A "Thank You" on Veterans' Day

This morning, Andrew, Livie, and I went to our local Hy-Vee grocery store for our free Veterans' Day breakfast. They have this "cafeteria" inside, and every Veterans' Day since we moved here, they have this free breakfast for veterans on November 11th.

Although we've been here for a couple years already, this is the first veterans' breakfast we attended.

I first want to say "Thank you" to Hy-Vee for providing this breakfast every year. And I want to also say an extra "Thanks!" because this morning, they gave us Livie's breakfast for free, too.

Secondly, I appreciate all the "Thank yous" I got from other diners. I feel overwhelmed by their gratitude, but I also feel other veterans deserve the thanks more than I, like I didn't do enough to earn the thanks. Sounds silly, but it simply feels to me like I didn't do enough.

I did, however, especially enjoy chatting with other veterans at my table, and their spouses, too. When we got to Hy-Vee around 7:30 this morning, it was PACKED! We first checked in, where Andrew and I got name tags (the rectangular sticker kind), where the check-in lady wrote our first names and branch of service, along with a red, white, and blue VETERAN sticker.

Livie got a name tag sticker, too.

She even wore her little Air Force jacket, which got her some fun comments and even a high-five. 

Here she is, posing in her Air Force jacket.

(These photos were taken a couple months ago.)

 We then got in line. When we got to the front, the server greeted us by name and served us. I got eggs and bacon, and Livie got pancakes and bacon. Andrew got something (eggs and bacon, maybe?) in a box.

Once we got our breakfast and sat down, Andrew sat with Livie while I got my coffee, a glass of ice water, utensils, napkins, etc. Then, when I was settled, Livie and I did our usual "Bye-bye, Daddy! See you at dinner, Daddy! We love you, Daddy!" before he took off for work.

So . . . since Andrew took his breakfast to-go, Livie and I were at our table by ourselves. That is, until another veteran (Army) and his wife joined us a few minutes later.

They were asking me about the Air Force, about my experiences, and seemed to have a lot of fun talking to a "new" veteran. The husband seemed to really enjoy telling me about his Army experiences.

Anyway, during those moments when we weren't talking - as we ate our breakfast - my mind wandered and I thought about certain members of my family . . . those who deserve the Veterans' Day "thanks" more than I do. I've been thinking about them all morning.

First of all, there's my grandfather, Sir Rafa, an Army veteran, who led by example and inspired me to join the military. He never hinted to me that I should go into the military . . . it was only after I'd made the decision, did he make his opinion known, simply telling me that I should pick Air Force (which I did).

He also told me stories from his Army days - the kind of stories with the lessons hidden in them, like: always make sure you take care of your feet (have dry socks, and change out of your wet socks as soon as you have the chance) . . . pay attention - listening will help you learn things . . . common sense is important . . . that kind of thing.

Sgt (E-5) R. Q. Torres (USA)

Thank you, Sir Rafa, for your selfless service. You joined the Army willingly, giving everything you had, even suffering serious injuries overseas in WW II before coming home. Sir Rafa, you always told me about all your experiences as though they were grand adventures to be remembered. My Grandfather, you are honored.

Then there's my dad, another Army veteran. I don't have a photo of him in uniform, but I do have one from just before he started his Army ROTC courses.

Approximately 17 years old, circa 1958.

My dad's Army stories had a different flavor than my grandfather's. Their experiences were vastly different. But, while his stories were fun and adventurous (like what he did while on an exercise, as they set up their bivouac), there were still lessons embedded (take a chance, follow what your gut tells you, etc), whether he realized it or not.

I ended up asking him to administer my commissioning oath when I graduated from OTS, because his service was also an influence on me.

19 Nov 1999

So to my dad, I send a "Thank you" on this Veterans' Day, for his service and for his administering my oath, the very same one he took when he was commissioned in the Army.

To the rest of the veterans in my family, a big "Thank you," too! The list: Uncle Chino (Sir Rafa's brother), Uncle Ralph, Uncle Hector, Andrew, and my father-in-law, Harry.

Uncle Chino (USA) is on the right. Sir Rafa and Andrew are obviously posing with him.

Here's my Great-Uncle Joe (USN), with Oma.

