Year Prediciton

I like to make a few predictions at the beginning of every Steelers season. Some are bold, while others are easier to swallow. I'm not going to predict whether the Steelers can repeat this year and climb the Stairway to Seven. That all depends on their attitude and level of focus.

But here we go with a few fun predictions (I will add a few words on some predictions to explain where I'm coming from):

1) Stefan Logan, our new hero on special teams, will have at least three returns for a touchdown this year.

2) Hines Ward and Santonio Holmes will each have a 1,000+ yards season. Ward is 33 years old, but he has always relied on toughness and precise route running, so even as he gets older he doesn't have to rely on speed to get yards. The speedy Holmes is entering his fourth year in the NFL and has yet to break a thousand. He'll do it this year because year four is usually the coming-out year for wide receivers.

3) Big Ben will get sacked less than 30 times. This is more wishful thinking than a prediction, but I have to say that the offensive line looked much more in control at the end of last season and in the playoffs than they were starting off. For the line, it's about communication, and I think the unit improved by adding a bigger, more experienced Trai Essex to replace Darnell Stapleton.

4) Willie Parker will have a solid 1,400-yards rushing season, but he will drop several passes in the open field as he refuses to work on his stone hands. Parker is finally healthy and is on his last year of his contract. He'll want to prove he deserves to stay. This, of course, will depend mostly on how much work Mendenhall will receive carrying the ball. Mendenhall still needs to be more aggressive while running down hill. He'll hit that in stride half-way through the season.

5) LaMarr Woodley will have more sacks than James Harrison this year. But at least the Zebras will finally call holding on opposing tackles trying to strangle Harrison on every play. The reason for this prediction is simple... more attention will be paid to the reigning Defensive Player of the Year and Woodley will come into his own as he enters his 3rd year in the NFL.

6) The Steelers will boast the No. 1 defense once again.

7) Big Ben will continue to be undefeated in Ohio.

8) Troy Polamalu and Ryan Clark will be the most dominant duo at Safety in the NFL.

9) Ike Taylor will continue to drop incredibly easy interceptions while Polamalu shows him how it's really done.

10) Anthony Smith will make some kind of ridiculous prediction before the Steelers face the Packers and again Smith will be beat deep for a touchdown as he continues to bite on play-action fakes.

Lord's Day

Sunday is my favorite day of the week. My church likes to call it the Lord's Day, and it is. Before I became a Christian, I didn't know anybody who genuinely loved going to church -- little alone somebody my age. But right now, I honestly have to say I love church.

My wife, Heather, and I are members of a small Reformed Presbyterian church called Providence. There are maybe 100 members at our church, plus the additional guests and attendants that join us on Sunday. So it's a small community. Our church is not a fancy place. It's small, plain, with wooden benches and few decorations. I've been to megachurches that seat thousands of people and look more like ampitheaters than places of worship.

Pride is always a dangerous thing, and I don't mean to suggest that I pride in my church because it's small. The reason why I love Sundays is because our pastor and elders do a phenominal job in preaching the Word. Almost every sermon I've listend to at Providence has been a re-awakening and a refresher as to why we worship God.

Recently, Pastor Rut started a series of sermons about the 10 commandments. Nothing revolutionary there. Nothing out of this world. Nothing but the good old basics. And that's what reformed theology does, it sticks to the basics. It grounds itself in the Bible's teachings. It's straightforward and honest about who we are and who God is. He is the Creator. We are the creatures. We worship Him. He doesn't worship us.

Too often I've run into churches where Sundays are treated more as the People's Day, rather than the Lord's. Yes, Sunday is our day of rest, but more importantly it's a day of Worship.

Of course I know that originally the Sabbath was on Saturday, which is the day God took to rest after His creation. But we, as Christians, worship on Sundays because that's the day Christ rose from the dead as a sign for his sacrifice and our salvation. There are a lot of churches that wish to worship at the people's terms, but what we tend to forget is that God doesn't need our opinion in the matter of worship. He sets the rules. And that's tough to accept sometimes.

The reason I love Sundays is because it gives me and my wife an opportunity to spend the day glorifying God. The sermons we receive at providence are always excellent. Pastor Rut is phenomenal, and he says the trick for him is to preach the Word and get himself out of the way. The sermons at Providence are often pretty long, anywhere from 30-45 minutes. But there is always so much depth. I never feel like I just walked away from a motivational-speaking seminar or a pity party about the sad condition of our society. Rut's sermons teach and dig deeply into the Word of God, often giving substantial reference from other parts of the Bible (Old and New Testament, for the two are inseparable).

