Memorial Day

Just got back from a trip to the local VA hospital after spending a little time with some wounded vets. Met a young guy, a PFC, who lost a foot in Iraq a couple of months ago. I have to admit that I was buoyed by his positive attitude, particularly the fact that he constantly thanked God that he escaped only with a missing foot and that it could have been worse – very much worse. I’m going to stay in touch with this young man over the next few weeks, even as I’m preparing to move, to give him support as he prepares for his discharge from both the hospital and the Army.

I’m telling you, dear readers, that there is no greater show of respect you can make for the dead of previous wars than to do one or both of two things: (1) actively campaign against the United States government’s unconstitutional, immoral, imperial misadventures currently being waged around the globe; and (2) visit the wounded vets, of all wars, in the hellhole VA hospitals in which we’re content to make them languish. It absolutely enrages me to hear both members of the public and their sleazebag political representatives spew faux homilies to “our troops” only to treat them like contaminated garbage once they have the effrontery to get wounded or maimed in combat.

Folks, I was astounded to find that my wife and I were the only visitors to this VA hospital on this Memorial Day. For all of the babbling about preserving the memory of our fallen warriors and honoring those still remaining among us, the actions, or lack thereof, to back up these sentiments speaks volumes and volumes. And remember: I’m a veteran who is resolutely against our continued evolution into a military state and disapproves of almost all of the wars this country has fought over most of its history. If a “terrorist-hugging commie, pinko, French-loving America-hater” (as the neocons would call me) like me can take some time out of his busy schedule to show some respect to our living warriors scarred by battle, what excuse does Bush-loving, flag-waving, slogan-spewing, freedom-hating America, whose “heroes” these men and women allegedly are, have for not doing so?

I didn't think so. Happy Memorial Day, and may we as a nation come to our senses over the next year so as not to have to observe many more.

Rub Their Noses In It, Says I

Mark Brennan is being too kind to America. His prognosis of our national apathy toward the wounded Americans returning from the Neoncon's Iraq misadventure, many bearing hideously disfiguring and permanent scars, emotional and physical, is spot-on as far as it goes. However, he wastes ink and (low key) emotion with his exhortations that Americans spare some of their precious barbeque and beer time this coming Monday to watch a re-run of the HBO special Baghdad ER, a no-nonsense program that will peel the veneer of nobility off of this national travesty. No, Mark, Americans are about as likely to commemorate Memorial Day in its intended spirit as Britney Spears is to sing gospel songs in church on Easter Sunday. It just ain't gonna happen.

However, all is not lost. For those of us who are sick and tired not only of the satanic cabal that has hijacked our republic, but the arrogant, blissfully ignorant, selfish, shallow Boobi Americani who populate it, creatures who don't give a damn about war, death, and destruction as long as it doesn't cost them anything tangible, I suggest that we commemorate this coming Monday in a slightly more proactive way. What follows are some suggestions.

• Instead of flying the flag, fly a black cloth embroidered with the total number of dead and/or wounded Americans claimed by the Iraq travesty. If that involves too much work, or if you insist on flying the flag, fly Old Glory [sic] upside down, a sign of distress, with a piece of black ribbon tied to the masthead, a sign of mourning. I can think of no more appropriate gestures to symbolize our current plight than distress and mourning.
  
  
• If you attend church regularly, insist, publicly and during the service, on making this Sunday a day of prayer for the wounded and dead in all of our nation's past and present wars. If you attend an Evangelical church, as I do, this will likely lead to either discomfort or unpleasantness, but it's past time that America's "Christians" got a wake-up call as to what their favorite war and the Caesar they so adore have wrought upon the country. Consider bringing along some photographs of dead and wounded soldiers, or better yet, invite a live wounded vet or two to attend church with you.
  