Here's my Uncle Hector (USA) - looks like he was an E-1 when this photo was taken.

Here's my Uncle Ralph (USA) - can't see what his rank is in this photo.

Here's Andrew's dad, retired SMSgt Heilmann (USAF).

And here's Andrew (USAF).

Anyway, this is my long-winded, well-deserved "Thank you" to the veterans in my family, as well as all veterans, everywhere.  And again, a "Thank you" to Hy-Vee.

Memory Lane Friday - A Birthday

This week's Memory Lane Friday topic is "A Birthday."

My birthday is mid-November . . . November 12th to be exact. Ahh, autumn - my absolute favorite season. I always had the idea that because I was born in the autumn, I love autumn the best. 

Anyway, since my birthday falls in a chilly month, I never had pool parties or something similar to celebrate my birthday. It was usually something indoors.

I remember one year, however, that I had my birthday at Living History Farms in Urbandale, IA. It must've been for one of my early "teen" birthdays (13 or 14?). I remember having classmates from school in attendance, as well as a friend who went to a different school, but was on the local United States Pony Club team with me.

On this birthday, I vaguely remember going on a hay ride with all my friends, and maybe having a tour of the Living History Farms, and how farm life in the Midwest was, way back in the day. Then I remember being in some building with a fire crackling, and having cake around a long wooden table.

Other than that, I don't have many memories of spectacular birthdays when I was younger. Although, when I was about 5 or 6, I do remember being sick and having to stay home from school on my birthday.

The good thing is that I'd gotten a present from my mom early in the day - Legos - and I was having fun figuring out how to make things as I sat in the den, wishing I'd felt better, and watching TV (Sesame Street, I think).

I also remember that it was a gray, November day, and the Midwestern skies looked like gunmetal - dark, ominous.

At some point, when I looked outside, it was snowing! I was so excited. Now, I love autumn - the scents: apples, cinnamon, crisp air, pumpkin pie -  and I love the cool, crisp weather, the changing leaves.

The first snowfall, though, always seems like magic.

So,anyway . . . I do remember really fun memories of various birthdays as an adult.

When I turned 28, I was living in the Chicagoland area. My mom happened to be in the area, and my brothers were already in the area, because they were going to college in Chicago.

So we all got together with some friends at one of my favorite restaurants in Chicago - Rosebud on Rush (it's just down the street from Holy Name Cathedral where Andrew and I got married a few years later). I think my birthday was in the middle of the week, so we met midday on the Saturday either just before or just after my actual birthday. We had a great time and had some great food. And to top it all off, I think I may have even gone to a Chicago Blackhawks game on my actual birthday, probably with my brother Joe and his friend Travis.

Here we are at Rosebud on Rush. I'm the third one from the left.

My mom took this photo.

And the next year when I turned 29, I was in Air Force Officer Training School (OTS) in Maxwell, AL. Well, it was getting close to the end of our 12.5 week training (we graduated exactly one week after my birthday, by the way). Anyway, towards the end of training, we had what's called a Dining Out - a formal dinner, where we were in our most formal uniforms, the Mess Dress, which is the equivalent of a tuxedo. Our Dining Out was just 3 days after my birthday, and during our last week of training, so while it wasn't a "birthday" party, there was a very festive vibe in the air. 

This is me in my Mess Dress just 3 days after my 29th birthday.

Then in 2002, when I turned 32, Andrew and I were recently stationed in the greater Boston area and were continuing to plan our church wedding for that December in Chicago (read: I was saying, "here's what I want," my mom was doing her best to execute my plan in Chicago because I couldn't get leave to plan it in person, and Andrew was just going along with it). 

Now I don't remember what Andrew and I did to actually celebrate my birthday. But my favorite memory from this particular birthday was a call from my mom. 

She'd said, "Guess what I'm doing right now on your birthday?" 

Of course, I had no idea, but I knew it must've been something good, so I smiled really big and I asked her, "Um, I dunno. What are you doing on my birthday?"

"I'm in Chicago and I'm tasting wedding cakes, trying to decide which one you'll like the best." 

Well, she certainly picked the right one, because it was absolutely delish. It was white cake and had a lemon butter cream filling plus a layer of raspberry glaze in the middle. SO yummy. Of course, she picked well, because she's my mom and she knows my taste. Besides, it WAS my birthday, so I must've been sending her vibes on what I'd like best.