There are many struggles in the Christian faith -- whether presented from other religions, from the world of atheism, or from the church itself. Regardless of where the struggles come from, the core is always the same: self worship. Any time we place anything before God, we are acting in self worship because WE are then deciding what is more important, ultimately serving our own desires instead of God's.

So here is one of my personal struggles this Fall Semester... the NFL season begins once again and the Steelers return to defend their title after winning their sixth Lombardi Trophy. It's not enough that I have a full semester at Pitt, working two days a week and interning with the Post-Gazette three more. On top of it all, I'll be distracted with trying to keep up with Steelers news and cheering for them to win.

Unfortunately, most games they play are on Sundays: The Lord's Day. Already I've made myself, my wife and God a promise that I would honor the Sabbath. We shall see how it goes. The first Sunday game is Sept. 20.

Until then, at least I'll enjoy this Thursday night's kick-off as the Steelers open up the NFL season at home against the Tennessee Titans.

Oh, do I have some choice words to say about the Titans and their desecration of the Terrible Towel.

Well, at least it wasn't the Bible...

But we shall discuss it all in due time.

Capturing Iraq

I think it's about time I started posting some photos on my blog again. Here are just a few shots that I liked from the ones I took today. I used my Army-issued Nikon D2H. Since I came back from my emergency leave, my job has finally switched to what I like doing most: photojournalist. I take it upon myself to grab my camera with me whenever I go out to lunch. It's a pretty heavy sucker, and I like the D200 body better because it's smaller, more compact and lighter. There was a wicked sandstorm that took over and everything turned orange. Going around and taking pictures beats dropping my butt on a chair all day any day.

Even though I haven't done any real missions or done anything real exciting yet, it's just nice to know that I'm now given the green light to do a job I fee not only comfortable with, but actually good at doing.

In two words: I'm happy.

In any case, enjoy these few shots:

(No, not a camera effect-- your typical dusty day in Iraq)

(Two men unloading chairs from a truck, snapping photos of them while they worked just for fun and give me some practice taking pics of people moving around and working)

(A shot of Lieutenant Glaubach during one of our print meetings-- we dubbed this picture the "thinking shot" where you can just feel the intensive mental braincells cranking away... especially with the "hand over the lips" gesture -- in reality, none of us do any thinking here, at all)

Emergency Leave

I was working on my Iraqi Media Report, gathering information and compiling it for the night's distribution, when Captain Edwards came up looking for me. He said a woman was on the phone looking for me. She said it was important. Edwards works in the Division Operation Center, a classified area. The only person who had the number to call there from the States is Heather, and she knows to call only if an emergency. I walked down the steps and hurried to the phone, my heart calm but my veins tight. I wondered if this was just an "I miss you terribly call."

"This is Staff Sgt. Sauret speaking," I said into the receiver.

"Michel?"

"Yes?"

"It's me."

"Heather?"

"Yes."

"What's going on?" A tremble took over my voice.

She spoke calmly. Told me she had been at the hospital with IV sticking out of her arms. She was home now, recuperating. Then she explained that something terrible had happened.

"It's okay. I'm right here. I'm right here for you. It's okay. Are you okay?"

She started bawling into the phone, and I could hardly hold myself.

"I'm right here for you," I said, feeling like a liar because I was nowhere but away, far, far away, nowhere close to hold her or hug her.

I felt my chest pumping quick bursts of air, breathing fast and in quivers. I spoke as calmly as my lips would allow, but tears swelled in my eyes, and I had to clutch the desk in order to remain standing.

As I hung up, I turned with my eyes soaked and Major Spagel and Edwards looked at me.

"Sgt. Sauret, what's wrong?"

I couldn't speak. I could hardly hold my breath. I put my hands behind my head because I felt my lungs might collapse with the weight of my arms if I hung them by my side. I pulled Spagel aside, and all I could muster was a whisper. I told him what happened in one sickening phrase.

"What did you say?"

But he heard me. He had me sit down, and I think it was more for the shock the news brought to him than to me because I could have remained standing and never even known it. I felt I was swimming in a fog. I told him whatever details I knew.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to say," he said.