  
• If you live near a VA hospital, organize a trip to visit the wounded inmates. I've done this before and you cannot imagine how much it means to these poor souls to know that someone out there cares about them. A good idea would be to invite --indeed, insist-- that neighbors, friends, or fellow church congregants come along with you. A word of advice: don't count on any takers at all, let alone an overwhelming or enthusiastic response, especially from the latter group. For all of their verbal and literal vomitus about how American fighting men and women are doing "God's work", America's Christians show precious little interest in these people's welfare once they've been rendered human hamburger by an IED.
  
  
• Bring a wounded veteran or two home with you for the weekend, if possible, and take them around the neighborhood to introduce them to your friends and neighbors. While some might accuse you of cheaply playing on people's fears emotions (the Bushloving warmongers as a group will do this without hesitation), it is essential that your neighbors be shown what the government that they are so ignorant of and don't care about is doing in their names and with their tax dollars.
  
  
• As part of the previous suggestion, bring a wounded veteran or two to church with you on Sunday and ask the congregation how many of them intend to put their flesh and blood where their collective mouths are and have their own sons and daughters enlist to take up the slack for these brave, wounded men and women (hint: you'll have plenty of fingers left on each hand to count the number of positive responses with).
  
  
• If you can't meet or treat to a relaxing weekend any live wounded veterans, download photos of the Iraq maimed and dead and print flyers that contain the photos and describe the effects of IEDs on human flesh (be sure to use pictures of only dead and maimed Americans; your boobus neighbors, friends, and churchmembers don't care about Iraqis). Deliver these flyers door-to-door in your neighborhood. Plaster them on streetlamps or signs (be sure not to litter, though; that's disrespectful of private property). Here is an excellent source of photographs.
  

I'm not about to guarantee that any of these suggestions will produce the desired effect. Frankly, the only way I see Boobus Americanus even beginning to care about what's happening in Iraq, or indeed in his own domestic backyard, is for some of the horrors of that conflict to arrive on his own doorstep (even then, Boobus is so dense that it will probably take months for it to sink in). But we can all make a difference in our own little way by reaching what we know to be the sensitive spots in our friends, family, neighbors, and congregants' souls. To do any less is to become part of the problem.

Back Home - For Now

Got back yesterday from two weeks in Tucson and the wife and I are missing it already. It was a phenomenal trip, one that has led to a major decision in my and Mrs. Liberranter's life: we're moving to Tucson soon. Very soon. As in "maybe within six weeks" soon.

While in Tucson we found the home of our dreams, a two-story, four-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath home on a one-acre lot bordering Saguaro National Park. There's also a separate two-bedroom guesthouse on the property, perfect for our daughter and grandson. It was as if the perfect property appeared out of nowhere. Indeed, the real estate agent couldn't find anything comparable in quality for under a half a million dollars, well outside our price range. So we made an offer on the place. It was accepted. Now begins the interesting part. God works in mysterious ways, so I'm trusting Him to guide me through this transition.

We've been tired of the Northeast, particularly the D.C. area, for a very long time. I can honestly say that the day we drive west down I-66 toward the Shenandoah for the last time will be one of the happiest days of my life to date. Yes, we have friends here whom we will dearly miss, but as true friends we'll stay in touch and keep those friendships alive. As for work, that's a big question mark right now. Again, I've been asking God to guide me away from this decision if it's the wrong one, but I haven't felt any movement in that direction. I know there's work to be had out West that can make use of what few talents God has given me and I will do my best to find the right fit for me and my family, with His help.

Anyway, I'll be finalizing my trip log this week and will post an abbreviated version here on the blog. I'll even throw in a photo or two of the desert, which I'm missing right now with heartarche bordering on tear-inducing as cold Spring rains deluge the National Crapitol Region.

We're meeting with our real estate agent tomorrow evening to arrange listing of our house and we also have a conference call scheduled with our lending agent in Arizona to arrange mortgage financing for the new house. The next few weeks are going to be intense, to put it charitably. I'll post whenever I can.

Arizona ROCKS, even in Summer and with one hundred-plus degree heat!