Here it is, topped with stargazer lilies (one of my favorite flowers, also found in my bouquet):

This photo only: © 2002 Brad Baskin

So I have no special memories of one birthday in particular, but lots of small memories from a bunch of birthdays.

Please click on the button below to check out the rest of this week's Memory Lane Friday posts:

Come back next week when the topic is July 4th!

Fond Memories of May 5, 2001

Back in 2001, I was still on active duty in the Air Force, and stationed in Tucson, AZ.

Due to certain circumstances coming together, I was fortunate enough to be able to welcome an Appendix Quarter Horse into my life. His registered name was Wild Stride, but we just called him "Cotton" as his barn name; because he was a Palomino the nickname "Cotton" fit him.

Cotton belonged to one of my great friends, Brenda. She had three horses, and was willing to bring Cotton to me in Tucson from her home in northeast Nevada, not only because she barely had time for all three horses, but she knew I could use a horse of my own.

I'd ridden him once in the autumn of 1999, after I'd graduated from Officer Training School (OTS), and was on my way from Montgomery, AL (where OTS is located) to Vandenburg Air Force Base, in California.  Brenda and her family (and horses and dogs, cats, and other various animals) lived in northeastern Nevada, and they were not far from I-80, the highway I was traveling, as I headed west. I'd stayed with them overnight, and had gone on a trail ride with Brenda the afternoon I arrived. I'd ridden Cotton that afternoon, and found that he was a fun, nutty horse to ride.

So as we spoke that spring of 2001, she assured me that as far as she was concerned, Cotton would be all mine. I was in charge of him, of his training, of shoeing, veterinary issues . . . everything. He would be mine.

So we worked out a date for Brenda and her mom to drive him out to me. After I'd looked around at some area stables, I found a place down the road from my apartment and worked out the details. We agreed on a date I could have a stall available for Cotton, and what kind of boarding services would be included.

Plus, there was a hunter/jumper trainer working out of this particular stables, so not only would I have someone to take lessons from, I'd have someone to provide professional training rides on Cotton, when needed (if I were TDY (temporary duty) and out of town for a number of days or on leave, or such). And she'd give any necessary supplements (like biotin hoof supplements, worming as needed, etc), and she had a farrier she used for all her clients' horses hoof-care (regular maintenance and otherwise - like for a lost shoe).

So the day Brenda and her mom would be driving down with Cotton was set. Saturday May 5, 2001. I was excited, and impatient for the day to arrive.

And then I get a phone call from Brenda just a couple days before they were supposed to drive down to Tucson. An accident happened with Cotton!! I was so worried and disappointed when I first heard it was serious enough for an emergency vet visit to Brenda's barn.

Not that I blamed Brenda, but that this accident may delay Cotton's arrival and that was disappointing, and also, Brenda felt like she was letting me down - she wasn't, of course, because you can't foresee an accident . . . but she was disappointed. And so was I.

So apparently Cotton was bleeding a lot from his mouth. Brenda couldn't figure out what he had cut his mouth on, or where, exactly, the bleeding was coming from. Of course, she was panicked. But she was also disappointed, too, because she really wanted to get Cotton to me, not only because she had promised to, but because she trusted me enough with his care, and training (she and I both rode hunter/jumpers before, during and after attending Culver Academies together).

Brenda was able to catch him and figure out that the wound was not in his mouth, but on his lips, near the corner of his mouth, where the lips wrinkle when a bit is in the mouth. She was able to put a clean cloth or towel or something on it to staunch the bleeding until the vet got there.

He was able to stitch up the area with some of that dissolving thread stuff, so that in a matter of a couple weeks, the stitches would dissolve on their own as the wound healed, and Cotton wouldn't need a vet to take the stitches out once the wound was completely healed.

Of course, Cotton couldn't have a bridle on for a number of days, because a bit would be bad for the wound and perhaps take out the stitches. So the vet said he couldn't have a bridle on for something like 7-10 days. But the good news was that there would be no problem with his traveling in a few days. I'd be able to see him in a few days (though not ride him just yet, as I'd have to wait just about a week before putting a bridle on him).