I didn't know either.

"How could this happen?" I asked, not expecting him to answer. "How could something so ugly happen?"

"I've tried to understand things like that," he said. "At one point, when I was struggling with my faith, it was always the question of bad things happening to good people that made it hard for me. My wife and I, we had gone through some counseling and I spoke to our pastor long ago, and he said it's a matter of free will. I never understood that. How God can let bad things happen to his people."

"It's not God I blame," I said. "We're the ones who do this. We're the ones who defy God and do sickening, ugly things to our own."

"You should go home to your wife," he said.

"I just got here."

"That doesn't matter. We all love you."

Before I knew it, Spagel and 1SG Speaks worked on getting me home to see Heather. They made calls to the hospital and coordinated travel with the Red Cross. I was in so much shock, I just returned back to work because I didn't know what else to do. The hours slipped, and I took no notice of where they went. Before I knew it, my watch approached 2200 hrs. Spagel said a flight would leave around 0330, but now it was up to the Battalion commander to grant my leave as an emergency. Spagel posed my case before him, telling him that my wife needed comforting and there was no way I could do so from 6,000 miles away. There was always the option of using up my R&R leave and still go home, but doing so would mean I would not be able to plan a vacation with Heather this coming December. That would mean no trip to Italy or Hawaii depending on where we decided to go.

Either way I was coming home. I waited for the decision in a waiting room upstairs of the Headquarters area. We watched the Shawshank redemption, and it was the scene where Red realizes Dufrain has escaped prison. Then Red goes before the board to see if they will grant him reinstatement into the world.

Finally the Battalion commander called us into the office, shook my hand and granted me the Emergency Leave. The entire trip home was a blur because I was so emotionally spent, I slept through much of it. I traveled from Baghdad International Airport, to Ali al-Salem (in Kuwait), from there they checked my paperwork and a Sgt. 1st Class said they might not let me go because the commander signature looked forged. I didn't say anything. I just went through the process and prayed for the best. In Ali al-Salem, I was sent from one tent to another to get paperwork stamped and get my itinerary coordinated. Finally they gave me a Go.

A rampant dust storm had taken over the base. The wind was so strong that you could lean into it standing and you wouldn't fall. Sand and dust blew into my face, finding their way into the gaps of my teeth and past my sunglasses into my eyes. It hurt to keep my eyes open. I walked toward the tent where I would wait for my bus, and the wind was so strong I had to fight through it. Every step was a lurch of my entire body. I walked with my eyes closed because sand would just blow into them, and without knowing it, I banged my head against a sign in the middle of the walkway. It hurt like heck. Once I got to the waiting tent, I never left it until the bus came because the wind was so strong. I was amazed any flight would even go out in that weather.

I waited some six hours on a bench for a bus to arrive, taking me to the Kuwait City airport. The airport was huge, and everywhere I went I saw men in bright blue and orange uniforms with what looked like paper hats pushing carts and directing people. Men in white robes walked with their families. Some of the younger men wore contemporary clothing... T-shirts and jeans. Some women wore black shawls that showed only their eyes, while other women showed their faces and most of their bodies were covered, and others more wore tight fitting clothes that you would expect from western women dressing moderately. It was a culture in the midst of a mix.

On the plane I sat next to an old woman with deep groves in her face who spoke no English, but tried to communicate with gestures and raspy breaths. She was cute and I helped her with the tray-table or TV-monitor that pulled out from the arm rest. At one point she made gestures and I helped her with her blanked, pulled out the monitor and the table tray when at last I realized all she wanted to know was the time. I showed her my watch because I didn't know how to give the time in Arabic, and promised myself I would get a dictionary or find one of those Arabic booklets the Army gave us for the next time I traveled.

All the while I thought of Heather and tried to fight back the tears.

The flight stretched across the ocean and lasted 14 hours, landing in D.C. From D.C. I waited a few more hours and took a short connection to Pittsburgh. Once we landed, I came out the gate and drifted down the escalator. I saw Heather sitting quietly on a bench, staring ahead. She wore a loose Sunday-type dress that hung from her shoulders and a pair of jeans. Her short hair curled taut around her face. I walked toward her without saying a word. I had traveled in civilian clothes so she stared at me for a long few seconds before she realized it was me. She burst out of her seat and launched herself against my body and hugged me. She quivered in my arms, and it felt so good to hold her.

