The Leprechaun Went To Ireland (Part One)

Loyal reader(s) of this blog will recall that I started writing it to chronicle my deployment to Iraq as an Army Reservist. At the time, I named this blog "The Fighting Leprechaun" in a nod to my Irish heritage, and one of my nicknames while serving as a cop. (Definitely one of the more complimentary nicknames I acquired...)

Reviving the "leprechaun" moniker also revived my desire to visit the place where my father's family originated...my "Gaelic Roots Tour" so to speak. While it's kind of a cliche', and Europeans regularly joke about how everyone in the USA seems to claim Irish heritage, my own link to Ireland is relatively recent and well-documented enough to overcome any fear of being taken for a "wannabe".

When I returned home in one piece from the war, several events combined to bring this trip to fruition. My beloved Spousal Unit (who craves internet anonymity, which is why I refer to her as the Spousal Unit, rather than by name), encouraged my desire to set Ireland as our next destination, even though it wasn't high on her personal list of places to visit. (Although she does enjoy going to the excellent Galway Bay Irish Pub in Ocean Shores, which is relatively authentic in food and atmosphere.) Without her active support and brilliant financial management, we probably would never have set foot in Dublin, Wicklow, Kinsale, etc.
Also key to launching this journey was the bequest from my late mother, who had passed away just after I returned from Iraq. That made a comprehensive tour financially possible.
Finally, the family genealogical information compiled by my cousin Mark F. provided tangible evidence of locations and timelines of our ancestors. Validating this link to Ireland provided me with context for understanding what their lives must have been like, and a clue to their motivation for immigrating.

Once the foundation had been laid, I commenced doing what I enjoy almost as much as the actual traveling; planning the trip! I started doing some serious reading about the country, attended an in-depth lecture series on the History of Ireland sponsored by the University of Washington Alumni Association with one of my grad school classmates, also of Irish descent, and picked the brains of friends and colleagues who had toured Ireland.  One of my colleagues mentioned that he had recently gone on a two-week "Rick Steves Tour", and really enjoyed it. For those of you who aren't familiar with Rick Steves, he is the kind of nerdy fellow from Western Washington who has become famous for creating "Europe Through the Back Door" videos broadcast on PBS, unconventional guide books, and putting on tours covering all parts of Europe. Since my colleague, Rob, is a fellow UW Husky, he has a high degree of credibility...so I checked out the Rick Steves website. After looking at the itinerary and the specifics of what the tour package included, I compared costs if we did a similar itinerary on our own, booking a rental car, lodging, admission costs, meals, etc., and concluded that while the Rick Steves option was pretty darn expensive, the higher cost would be offset by not having to drive/navigate through an unfamiliar country that uses the wrong side of the road, book lodging, and deal with all of the potential crap that comes with being a tourist a long way from home.

(End of Part One. Next up, "Rolling the Dice: Report from a 'Rick Steves Ranger' ")

My Review of the Outstanding Iraq War Novel, "Fobbit"

"I'm The Fighting Leprechaun...and I'm a Fobbit." 
(Or at least was one for a year.)

As a recovering Fobbit, who blogged during my deployment as my 
personal journal, I had very high expectations when David Abrams' novel 
was announced. 
I made an advance purchase for my Kindle the first week it was available, 
and my anticipation grew from hearing the positive buzz from other 
military writers I respect and admire. (i.e., Matt Gallagher) 
When the opportunity arose to get an advance copy of "Fobbit" through 
the Amazon Vine program, I jumped at the chance.

"Fobbit" exceeded my expectations in a very big way. 
David Abrams absolutely NAILED what it was like to serve in the 
Baghdad area, both for those who went "outside the wire" 
on a regular basis, and for those who stayed on the inside 
of the Forward Operating Bases (FOBs), especially like 
Camp Victory, Camp Liberty, and the other FOBs which 
made up Victory Base Complex. 
Although I was there several years later than Mr. Abrams, very little of 
the culture, aside from different uniforms and the 
absence of multi-national forces, had changed.

Accuracy alone would not have made this superb novel as excellent as it is. 
David Abrams has drawn characters so real and vivid, 
even when they are somewhat of a caricature, 
that they came alive for me. That's pretty tough to do, and it is where 
many military novels fall short. "Fobbit's" cast could very easily be 
soldiers I served alongside...and a few of the scenes came 
uncomfortably close to instances of my own behavior. 
(Thankfully, none of the really egregious examples...
but diving under my desk during an unscheduled "controlled detonation" 
of confiscated enemy explosives is still painful to recall.) 

