Sunday, October 24, 2004
My morning routine has changed a bit with Fred's deployment. I used to stop by the bathroom on my way to check my email. Now I just head straight for the computer.
With Iraq being a couple time zones ahead of Germany, Fred is usually well into his morning by the time I roll out of bed. Unless he's in a trial or visiting one of his field offices, I can generally count on starting my day with a good morning email. In today's email he wrote:
Lest you should think that this is an anomaly, a bit of graffiti perhaps in an otherwise good neighborhood--I'm amazed at how many people tell me "well, at least Fred's a lawyer, so he should be safe"--let me assure you that this is not the case. On September 30, when Fred was in Kuwait on his way to meet us in the States, Staff Sgt. Darren J. Cunningham was killed in yet another mortar attack on Fred's base. SSDD. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood . . .
So here I sit, drawing connections between international headlines and my husband's daily emails, and it all seems rather unreal. Of course, we knew going in that it would be dangerous--it's a war, for crying out loud. I hate these random moments of clarity though where it hits me that this is REALLY dangerous. As clear as it all becomes, my immediate response is anything but realistic: "Jeez, Fred, I think you need to get out of there!"
I know as soon as the thought travels through my brain that it's impossible. My husband is stuck there for the next 9 months and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing like a little helplessness to turn on the anger, and I am filled with rage for Bush and the axis of evil and incompetence that he calls his advisors. We marched in like rats behind the piper to find weapons of mass destruction that no longer exist or never did exist. We believed lies, and American soldiers and Iraqi civilians are paying the price.
I realize that the bulk of my readers feel like I do. I'm pretty sure most of the others stopped reading me last spring when my light-hearted travelogue veered toward the political. But if anybody out there has stuck with me this far and still plans on casting a vote for Bush on November 2, may I implore you? Please, please, please . . . don't vote for that asshole.
With Iraq being a couple time zones ahead of Germany, Fred is usually well into his morning by the time I roll out of bed. Unless he's in a trial or visiting one of his field offices, I can generally count on starting my day with a good morning email. In today's email he wrote:
I was awakened by a rocket hitting our base this morning at 0455. Not the way I envisioned starting my Sunday last night when I went to sleep at 11:00. I am OK as are my folks.Not everybody was so lucky. The mortar killed Ed Seitz, a US diplomat.
Lest you should think that this is an anomaly, a bit of graffiti perhaps in an otherwise good neighborhood--I'm amazed at how many people tell me "well, at least Fred's a lawyer, so he should be safe"--let me assure you that this is not the case. On September 30, when Fred was in Kuwait on his way to meet us in the States, Staff Sgt. Darren J. Cunningham was killed in yet another mortar attack on Fred's base. SSDD. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood . . .
So here I sit, drawing connections between international headlines and my husband's daily emails, and it all seems rather unreal. Of course, we knew going in that it would be dangerous--it's a war, for crying out loud. I hate these random moments of clarity though where it hits me that this is REALLY dangerous. As clear as it all becomes, my immediate response is anything but realistic: "Jeez, Fred, I think you need to get out of there!"
I know as soon as the thought travels through my brain that it's impossible. My husband is stuck there for the next 9 months and there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing like a little helplessness to turn on the anger, and I am filled with rage for Bush and the axis of evil and incompetence that he calls his advisors. We marched in like rats behind the piper to find weapons of mass destruction that no longer exist or never did exist. We believed lies, and American soldiers and Iraqi civilians are paying the price.
I realize that the bulk of my readers feel like I do. I'm pretty sure most of the others stopped reading me last spring when my light-hearted travelogue veered toward the political. But if anybody out there has stuck with me this far and still plans on casting a vote for Bush on November 2, may I implore you? Please, please, please . . . don't vote for that asshole.
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