We talked a little in the car, and toward the end she said she wanted to put Saturday's events behind her. We had ten days to spend together, and she didn't want to talk about what happened any more. I said okay.

We drove toward her parents' house and I watched the hills rolling past us as we skimmed through the highway. It was so weird to be back so suddenly, in such a rush. It almost felt like I never left Pittsburgh... like I was never in Iraq.

I thought about the ten days the Army had granted us. Ten days felt like they would be an eternity then. What would we do with all that time? How many hours could we hope to fill and not waste away? Ten days were too many I thought. I should have asked for five. Five days might be okay, I thought. After five, we might come to the realization of how awkward it was for me to be back.

I told myself again and again that I was not here for myself. I was here for Heather and let her know I came to support her.

During my visit back, we drove out to Gettysburg and stood in awe at the sheer vastness of one of the Civil War's most stunning battlefields. We went out to eat dinner almost every night, caught a few movies, attended church, visited our Pastor at his home and later had dinner at my best man's house, James and his wife, Nicole. At church, several people told me how much they'd liked reading my blogs and emails, and I was touched by their compliments. It meant a lot to me knowing people read my words, and even more to know they actually enjoyed my writing. It was strange because these were only emails and blog entries, yet they too had some literary value. Every person I shook hands with said they were praying for us, and I never knew how to respond. Prayer was by far the greatest act of support we could receive, and I had nothing to give in return. I had already been praying for the sake of the Church and its members, but it would sound cheap to give that a response. So I just smiled back and said thank you.

The most memorable evening was the dinner we ate over James' and Nicole's house. Heather and I brought some pasta and chicken to cook, and after dinner, James pulled me outside for a walk. That gave a chance for Nicole and Heather to talk, but also for me and James.

You know those movie scenes you watch where the screen switches back and forth between the way women talk about guys, and the way married guys talk about their wives or how guys talk about women in general? Your typical conversation would show the women complaining that their husbands don't nurture their needs or listen, and the guys would complain about sex and wanting to be left alone on Sundays.

My conversation with James was nothing like that. Rather, we spoke tenderly of our wives, and of our duties in our household. James reaffirmed my role as a Christian man, and encouraged me to remain strong and loving with Heather. I spoke my worries and my fears and my frustrations as a young married man-- young both in age and in marriage. The main challenge has been that even though Heather and I have been married for 6 months now, we truly spent only a full month or so together living with one another. I spoke with James of my insecurities as a man, and of my wanting to do right by my bride but mostly right under God who is sovereign over our marriage. If I am to stand firm on principles, it's not for my own sake or for my own benefit, but only as an effort to stand strong on God's righteousness and none other.

It was really odd keeping an ear and hearing the way we were talking. No other 23 and 26 year old guys would talk this way about their marriage. I found it a little humorous, because I knew that if I were to copy our dialog and use it in one of my stories, there would be no way any reader would deem the conversation "believable" and yet we spoke so sincerely and with such humility. The difference, I felt, was that we were Christian and we saw this world under different standards. We as Christian men, seek manhood not in our control over our wives or in our financial standards, but in our sacrificial love towards our brides. This is not to say I'm a perfect husband, nor a great one... in fact; I feel that I'm still a very poor husband under many Christian standards, but I knew then that Heather and I had our problems just like any other married couple, but that we would move forward.

When we returned to the house it seemed Heather and Nicole, too, had had a good conversation. Somehow, I found that night as a kind of turning point for the better in our marriage, and I saw that my coming home on emergency leave had turned into a blessing in giving strength back to our young marriage.

Thursday night, Heather and I drove back to the airport ready to say our goodbyes, and when we came to the ticket counter the clerk told us the flight was delayed, so even if I caught the later flight I wouldn't be able to make my connection to Kuwait until Friday night. My options were pretty straight forward... either catch the flight anyway and spend 24 hours at the airport in D.C. or stay home for another night.

Heather cried with joy. She could hardly contain her smile. We celebrated by grilling two big steaks (though Heather's looked minuscule compared to the gigantic T-bone I picked for myself), with corn on the cob and baked potatoes. Rain thundered down on us, but the grill stood under an awning so we didn't care. We devoured our meal and I shared another night with my wife.

