A Day of Infamy; A Day of Grace

 

Sunrise, Pearl Harbor

December 7th, 2024

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Images and written content

The sun rose, spreading its light into the clear sky, a moment of indescribable peace and tranquility. Across the harbor, the water lay almost glassy. It was eerily similar to another morning 83 years earlier, that Day of Infamy; December 7th, 1941.

That day, however, the calm was suddenly broken by the roar of aircraft and the shocking explosions that heralded the beginning of a new war.

This day, however, the peaceful calm remained intact. On the north side of Ford Island the destroyer USS Carl Levin and the submarine USS Hawai'i moved through the water with reverent dignity. The drawbridge connecting the island to Honolulu had been pulled aside, and the two vessels made their way through, passing alongside the grave of a ship that has always been the symbol of that attack. As they came abeam of the USS Arizona Memorial, a whistle sounded across the water and the white-clad sailors manning the rails came to attention. This has always been the tradition. When any Navy ship passes the graceful white memorial, they render honors in respect partly for the old battleship, but just as much for the 1,177 men who remain entombed within the ship.  

At the appointed moment, 7:55 AM, or 07:55 in Navy speak, there was a sudden roar from the south. A formation of four F-22 Raptor fighters from the Hawai'i Air National Guard swept in low. Just as they reached the memorial, one aircraft went vertical, knifing into the brilliantly blue sky accompanied by the roar of afterburners. It was the traditional "missing man formation," the moving salute to the fallen. Across the harbor, at the Arizona Memorial Visitors Center, a 103-year-old Pearl Harbor survivor rose from his wheelchair to render a salute.

Veterans Day 2024

 

At the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific

Honolulu, Hawai'i

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content and images

The United States has engaged in many wars over the centuries.  In every case, young men, and now young women willingly left their homes, mines, shops, factories, fields, and schools to take up arms to defend the cause of freedom, and their beloved country.  They fought in many lands, on and below the oceans, and in the skies above it all.  The met dangerous, implacable foes in battle, the violence in which surpassed the ability of countless scribes to adequately express.

They don't speak much of those times.  It may be that the don't wish the hell of their very personal nightmares to be transferred to anyone else.  Or maybe speaking of them brings the horror back.  I once met an old Marine, who had fought with the legendary 1st Marine Division at Guadalcanal and Peleliu.  I have long had a deep interest in the history of the Pacific War, so I was asking him about his experiences.  He responded by saying, "Son, I can't tell you about war.  Unless you've been there, there's no way you could possibly understand.  Thank God you don't."

It takes a special kind of person to endure such an experience.  It is never the scripted false valor seen in cinema, because it's based in fear; that very primal instinct for self-preservation.  In the film "In Harm's Way," John Wayne's character said, "All battles are fought by scared men who'd rather be someplace else."  All warriors feel fear.  They wouldn't be human if they didn't.  But the difference between the courageous and the cowardly is how that fear is handled.  Fear can send some into mindless, paralyzing panic.  Others push past that moment understanding that there is a thing that needs to be done, and they can do that thing.  Perhaps that's what defines courage, the willingness to push fear aside and do what must be done.  As President Kennedy said, "The cost of freedom is high.  But Americans have always paid it."  

Aboard my first ship, the Knox Class Frigate USS Ouellet, in the engine room, it was just another slog through a seemingly endless midwatch.  At one point, a flange connecting two lengths of fuel line failed.  Instantly a high-velocity stream of fuel oil sprayed directly in to the face one of the main electrical switchboards.  Balls of green lightning began shooting throughout the engine room, while the fuel flooded the space.  It seemed certain that a disastrous fire was about to erupt.  One of the sailors on watch, a third class petty officer, all of 19 years old, waded through the flooding oil, past the balls of lightning to the panel.  Working quickly, he not only shut down the panel, but managed to reroute electrical power to another switchboard, ensuring that the rest of the ship could have power.  No hesitation, no apparent concern for his own safety.  Of course, he received a nice medal for his efforts, and I can't remember the last time he had to buy a beer for himself at our ship's reunions.  

The Spirit of Autumn

 

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Images and Written Content

"Autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature."

--Fredrich Nietzsche

"Everyone must  take time to sit and watch the leaves turn."

--Elizabeth Lawrence

The air is warm, but dry, a comfortable pleasant kind of day.  The sky has taken on that vivid blue that contrasts so beautifully with the changing leaves.  The breeze is soft, yet with that unmistakable nip of October.  It is a fine autumn day.