All day Friday May 4th, I was antsy just waiting for 4:30 PM, when I could head home and go over all the stuff I had ready - all this stuff for Cotton . . . since Brenda was bringing his halter, lead-rope, brushes, and his bridle (and the bit he went well in - an eggbutt snaffle), I just made sure I had various other items - liniment, horse shampoo, a bag of carrots, fly spray, other random horse-care supplies, a clean saddle pad to go with my saddle I'd had for years, which, by the way, was the exact same make and model as the one Brenda used on Cotton. And I had a couple different girths already, so all I had to do was see which one was the best fit.

It was hard going to sleep that night, knowing Brenda and Cotton would be arriving the next day. But I did fall asleep.

The next morning, Cinco de Mayo, a Saturday, I think I may have gone to the gym as I normally did. But I don't remember for sure.

I kept my cell phone near me most of the day, just in case Brenda or her mom called while they were on the road. I'd given them directions to the barn from I-10, and I hoped their drive wasn't too bad.

Brenda had given me an estimate of when they expected to arrive in Tucson, so about an hour before they were to arrive, I headed down to the barn to make sure I had everything in place, and that Cotton's stall was ready for him (such as checking that the stall's automatic waterer was working, there was bedding in the stall, etc).

It started getting dark. I hung out on a picnic table at the front of the barn overlooking the street and the driveway.

Somebody I hadn't met yet - another person boarding his horse there at the stables - asked if I was okay, if I needed help or anything. I assured him, no, I didn't need any help, that I was okay and that I was just waiting for my friend and her mom to drive up with "my" horse in a trailer.

Since it was Cinco de Mayo, and it was Tucson, there were Cinco de Mayo parties around town. And at the bar/steakhouse down the street, there was a Cinco de Mayo party in full swing. I could hear the music, the laughing, partying voices wafting on the evening breeze. I listened to the faint sounds of this party, wondering how many Coronas, margaritas, nachos were being consumed, wondering which friends of mine were out at a Cinco de Mayo party, doubting that Brenda and her mom would want to go there after their long drive from northeastern Nevada (I think it was around 12-14 hours!).

I doubted that I'd really want to go, either. Cotton would be there. We'd have to take care of him and make sure he was okay before putting him up in his new stall. Plus, Brenda and her mom would have to park the truck and trailer in a good spot for the night, so it would be out of the way, but not so out of the way that it was in a difficult-to-park spot.

And I hadn't seen Brenda for a year or two. So it would be nice to talk at my nice, quiet apartment, instead of a loud Cinco de Mayo party.

They got there a bit later than expected, but only because they'd stopped a few times to let Cotton out to stretch his legs, take a rest, etc.

It was good to see him and Brenda and her mom once they got there. It was maybe around 7-8 PM when they got there. Both Brenda and her mom were understandably tired, worn out, glad to finally be there.

Cotton was alert, snorting, prancing around, when we got him out of the trailer. We hand-walked him in the main ring for a few minutes to let him stretch out. I went and turned on the arena lights and we took his leg wraps off (the ones that supported his legs while in the trailer) and the tail wrap off (to protect his tail from rubbing against the trailer's butt-bar behind his rump) and then unclipped the lead-rope from the halter so he could roam about freely for a bit. He felt good roaming about in the arena. He pranced around, sniffed at things, rolled.

So there he was. "My" horse Cotton. He'd finally arrived. And that's why I have fond memories of Cinco de Mayo.

Here are a few photos I took of Cotton 2-3 weeks after he arrived in Tucson:

You can see his golden-dappled coat.

Maybe some day soon, I'll talk about the last couple trail rides he took me on through the washes of Tucson, the golden setting sun, the pack of coyotes, the rattlesnake, how I like to think of the beautiful southwestern landscape bathed in golden light the color of Cotton's coat, and the saudade I inevitably feel when I think about those quiet times he and I shared.

That time of day . . .

This post has been hard for me to write. I started it in the autumn of 2009 and have just finished it (though I may come back and proofread it for minor changes in the coming days).

There's something about late afternoon with the changing light leaving long shadows across the earth as the sun is starting to set. It reminds me of so many things. In this transitional period before we're left in darkness, I both dread and enjoy the memories and accompanying feelings sunset usually evokes.