We finally did say our goodbyes the next day, and on my 12-hour flight back to Kuwait I would sleep for long stretches of time, and wake up thinking I was laying in bed with Heather. I would reach over to my right, only to whiff at an empty isle between rows of seating. I fell asleep again, and when I woke up this time I almost grabbed the thigh of the guy sitting to my left. Luckily I stopped myself just in time.

I'm now in Ali al-Salem, and the heat is immeasurable. Coming out of the Kuwait airport, I thought the heat might suffocate me. I had forgotten how dry it is. And only 11 days had passed since I was last here. It has definitely gotten hotter. Even though I was gone less than two weeks, it feels like months have slipped away since last standing in this heat.

Back in the desert, surrounded by tents, I felt a kind of sorrow and loneliness that I didn't expect being so powerful. I paced the base for hours, from one end to the other, thinking of ways not to miss Heather. But the truth is that I do, and I do, and I do. I miss her terribly, but I'm glad and thankful of having been able to spend this time with her and I hope to cherish it as we both move forward in our marriage.

Lose Your Mind

Yesterday I spent about an hour int he coffee house listening to a sermon by Gordon Keddie, titled "He Shall Justify Many" covering the prophecy in Isaiah about the coming of Christ. It was a very compelling look at how consistent the message of salvation is throughout the Bible. The cool thing was that SSG Emery joined me to listen to the Sermon, so we got a splitter and hooked two head phones into my ipod instead of one. The whole time I feared whether the message would make her feel uncomfortable, since she's still hesitant in her beliefs in God, and I was afraid the candid tone of the message would intimidate her. But then I took comfort in knowing that this passage felt right with me, and I could do nothing to control how Emery would respond, so instead I concentrated on the message itself, taking in what I could from the sermon.

The whole time I also wished to be at home, sharing in the word of God with my beautiful wife, Heather. I remember how we would read a passage and talk about it at night before going to bed, learning new details found in the scripture. It's mesmerizing what a change Heather's belief in God has brought upon her. It's amazing the change it's brought in me. I told Emery later on how before coming to God I would always be filled with so much impatience and so much rage over the little things. In part, some of that is still present, as I'm not perfect. I told Emery how I tried seeking counseling and even reading self-help book or tried to really dwell on the psychological aspect of my anger. Everything I tried would work for a little while, maybe a week, maybe a month, but I would always return to my anger. The struggle was that I've always believed in God as far back as I can remember, but I had never submitted myself to him. It was only once I made that commitment that I felt my anger vanishing. It wasn't anything I was doing. It wasn't a new tactic or a new perspective, it was just a new dedication that landed beyond myself.

I still have my impatiences, of course, and my turn-around in coming to God is nothing compared to many others I've heard from people's lives. Heather herself has become more kind through God, more tender and caring. She's a woman I've found more and more beautiful ever since she began reading the Bible. And it wasn't because of her. She wasn't becoming more beautiful than she already was. It was because God eased my heart towards her through sharing the Word. It wasn't just something we had in common the way people who love each other have personalities that match or similar interests. This was wind-tunnel, but instead of blowing us away, it pushed us together.

Later, after talking to Emery about some of this, I headed off to work and edited some stories that came in. It seemed like an easy day, since only three stories came in, so I spent some time online looking for publishing houses for my memoir, "Child, Hold Me" which is going to be a tough sell since it's so short.

Then lunchtime came and Javi and Emery asked me if I would go with them to lunch. I looked by my desk to grab my rifle, since the two things you need to enter the chow hall are your weapon and your ID, and my M16 wasn't there. Oh man. Where'd I put it, where'd I put it? My thoughts raced, and then I whispered as if out of shock, "I left my weapon at the coffee house."

Before either Javi or Emery could say anything, I was gone. I scattered down the steps, my legs moving quickly, through the long building, out the door, the sun was low but the air felt like a hair drier... My legs must have been zipping like scissors, and soon I could feel the pain in my shins from walking so fast. I tried to comfort myself... "That's all right, you'll walk right back where you sat and find your weapon just where you left it. Don't worry, it'll be there." Oh God, I prayed, please let it be there. I looked at my watch. About an hour and a half had passed since Emery and I had left the shop. I felt a tension in my chest. How could you leave your weapon behind in a war zone?