The divide between Fobbits and combat troops, and 
even "Semi-Fobbits" like I was (30 missions outside the wire) was tangible, 
and often pretty tense. David Abrams artfully illustrates 
that divide with a couple of sentences, which will bring it alive for 
readers, whether you deployed over there or not.

I can't predict with certainty how "Fobbit" will affect readers 
who did NOT serve in Iraq. Obviously my perception is framed 
by my own experience. On the other hand, I was deeply affected by 
military novels such as "Catch-22", "Better Times Than These", 
and "The Thin Red Line" before I became a soldier. 
I'm willing to bet that "Fobbit" will have a similar impact 
on this and future generations. It is that good.

Feeling That Ol' Olympic Games Inadequacy

Every four years, I join with most of the World in cheering the amazing athletic endeavors of Olympians. Their triumphs, and even defeats stir my emotions like no other sporting events. (Of course, being a Seattle Mariners fan, I get so little to cheer about, aside from when Felix Hernandez is pitching another brilliant game, but that's a bit off point.)

For every Michael Phelps and Gabby Douglas, or best of all the unexpected champions like Andy Murray, there are the competitors who give it all they've got, yet fall short. Those gritty women's marathoners are a prime example of "No Quit in Them".

Sadly, and selfishly, every year since 1972, I've watched the Summer Olympic Games with a nagging feeling of personal failure lurking behind every vignette. That was the year I tried out for the Olympics, as a trapshooter. I made it to the regional trial, where I was promptly swatted out of the competition like a clay target hit by #8 shot...orange dust in the sky. I hadn't made it my life's ambition to qualify, mind you, and entered as an impulse, but once I got caught up in the immensity of "making the USA Olympic Team", I wanted it badly.

So I tried and failed...once...no disgrace in that, is there? Well, it's more what I did after that failure which has left me nursing regret for 40 years. Every time I hear another heartwarming story of Olympians overcoming setbacks, injuries, major tragedies to finally qualify for their national team, all I can think is, "You gave up, dude." Maybe I wasn't ever going to be good enough to make the team. But simply because it didn't fall into my lap the first time, I walked away from ever trying again. Perhaps if I had The Right Stuff, had dedicated my energy and time to improving, reaching the very best that I was capable of being, I could have achieved that rare status of "Olympian". Just before the women's marathon, Desiree Davila, who had qualified as the #2 US woman, was being interviewed about the very painful hip flexor injury she had incurred. When asked if she was going to withdraw from the marathon, Ms. Davila squared up to the interviewer and said, "In order to be considered an Olympian, I have to run the race. I don't know how long I'll be able to run, but all my life I've wanted to be considered an Olympian...so yes, I'm going to start."
That statement neatly summed up why Desiree Davila deserves to be a part of that special group, for the rest of her life...and why I'm sitting in my recliner, cheering her, and others like her, while feeling damned inadequate.

I feel better now...thanks.

Talkin' Bout My Mobe-lization...

Without going into OPSEC-defying detail, it looks like I will be returning to active duty for an extended period of time. That's the Yin and Yang of being a military reservist these days...our sacrifices  are fewer in frequency and duration than our active duty brothers and sisters, but sometimes it's more jolting when transitioning between civilian life and full-time soldier.

I am definitely not whining about this situation. It remains a distinct privilege to be able to serve at my rather advanced age, and hopefully contribute something worthwhile. Re-orienting my mind always takes time, but at least it won't be the complete shock I experienced in 2008 by returning to a completely different Army!

One BIG improvement over my last adventure (which spawned this blog), is that I will be attached to an installation very close to home, so life will be relatively normal. Should be a minimum of foolishness as well, which will be most welcome.

I'll keep y'all posted as this next military experience develops. Besides, until I have orders in hand, and complete mobilization in-processing, nothing is for certain, right?

UPDATE: I definitely spoke too soon with the "Should be a minimum of foolishness..." comment. Although I have a current HIV test result on file, good until 2015, according to the Army Medical System, I apparently need a NEW test, like yesterday, not to mention a new physical. Guess someone must have dimed me out when they saw me eating a couple of sweet potato fries with my salad the other day. As for the HIV thing, at my age, "risky behavior" is defined as setting the treadmill speed to over 5 mph...and while that may require me to start a "Motrin Cocktail", it's a far cry from any unauthorized boinkery. Plus, I hate dang blood draws. Okay, my Olympic Whining event is finished...

I'll "Reserve" Judgement...For Now.

