet winding roads. The view from the passenger’s window was too enticing to drive past. It was a postcard waiting to be published.

The waves were crashing onto rocky plains while the clouds were rolling with the wind. Long haired, soft nosed cows ignored all of that to munch lazily on the grass lining the side of the road. We ignored the cows to hike down to the coast.

Careful not to fall, we grappled through the rocks as icy rain pelted us along the way. We passed bottles and driftwood, and the occasional seaweed as we found our footing. The water, once we got there, was not just powerful, but a power. If God wears a tunic, the waves hitting Ireland are the movement of of that fabric as He takes a stroll along the beach.

It was too strong for us to stay long. We paid our respects and turned back, walking quietly back to our car in the rain.

Rain:

I grew up in the desert, so I should have know that it rains in Iraq. Deserts always have monsoons, which are mysterious, powerful events, made even more spiritual for the extreme need of all beings found on the sun-baked land. When it rained in September I thought it would never end.

We lived in tents at the time. We had smooth wooden floors painted a shiny black, and two air-conditioners on either corner of the tent that would either heat or cool the air depending on the weather. It was a surprise when we needed the heater much more than we needed the air conditioner. We had proper twin beds and comforters that we would snuggle into under our mosquito nets when our work day was done. I was lucky to have a wall locker to myself because I was in the Army, but every rack was different and some of the marines preferred to sleep with a sleeping bag so they wouldn’t get too comfortable in war.

As the rain continued the mud situation became dire. This was not the mud of the American southwest. Imagine superglue mixed with wet clay and you might be able to understand what the ground was like under our feet. People became about 4 inches taller, and everyone, colonels and privates alike, were required to take their boots off when walking inside. Boots lined the Tactical Operations Center door and people ran around in socked feet at war speed.

Eventually we got a system together. You’d have one pair of boots that were worn outside and one pair worn inside. Seabees were put to work constructing shelves for the entrance to the Tactical Operation Center. Floors were scrubbed twice a day, and Thursday Field Day was turned into biweekly cleaning event.

When the rain finally stopped, the attacks started again. Apparently angry Iraqis and foreign fighters had also been a bit put off by the weather, but when the rain stopped it was back to business as usual.