That's okay. I'll find it. It will be there.

I stormed into the coffee house and tried to act casual. I looked around as if I had lost nothing more than my book, but I'm sure my eyes were giving me away because Soldiers around took notice of me. On the wall, right there, where I had left my rifle... it was gone.

Ah man. I looked on the floor at all the scattered weapons around. Mine had a light blue C-clip hooked onto the butt of the rifle. None of the weapons around were mine, they all belonged to Soldiers sitting by them. I asked around if anyone had seed my rifle, wild with emotion.

I saw Captain Edwards, my executive office, and he helped me look. Fortunately he had forgotten his weapon the other day when heading off for a drive, so he was more concerned and willing to help than anything else. He wasn't even angry, which relieved me, but it didn't put a rifle back on my shoulder so it wasn't total relief.

I even asked one of the Indian guys working behind the counter, but he said nobody had made note of the missing weapon. Somebody must have grabbed it. It wasn't anywhere in here.

I wanted to cuss then, but I tried to compose myself. It's gotta be somewhere. Maybe whoever noticed it brought it to the Militar Police Station.

I was in trouble if that was the case. If you lost your ID, they sent you to the MP station where you had to sign a counseling statement and made you feel like a fool for losing something so valuable. This was my weapon, though, not just an ID.

I walked to the MP station thinking back to the numerous talks both First Sergeant and Maj. Spagel had given us about securing our weapon.

"You can lose and forget anything you want," Spagel had said on several occasion. "But you better not lose your weapon. That's the last thing anyone should ever leave behind."

I'm done, I thought to myself. I'm so screwed. People are going to have to call me Specialist Sauret from now on. They would demote me for sure. This was my weapon, I thought again. No. Not specialist. Private. They're going to rip off my Staff Sergeant rank and bust me down to private after this. Heather is going to be so mad. Oh man. She's going to be so ashamed of me.

I looked at my rank on my chest. I'm going to miss you little guy, I said to my E-6 emblem. So much for saving up toward a trip to Italy. I was angry and scared and ashamed all at once.

At the MP station I said hello to the Sergeant behind the glass and asked if anyone had brought in a weapon. There was no other way of inquiring about the weapon in any less ridiculous way.

Some guy in a PT uniform gave me smile that said, "So you're the idiot."

I returned the look with one that said, "Yes, I'm the idiot."

The Sergeant asked me for the serial number of the weapon, I gave it to him, and he checked it agians the rifle. It was mine. Thank goodness! Now what though? They would have to file charges. They would have to track the incident with paperwork. They might even keep me in a holding cell until I admitted to everything that happen. They would make me cry and do push-ups and stick me in jail, surround in a circle of military police men and laugh at me...

The sergeant handed me a piece of paper.

"All right, go ahead and sign this."

Sure, anything, I'll sign anything. The paper was just a statement that an Australian trooper had found the weapon and brought it to the station, and all I was doing was signing to get it back.

"So what happens now?"

"Here's your weapon."

"So that's it."

"We're supposed to report it to Corp, but the weapon's been in here only ten minutes. Figured someobody would come by and pick it up. We haven't had a chance to call it in yet. We'll just keep the paperwork for record."

Just like that, they sent me back into the "war" with my weapon slung from my shoulder.

Shots of Iraq

Care package

Heather sent me a huge box for a care package and it arrived yesterday, plus a little one she mailed at the same time filled with granola snack bars. She sent so much stuff! Even a big pound bag of organic coffee. I just gotta find a decent coffee maker because all the ones around the office are pretty crappy. I can't wait to make the first brew, though.

I realized though that receiving the care package doesn't really quite fill the void. No new theme here. Stuff is just stuff. It's nice having a big bag of beef jerky, but what I'm really missing is the people. I wish I could receive a big care package of family and friends from back home. If there was only a way for you all to send part of yourselves. That's what really lifts my spirits. Heather already does that with emails she sends and talking on the phone. I still miss her terribly, and I thought that at least receiving a care package from her would make it seem like she was with me. I always loved it when I was home or hanging out with her, and she would surprise me with little treats. I always thought it was the treats themselves-- the goodies-- that I loved. Man is that shallow. What an idiot.

Really it was the fact of Heather giving it to me. And I know that's obvious. I know I'm not blowing anybody's mind with any of this... but it's strange how I never appreciated the gesture before. I always thought I appreciated the deed.