As I finish gathering my equipment together for a day of "fun" doing Army weapons qualification tomorrow, I have been reflecting on the latest news from the Department of Defense, or "DoD" for short. I've been reading in a number of online and print articles about how the DoD is seriously considering a radical change to how drilling reservists (like yours truly) are paid, and receive drill points. Currently, and for as long as I've been a reservist (1983), drills consist of two full days of work, but we receive a total of four days pay (just base pay, no other allowances or benefits such as Basic Allowance for Housing (BAH), leave accrual, or medical benefits.). We also accrue four "points" per drill (which is now called "Battle Assembly" because evidently that sounds significantly more awesome?). Reservists must accrue between 48-50 points per year in order for that year to count for reserve retirement, which is usually referred to as a "Good Year". We also receive 15 "membership points" annually, and if we go to Annual Training, or Active Duty for Training, (usually 14 days), or an Army school, we receive one point per day of training. Once a reservist has credit for 20 "Good Years", then he or she can retire, and start drawing retirement pay at age 60. (The more combat deployments a reservist has, the earlier he or she can start drawing that retired pay.) Reserve retirement pay is calculated by multiplying the number of total points accrued during service by a factor depending on the highest rank held. Unlike an active duty retirement, it's not enough to live on, but a reserve retirement provides a nice cushion to supplement our civilian retirement income.
This current method of points accrual helps us to balance our reserve obligation and our civilian jobs, by allowing us to skip some drills, especially when they conflict with important projects in our normal lives. The majority of us also contribute a significant amount of time preparing for Battle Assemblies on our off time. For example, I put in about 10 hours this month, writing the operations order, coordinating medical support, and setting up additional classes for our unit's rifle and pistol qualifications, which culminates on the firing range tomorrow. Some unit commanders and leaders, or staff folks average significantly more extra time every month. We do it (usually without complaint) because we are soldiers, and we are just as liable to be called up for combat duty as many of our active duty brothers and sisters.

So it came as a shock and disappointment when I read about the new proposal from a DoD committee tasked with cutting the budget. They proposed a radical change: Reservists would be paid one day's base pay and "one thirtieth" of the BAH per drill day, and receive half the points they do under the current system.  This plan is predicted to significantly reduce Reserve compensation, both while serving and upon retirement.
Without exception, every reservist I have heard commenting on this proposal is strongly against it. It'll potentially have the effect of mid-career reserve soldiers, most with at least one combat deployment, deciding that the continued sacrifice is no longer worth it. That's the consensus I've observed, anyway.

While this possible change would have little effect on me personally, I choose to comment because of the potential for gutting a major segment of our armed forces. If other proposals to restructure active duty military pay, benefits, and retirement also come to pass, we could very well see the best fighting force in the world slide into decline. This probably isn't the best time in our history to cause that decline to occur.

Fourth of July Fireworks!

I am lucky to live in a small town which does traditional stuff like Salmon Bakes, summer concerts in the park overlooking Puget Sound, farmers markets, an apple squeeze, and my personal favorite, the old-fashioned Fourth of July celebration. For as long as I've lived here (over 30 years now), there has been a street fair and parade, followed by a big fireworks display paid for by town residents' donations.

When I was a cop working for our town, I really looked forward to this holiday, as all hands were on deck, and we public safety types had as much fun as the visitors. About six years ago, I began serving as the parade announcer, which as my Spousal Unit will tell you is my favorite activity because I have a microphone. (A stint as a DJ for a community college radio station in the early 70s was the start of that particular weakness, but that's fodder for another blog post down the road, maybe.) My deployment to Iraq kind of messed up that gig, but this year I was asked by the parade coordinator to be the traffic director for the groups as they passed by the "reviewing stand". (There isn't really an actual stand, but it sounds more awesome than "the cement stairs by the post office parking lot.") So, decked out in what I  call my "Traffic Clown" outfit, (fluorescent orange gloves, orange reflective vest, and a bright orange whistle), I prepared for this crucial assignment by downing a plate of pork carnitas, obtained from one of the street fair food vendors. It was a tasty lunch, accompanied by refritos, arroz, and guacamole, and a fresh flour tortilla.