I walked across a meadow through the tawny grass and entered the treeline.  After a short distance, I stopped and inhaled deeply.  It was there; that scent that is the hallmark of fall.  Yes, I know its just dead leaves I'm smelling, but there's something else, something undefinable but still manages to trigger the emotions within me that can only be summoned this time of year.

I am standing amidst a forest of trees that have been wrapped in brilliant golds and vivid reds.  Around me is silence, broken only the sound of rustling leaves as the squirrels forage for their winter provender.  Now and then, the breeze rattles the branches and dislodges a few more leaves.  They flutter gracefully as they fall, before adding to the thickening carpet on the ground.

Slowly, aimlessly I move, my shoes kicking around the leafy ground cover.  That sound, so familiar, so evocative, so comforting awakens memories, some just a year old, others that reach all the way back to a distant childhood.  I suppose that if the ticking of my life's clock had a sound, it would have to be the swishing of leaves in the fall.

Summer has most times been a season to be endured.  Heat and humidity is the bane of my existence, its oppressiveness weighing on my like a wet wool blanket.  Energy and stamina desert me on those days.  The nights bring little relief, the velvety air jealously holding on to the moisture within.  

This Time of Year, This Time of LIfe

The Autumn of Days

The Autumn of Life

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Images and written content

We're hitting the road again, back to Virginia to spend time with our son and his family.  And of course, I get to spend time with the fall foliage and cool, perhaps cold temperatures that mark that passage into my favorite time of year.  In the mainland, anyway.  .

At this point in life, I've found more and more how important family is.  Of course time passes.  Grandchildren who were once young grow up and move on.  Our "children" now sport bits of grey hair, and begin to complain about aches and pains.  But that bond of blood, unbreakable as ever, continues to hold us together.  

I've always held a longer view of life, so I see the perspective of generations in my family.  My exploration of genealogy has taken me back to 10th century France and 17th century Ireland.  When I look through that long list of names, I often wonder how they viewed the future.  For most of them, it was the continuing birth of children that kept clans alive, flourishing, and powerful in those turbulent times.  

But these days are different.  The future, a constantly moving target, is uncertain at best.  Our grandchildren will face challenges we could never dream of, economic, social, political, perhaps environmental.  The wisdom of the aged in their lives can't provide a template, or even a vague sketch of how to navigate those expectedly stormy seas.  They will have to rely on their experience, knowledge, skills, and yes, sheer toughness all of which I dearly hope we've provided them.  This is uppermost in my mind because our oldest has gone to college in far-off New York.  We have a great deal of faith and confidence in her, but we all remember what that time of life was like, how hard it was to be away from home and family, learning for the first time who to trust and how much.  For the first time in her life, there's no safety net, no sanctuary when things truly go south.  Intellectually, I know this is a necessary experience, a required rite of passage to full adulthood.  Life is indifferent.  It is not what you allow it to do to you, but what you do to it that will forge a path of success.  Doesn't make it any easier to be so far away.

The others are also growing up.  Fast, too fast.  Our two grandkids in Colorado are blossoming into powerfully creative individuals.  They are strong, directed, and confident and there are great things ahead for them.  But at some point, they too will leave the nest and undertake their own flight.  And those of us left behind will be on pins and needles watching from afar as their stories unfold.  The younger two in Virginia also are striding forward in confident assuredness.  I still don't know what they will end up doing or being, but I'm pretty sure they'll be in charge.

Gut Punch...Or Perhaps Not

 

Happy Days...

Copyright ©2024

by Ralph F. Couey

"Life belongs to the living

and he who lives

must be prepared for change."

--Johann Wolfgang von Goeth

Everyone, I think, is familiar with the feeling of shock and dismay when normality is blown up by the unexpected.  The common reaction is "No!  This isn't happening!"  We push back in that moment, trying to evade what has befallen us.  But no amount of denial changes what has happened.  It must be faced, even embraced as a new reality.

I've been dealing with some health issues, mostly those attendant with aging.  I won't burden you with the details, as there is really nothing more boring than listening to an old person complain about their aches and pains.  But in April, my doctor, out of the blue, administered a memory test to me in his office.  Mainly due to fatigue, I bombed it miserably.  That was hard enough, but what he said next was a total gut punch.  

Dementia.

I was shocked and dismayed.  And scared.  The one thing about getting old that I feared the most was mental impairment.  I could have better dealt with the loss of a limb, but not my mind.  Everything I am, that I've ever been, that I could ever be resides there in that incredible organ inside my heard.  Without that, we are all just empty husks.