It's hard to enjoy goodies, though, when you don't have people to enjoy them with. Sure, sometimes I want to horde chocolates all to myself and not share with anyone... and there have been times when a simple, delicious Ferraro Roche could lift my spirit for an entire day. I guess it's the chemicals in the chocolate, I don't know. But it doesn't really work the same here.

To tell the truth (and I'm sure I've said this plenty of times already) it's not just that I miss my family and wife and church... I miss my own unit. We're all so split apart and scattered with so many different hours that we barely get to see one another. We barely get to laugh together the way we would in Kuwait or during training at Fort Dix. If I can't have my wife with me, I wish I could at least have my own unit. There's something just joyful about receiving a care package and sharing it with your buddies, because then the deed from home seems to be that much more powerful. They're not just caring for you, but they're caring for your fellow Soldiers as well.

I have to admit, I'm terrible at sharing. Like I said, I'm definitely guilty of hoarding... but right now I really wish I had somebody to join me with a snack of beef jerky and granola bars. I don't think I can eat all of them myself.

Oh and I just wanted to include a picture of the Kinder eggs Heather sent... I guess the heat wasn't too good for them.

I still ate one today and it was delicious. You should have seen me try to peel the wrapping off, though. I did it in the bathroom where people looked at me like I was loony. The chocolate was so yummy!

Taking the lake hostage

Yesterday morning I kidnapped the lake here, and I'm not letting it go. It was beautiful being able to go on a long walk, taking the minutes at my own pace. Here are a few pictures I snapped.(It almost looks like a vacation spot, doesn't it?)

(Can you hear the desert chiming?)

Dog Faced Soldier

Yesterday we met the commanding general of the 3rd Infantry Division, Maj. Gen. Lynch, and we were kind of nervous because 1st Sgt. Speaks told us we might have to sing the "Dog Face Soldier" song in front of them, which is kind of a big deal for the 3 ID soldiers. So, as we waited for the general to arrive at the media operations center, we were all pacing back and forth, reading over the song, correcting each other over this word or that word, the whole time creating a hybrid melody because none of us really knew how it went.

I Wouldn't Give A Bean
To Be A Fancy Pants Marine,
I'd rather Be A Dogfaced Soldier Like I Am.

I Wouldn't Trade My Old O.D.'s
For All The Navy's Dungarees
For I'm The Walking Pride Of Uncle Sam;

On All The Posters That I Read
It Says The Army Builds Men
So They're Tearing Me Down To Build Me Over Again

I'm Just A Dogface Soldier
With A Rifle On My Shoulder
And I Eat A Kraut For Breakfast Everyday.

So Feed Me Ammunition,
Keep Me In The Third Division,
Your Dogfaced Soldier is A Okay.

Speaks sang it the best with his jazzy broadcast voice. He kind of put every one of us to shame, but he already knew it from having deployed with the 3rd ID before.

The entire time as we rehearsed the song and waited for the general to arrive felt a little bit like a surprise party. Every time the door opened we braced, eyes wide and then finally relaxed when we saw it was someone else. In the end when he finally did come we just said hello and introduced ourselves and that was it. He went into another room to conduct an interview, and we all just stood around thinking, "Was that it?"

"Go on, scatter before he comes back," 1st Sgt. said.

The problem now is that the darn melody, now that I know it, is stuck in my head. This morning I went running and I couldn't get the first three lines of the song out of my head. "I wouldn't give a bean..."

The reality is that I don't give a bean about the 3rd ID, and I'm so happy to see more and more Soldiers with the 10th Mountain patch on their shoulder around here. Two nights ago we finally moved into our CHUs (containerized housing unit). The rooms aren't big once you have to split it with a room-mate but it's a heck of a lot better than staying in a tent. The bed is comfy and I finally have a closet to keep all my clothes and army junk organized.

Just some shots

I'm not going to go word-heavy with this entry. Just wanted to upload some photos I haven't had a chance to do lately.

Enjoy!(Center four: 1SG Speaks, 1LT Glaubach, me, MAJ. Spagel) at the "Forgotten Soldier" monument in Baghdad.

My very first ride in a Blackhawk.

(I'm so strong!)

(Sitting on the throne in Saddam's al-Faw palace)

(Toby Keith concert at Camp Victory)