When I was still a student at Culver (that would be Culver Girls Academy, in Culver, IN during the following years: 1985-1989), my mom would come out to visit every few months, whether it was just for a regular weekend or an official Parents' Weekend. She'd come out for a weekend and take me out "on leave" 'til Sunday evening.

I specifically remember one late afternoon, early evening, when it was still sorta warm out and mellifluous light was washing over us. We were in her car (a rental car, I think?) one late afternoon. Maybe we were heading to the hotel in South Bend or Ft. Wayne or to dinner after she picked me up on campus. I can't seem to recall any exact details other than the facts that we were in the car and the light was golden and starting to fade. I remember her telling me that she loved this time of day. I think I asked her why, but I didn't really get why.

This time of day during my four years at Culver always made me feel . . . well, "depressed" isn't actually the right word. Maybe "blue" or homesick or wishing the day weren't over yet. When I think back to that afternoon, I think that I felt like that because I knew her visit would be wrapping up soon. It would be over after dinner, and that night's sleep. Or possibly I was feeling the beginning of homesickness or missing her, because, perhaps because it was already Sunday evening, and she was taking me back to campus, and things would be back to normal, off to the races the next day.

To this day, I can still recall how vividly I felt like I already missed her; I'd just wanted to rewind time so that I'd have an extra day or a few more hours with her before it was time to head back to campus.

My missing her during late afternoon's dwindling light kinda morphed into something else as time went on. For instance, I experienced a completely different feeling while I was at OTS (the US Air Force's Officer Training School) at Maxwell Air Force Base, in Montgomery, AL.

I'd gotten to Montgomery in mid-August, just about a month before autumn started, when the hot, sticky humid days of summer began getting shorter and held the distant hope of cooler temperatures. My recruiter out of West Des Moines, IA had told me not to get there and report in too early in the day (she'd said exactly: "Don't get there first thing in the morning, or too early in the day. From what I hear, they may be 'mean' to you."), so I timed it per the recruiter's instructions and got there just after lunch. That particular day ended up being overcast and kinda drizzly all day, with a harder falling rain happening every often. The gray, wet day, the nervous tension of not knowing what to expect for the next 12.5 weeks, and the rushing around doing various in-processing tasks prevented late afternoon from having any sort of "homesickness" to it . . . though I'd eventually "grown out" of being homesick by this point in my life.

However, once my fellow squadron-mates and I were settled into a daily routine, I started noticing that when the sun began its journey towards the horizon, and the light had that certain familiar Midas quality about it, I felt  . . . like I should expect something. Like I would be given just a moment to breathe a sigh of relief. There would be a magic moment when all the 50-million tasks we had to complete, all the stress, the "I need to give 110% every moment of the day" necessities would pause for just that moment.

After eating our evening meal, as we were marching back to our dorm, I always felt like, "we're almost there." Like I would be okay . . .  as soon as we got back to our dorm, there was the promise of a moment's respite. Sure, there'd be one thing or another (polishing boots, ironing uniforms, an upperclassman yelling at one or all of us). But I knew that there'd be just a little while when I'd get a "time out" and have 2 or 3 hours of peace . . . of sleep . . . before the cycle started again.

However, what really makes me love sunset is the saudade I feel when I think about the long shadows Midas' sun creates in the evening as the sun paints the Southwest a coppery-brown, turning the mountains a liquid gold.

I spent a lot of time in Tucson, AZ, El Paso, TX, and Alamogordo, NM while I was on Active Duty in the Air Force. It was in these places, Tucson and Alamogordo, especially, that I began to really appreciate the way the setting sun painted the earth with a golden glow.

It was like I was home, and there was nothing to worry about, even though there was plenty to worry about, if I really put my mind to it. Let me see if I can explain . . .

I had, for a time, an Appendix Quarter Horse named Wild Stride, but who we called Cotton. He came to me for a few brief months, arriving in Tucson on Cinco de Mayo, 2001, a Saturday. He was my friend Brenda's horse; she sent him to me as "therapy" for me for something that happened earlier that year. This is a story for another time, however. I'm not getting into it now.