 My hunger sated, I had plenty of energy to wrangle the parade participants into moving along the street at the prescribed pace. Only two glitches: a group of tiny Tae Kwon Do students and their instructor, armed with nunchuks, apparently decided to stop every 50 yards and put on a demonstration, which created a HUGE gap in the parade. Since the parade route is a long rectangle using parallel streets, I had no idea what the problem was until the mini Chuck Norris wannabes appeared at the end of the block, with a long line of classic cars and other groups backed up behind them. By this time, the spectators lining the street assumed the parade was over, so they started wandering up the middle of the street. Once I figured out what was going on, I had to clear the street by waving my orange-gloved hands, blowing my whistle, and generally making an ass of myself. Of course, the diminutive martial artists ignored my instructions to "keep moving, no more stops!" I figured that being outnumbered by the 30 or so nunchuk-waving little tykes made that a non-winnable argument, which proved correct.

The other glitch was provided at the tail end of the parade by the town's volunteer firefighters, who traditionally mark the end of the groups with a fire engine and an aid rig. This year's young crews were apparently so focused on checking out the hot babes lining the route that they opened up a 400-meter gap. Once again, the spectators figured the parade was over and filled the street, and once again I had to  "head 'em up and move 'em out, Rawhide!" So that was 5% awesome.

My assignment complete, (after being yelled at by the parade coordinator about letting the gaps develop, but whatever), I walked home to pick up my Spousal Unit and head to our friend's house for the traditional 4th of July BBQ, and to watch the fireworks from their house overlooking the Puget Sound. After a fine meal of grilled burgers, chopped vegetable salad, and fresh strawberries, we all chatted while waiting for dusk and the fireworks show to commence. That's when my innards began to swell and my stomach became really queasy. So here's another life lesson: If you ever need to camouflage serious gastric distress, there is nothing better than a commercial fireworks display. It's just a matter of timing your own explosions in sync to the airbursts, and the drifting clouds of cordite definitely mask any other sulphur-based aromas.

Fortunately, I didn't experience the full onslaught of what turned out to be "Revenge of the Carnitas" until we got home...I ended up taking a sick day in order to recover. I do believe that next year I will eat lunch at home before the parade, despite having gained another tactic to maintain social poise under difficult conditions.  

Of Balls and Shoes

With apologies to John Steinbeck...
A while back, I wrote about my search for just the right golf ball to suit my "game". I have played a number of rounds with the Wilson Fifty Elite, which comes in day-glo orange, and I have found my ball! In fact, that's one of the features I most appreciate about the Wilson 50...in many previous outings, I have been unable to find my ball, even when it occasionally landed in the fairway. God help me if my white or even yellow ball wound up in the first cut or deep rough, and I didn't even bother to search if it went into the trees or undergrowth. Not the case with these orange beauties...I think I have only lost two over 72 holes, which is a major improvement. The Wilson 50 works well for my slow swing speed (about the same as a Jamie Moyer "fastball", or approx. 75 mph.) As a point of comparison, Tiger Woods' swing speed averages 130 mph. Anyway, I can drive these balls about 220 yards on a good day, and they play well for my short game too. Just $12/dozen at my local Puetz Superstore.

Since I usually walk when I play golf, shoes are another part of my kit that I have previously found lacking in comfort and utility. Although soft spikes are better than the metal ones I grew up using, they get clogged with grass clumps, and don't transmit an accurate feel of the footing. I became intrigued by the sort of goofy-looking footwear PGA Tour player Ryan Moore has sported over the past year. Mr. Moore often adopts the 1930's golfer look, right down to the tie and argyle sweater, but then he'd wear what looked like Birkenstock golf shoes. I did some checking, and Ryan Moore endorses and wears TRUE brand golf shoes, which are hybrid sole, natural fit animals. I liked the concept of a golf shoe I could put on at home, drive to the course, walk 18 holes, and stop by the grocery store without changing. Most user reviews proclaimed the TRUE shoe to be "the most comfortable and functional golf shoe ever!" So being the dedicated golf consumer, I bought a pair (got 'em on sale at Puetz, which supports the military with a 5% discount, thank you very much.), and have come to the same opinion. My golfing buddies have all used the "Nice clown shoes" comment, but since I resemble the guy who dances in those "Six Flags" amusement park commercials, I am used to that kind of stuff.

Speaking of balls, my reserve unit had a change of command ceremony yesterday. After we got through the whole goat rope in reasonably-professional fashion, we fell out of formation, and were chatting with the friends and family members in attendance. That's when the four year old son of our new commander came racing across the drill floor, wound up, and socked me in the nuts with a punch that Mike Tyson would have envied. Took me to my knees in the blink of an eye. The commander and his wife were very apologetic, but hopefully this incident isn't a foreshadowing of how the last part of my military career is going to go.