Over the last year I've noticed a tendency for short term memory dropouts, silly things like looking for car keys that are already in my pocket, or getting stuck in writing, desperately searching for that perfect word or phrase.  I've forgotten appointments, or gone on the wrong days.  I'll re-ask a question posed just minutes before.  But that time was filled with a lot of stress, mostly work-related at my last job.  Once I moved on, a lot of that went away.  But I was still worried.

In the months that followed, some other things happened, that indicated to me that this wasn't the disaster I originally thought.

I had an appointment with a neurologist and after hearing about the diagnosis, he administered a memory test.  I Aced It.  After some discussion, he put my problems down to something called "cognitive impairment."  Not sure what that means, but it doesn't seem to be dementia.  I was relieved. 

What Was Paid for Freedom

 

Little Round Top Battlefield, Gettysburg

Copyright © 2024

Image and Text

By Ralph F. Couey

Freedom is not free.

This statement has become timeworn, perhaps even trite.  But its use, perhaps overuse, hasn’t diminished the fact that is it still absolutely fundamentally true.

In what was then colonial America, a group of restless idealists after decades of mistreatment by Britain decided that enough was enough.  After countless hours of fractious, even combative debate, together they published their intent to break from the Crown and form a new country.

This was an incredibly bold and courageous move against what was then the most powerful empire on Earth.  They were, in fact, committing treason, the punishment for which was death.  Also at risk were their families, their homes, everything they had earned and built.  The risk was enormous, but they did not hesitate.

The war resulting from that Declaration of Independence was long, brutal, and costly.  The army suffered bitter cold, hunger, and sickness.  Desertions were common.  The war was almost lost on several occasions, but for the dynamic presence of a Virginia planter named George Washington.  His inestimable qualities of leadership, strength, and tactical brilliance not only kept the army together, but allowed him to execute a series of bold, brilliant attacks that eventually drove the British out of America. 

Even after such an improbable victory, the internal struggles continued.  What kind of government would it be?  A republic with a strong central government and subordinate states, or a confederacy characterized by a weak central authority and autonomous states? Some of these questions were addressed in the Constitution, a document that took 13 more years of arguing before its initial form was finalized in 1789.  Other questions would take a costly Civil War to find the answers.

A Tribute to Docents

 

The End of World War II

Copyright © 2024 Text and image

by Ralph F. Couey

For over a century, battleships were the physical embodiment of a nation’s strength.  Much as nuclear-tipped missiles are today’s strategic weapons, battleships filled that function long ago.  A government’s ability to enforce its policies and exert its will was tied directly to the number of battleships it could put to sea.  In most cases, these great ships never had to fire a shot.  All they had to do was show up.  

In 1946, the Ambassador from Turkey died in Washington DC.  President Truman ordered that the Ambassador be taken home, but not by air.  USS Missouri, enjoying some otherwise quiet post-war years, was tasked with carrying the Ambassador back home for the last time.  This was seemingly a straightforward and honorable thing to do.  But in Turkey, a threat was growing.  The Soviet Union, seeking a free passage for their Black Sea Fleet into the Mediterranean had put the Turkish government under tremendous pressure to give up control of the Bosporus and Dardanelles straits.  The government of Turkey was becoming shaky, and the people were fearful.  But on April 5, 1946, Missouri arrived and dropped anchor in the harbor of Istanbul.  The presence of this powerful ship, this unmistakable statement of support for that beleaguered government changed the entire situation.  The Turkish government stood tall, knowing they were not alone.  The Turkish people had their faith restored.  And the Soviets?  They backed down, knowing that nothing they had could stand against Missouri.  History was changed, this time without firing a shot.

She is a magnificent sight, a presence both majestic and powerful.  Battleship Missouri is a symbol of American strength and resolve.  She is also a physical reassurance, a promise to our friends that America will stand by you.  And, a message to our potential foes…think twice.

We tell the story of this ship so people can connect to it in a deeply personal way.  That Missouri’s history and the history of the nation whose flag she still proudly flies is also their history.  And they can also feel a sense of pride in the strength and resolve she represents.  People from other lands visit us, and they see America in this mighty ship. They feel the shared sense of America’s moral obligation to the world; the lengths we will go to ensure justice and protect the innocent and downtrodden.  It is a fact that no nation in history has shed so much of her own blood in the defense of other people’s freedom.  That we have, and are still so willing to fight and die for complete strangers.  It is so much who and what we are as a people, and to many throughout the world, a presence of sacrificial nobility. 

A Prayer for Peace

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Father in Heaven,

We live in a world shrouded in hate, anger, and division.  