Anyway, he and I had a wonderful time together during his brief stay with me, his reason for leaving was 9/11; Brenda came to get him in October, because I was on 12-hour shifts at work, and it cut into my time with him, and I felt bad, feeling like I was neglecting him; it hurt me when he had to leave, but I wanted to do what was best for him.

He gave me something great, though. One of my favorite memories is our last trail ride together. It was a day after work, when I was able to leave a little early. I headed to the barn for a ride. I groomed him, put a bridle on him, got up on him bareback, and we headed out on a trail. It was magic. The sun was starting to set, and everything was aglow, the mountains, the wash, the ground, Cotton, everything, was dressed by Midas, golden. Cotton was very mellow, and it was like he was there solely so we could enjoy each other's company. Ahhh. All was right with the world on that trail ride.

Then, I remember a time when I'd first met Andrew on a TDY (Temporary Duty) the week after 9/11/01 in Montgomery, Alabama - yes, the same place I went to OTS, Maxwell Air Force Base. We were there for two weeks for a logistics class. When I got back home to Tucson, I had a feeling of saudade: I was home, but I felt a longing for something else, something I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to have. See, I didn't know if or when I'd see Andrew again, and I missed him; I missed his company. I remember that a song called "7 Days" by Craig David was big, and I heard it all the time after getting back. It sorta reminded me of how we met. It made me feel saudade for him. I'd hear this song on a Saturday when I was at the car wash, and I'd think of him. I'd hear it on the way to the stables to visit Cotton before he left, and I'd think of Andrew. You get the idea . . .

Well, of course Andrew ended up coming out to Tucson to visit once - to be my "date" for the Air Force Birthday Ball originally scheduled for September, but postponed 'til November due to the 9/11 attacks on the US. Of course, this was also at the same time I was promoted to 1st Lieutenant, and was also the week after my birthday.

I remember showing him around Tucson since he'd never been there. I remember taking him to a Mexican restaurant the day he flew in; the restaurant was La Parilla Suiza. He got there at this time of day - the time that the sun, the ground, the atmosphere in general, gets a golden glow about it. I remember his giving me a birthday present, a necklace with a pendant - a topaz pendant - my birthstone which just so happens to be the same color as Tucson's setting sun, the color of the shadows and light that used to make me melancholy, but that I started loving during my time in the Southwest.

I also remember taking him to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, hiking to 7 Falls . . . lots of places there in the arid landscape that I really love, miss, and yes, feel saudade for, this desert beauty. I remember hearing Jewel's "Standing Still," "Fallin'" by Alicia Keys, or Shakira's "Whenever, Wherever" and, well, you know how you sometimes hear a song at a point in your life, and hearing it later will automatically take you back to that time? These songs do it for me, taking me back to Tucson, and bringing saudade with them.

Fast forward to mid-2006 - Andrew was deployed, and Olivia and I had to move by ourselves to Alamogordo, NM for a new assignment. As Charles Dickens wrote, "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times," and this certainly applied to me. I was leaving an assignment I would never want to repeat, going back to my beloved Southwest. The story of Holloman Air Force Base is best left for another time. But the fact that I was in New Mexico, well, it seemed to make things okay.

They call New Mexico "The Land of Enchantment," and I think it really enchanted me, and Andrew, too, for that matter. We loved New Mexico, and being so close to El Paso. We loved going to Mesilla, near Las Cruces, Santa Fe, up north (I promise to tell you about our short few hours in Santa Fe), and being surrounded by the high desert's arid beauty.

All of this beauty, returning to New Mexico, to El Paso, seems unlikely as I sit in my dining room here in east-central Iowa, with snow on the ground, the afternoon sun pale in comparison to its golden splendor it displays in the Southwest. Maybe it's just saudade enveloping me, making me want to cry, and run to my grandparents' house in old El Paso, to the smells of tacos and beans cooking in my grandmother's kitchen . . . the chorizo, eggs, and tortillas in the morning, to my grandfather's spearmint gum, to the warmth of their home; I want to go back. But it seems like that will never happen now, and the longing, and inability to go back to what once was . . . that is just what saudade is - the best of times AND the worst, the bittersweet heaviness of my heart, remembering certain wonderful memories, and trying to reach back to them, and they're just out of my grasp.