Despite your commandments to love one another, 

your children instead choose the darker path, 

the path through which flow the forces that are tearing this world and ourselves apart.  

We know that this is not the way of peace, but rather the voice of the adversary.  

Help us to resist the darkness, 

to speak only love, act only in love, and walk only in the way of love 

that we may spread the light of your love throughout our world.  

Let us forgive, and seek forgiveness.  

Help us to walk this very difficult path, always leading with kindness and compassion.  

Help us to always remember that we are loved and forgiven, 

and that we have to treat others in the same way.  

Help us to resist the hot winds of lies, bitterness, and hate 

and push back with the cool breezes of truth, love, and reconciliation.  

The journey towards the establishment of your kingdom here on earth 

begins with the steps we take today to prepare the way.

 

In the name of Your Son, the Prince of Peace,

Amen

The U.S. Navy's Awful Song

Radio Division, USS Earl K. Olson 1944
Author's father is at the far right

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

All of the services have their song, the one that is played usually when the members are walking or marching across a stage or down the street.  Except for the Space Force, they have been around for a very long time.  They are well known and familiar to most people and are meant as an expression of pride by the service member's themselves.

Most are stirring and inclusive across the ranks of officers and enlisteds.  

Except for one.

Now for the Marine Corps, its a song that speaks of courage, strength, and honor.  Words like:"

"From the halls of Montezuma

to the shores of Tripoli

We will fight our country's battles

In the air, on land, and sea.

First to fight for right and freedom

and to keep our honor clean

We are proud to claim the title

Of United States Marines."

The song starts out by referencing two critical battles where the qualities of the Corps shined brightly.  In 1847, Marines were part of the force that stormed and captured Chapultepec Castle, thus ending the Mexican-American War.  In 1805, Marines, in their first battle, attacked Derna, Tripoli.  Not only was the attack a victory, but it was the first of many times that Marines would raise our flag over the field of a hard-fought battle.  

The second part embraces the elan of the Corps,  knowing that they will be the first to engage the enemy.  They also vow to fight with honor, instead of as barbarians.  Throughout the years and wars, Marines have done just that.  The most important part of these lyrics is that there is no difference between officers and enlisted Marines.  All share that legendary reputation.

A Signpost Event in Life

 

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

"To exist is to change.  To change is to mature.

To mature is to go on creating one's self endlessly."

--Henri Bergson

Signpost events.

They are the things that happen only once in a lifetime that mark the passage of time and also those major transitions in life.  In this case, it was the high school graduation of our granddaughter Diana.  In some ways, it's hard to wrap my head around the fact that this day had arrived.

Looking back, the memories of this now-young lady roll out of my mind in nearly HD clarity.  The day she was born, the first years as she grew up.  That first day of school, and as her artistic talents blossomed in the chalk masterpieces that covered our driveway.  Mostly though, I remember her sweet, loving nature, unselfishness and generosity.  She visited us many times, and her family lived with us in Virginia for three years, a priceless collection of moments.  I remember the day in Pennsylvania when she and I took our dog Tweeter out for a walk and she got to hold the leash by herself for the first time.  There was the time when she got to ski for the first time, her face set in determination as her grandmother ran unsteadily alongside trying to keep up, unnecessarily as it turned out.

Determined.

If there was one descriptive word that encompasses Diana, that would be it.  Most ambitious people wear that on their sleeves, making sure everyone knows about it.  Diana's gentle nature hides that part of her.  Where it becomes apparent is in her actions.  Her work ethic, intensity in sports, the utterly focused expression when she plays violin.  We once asked her about the multitudinous activities she was involved in, concerned about burnout.  She responded, "No, I WANT to do all these things!  Everything!"  

This fall she will be off to college in far-off New York state, that first tentative trek into the unknown.  She seems confident and ready.  But what characterizes this signpost moment is the reality that we will no longer be able to protect her.  That's scary for those of us who love her the most, an instinctive reaction.  But perhaps the time has come when maybe we won't need to, at least on a day to day basis.  We'll always be available for advice and counsel, day or night.  But the hard part of this moment is realizing that the time has come to let go, to have faith in what we taught her, and what she has learned.  There will be times when she will feel alone in adversity.  But that is so much a part of growing up, learning how to face those times, how to win.  And how to deal with the defeats.  

On Graduation Day, we watched as Diana and her fellow grads walked into the ice hockey arena and across the stage.  We cheered her loudly, but we were not alone.  Other families were there, cheering as well.  The love, pride, and joy was palpable  as the happy noises cascaded down from the stands to shower over that sea of sky blue caps and gowns.  It was a uniting moment for us all.

A few years from now there will be another graduation, this time from college, which I fervently hope I will be healthy enough to attend.  Another signpost will be surpassed, and for Diana, another trek will be undertaken.  

Today, we are happy and optimistic. But we know that her journey has just begun.  Ahead lie challenges that are unforeseeable.  But Diana has been launched on a path that will be uniquely hers.  We can no longer lead, but must now watch from the sidelines.  Part of the heartbreak is the realization that if we have done our jobs well, she won't need us.  So, we will have faith.  And hope.  But she must walk this path on her own, strong, upright, and yes, determined.

She will succeed.

She will be accomplished.

She will fulfill her dreams.

She is, after all, our granddaughter.

Jars of Clay

 

Adobe Stock Images

It is early morning, the dew still upon the grass. Within a humble shed, a small turntable begins to spin. The steady tread of a foot pedal joins the sounds of cheerful birdsong in the air.

A pair of hands, strong and capable, but skilled in the delicate and fine, deposits a mound of wet clay on the turntable.  For now, it is just a lump, gray and formless.  Muddy drops of water fall to the floor.  As yet, it is ugly.  But in the artist’s eyes, something beautiful can be seen.  Slowly, patiently, the hands begin to shape the clay.  Out of that formless lump a vessel emerges, tall and graceful.  The process is hard to follow from the outside, seeming to emerge by magic, because it is in the artist’s vision, soul, and skillful hands that this vessel is brought to life.

In the scriptures, we are these earthenware vessels, these jars of clay.  We are born and shaped in the eyes of God, the artist.  But we are fragile, easily chipped, cracked, and even shattered.  As jars, we can no longer hold water.  But what we carry inside our imperfect selves is not water, but light; the light of God’s love, the light of His Gospel.  Through our cracks, around our chips, even from our shattered pieces, that light shines out into this world of darkness.  Our value is no longer what we hold within, but rather what was hidden within now flows and floods out of us.  That light within us is like holy water, that douses the thirst of sorrow, anger, hate, and despair.  It is only when it is allowed to flow freely that it delivers the blessing. 

Take stock not of our imperfections, of what we think we can no longer do.  But rather, what we are able to do, and commanded to do, as keepers of the light of God.

A Source of Wonder in the Sky

                            

Aldebaran peeking out from beyond the Moon.

Credit:  Roger Hutchinson

Sky & Telescope

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

Written Content Only

Visitors to this blog sometimes leave notes and comments, for which I am always grateful.  Feedback is absolutely vital for any writer, whether good or...otherwise because it makes for a better writer from a technical standpoint, but also provides a space to be more aware and sensitive of the impact of my words.

I often write about things in nature, both here on this planet, but also throughout the universe.  People have remarked on my "sense of wonder," and for that I plead guilty as charged.  A recent post concerned an encounter I experienced with a preying mantis.  I remember that day, and how I couldn't resist looking at it from very close range.  I'm sure I made that poor critter nervous, especially when I carefully petted it.  But all boys have a fascination with such things, and perhaps that part of me hasn't quite yet grown up.

I spend some evenings looking at the sky, toward those bright, enigmatic points of light in the sky.  I marvel that many of those lights are stars that are tens of thousands of light years distant, and yet beyond my limited vision are billions of others stretching out billions of light years across a universe that continues to expand.  The true size of our universe may be ultimately incalculable and beyond comprehension.  The sheer vastness of it all remains an immense fascination for me, from the exquisitely micro to the eternally macro.

Renovations to our home were recently completed, one of which involved the creation of a new master suite.  Our former bedroom is on the east side of the house, and just feet away lies our neighbor's abode.  Now, we live on the west side of the house, facing the Waianae Mountains, actually the walls of an enormous and ancient volcano.  The land slopes away from that side and we have a wide open view of the sky, and the gift of glorious sunsets every day.

One night, I was just drifting off to sleep when I saw a bright red-orange light appear from behind a drifting cloud.  That I was able to see it sans spectacles was in itself remarkable.  At first I assumed it was the giant planet Jupiter, a bright enough beacon in any sky.  I put my specs back on and pulled up an astronomy app on my phone and aimed it in that direction.  Turns out, Jupiter was still below the horizon and after some careful study, the light gained an identity.  The star Aldebaran.

The Ambush of Memory

Feels like it was another lifetime...

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

"Our lives are our story, unfolding each day, page by page.

People we meet become characters in our story, as we become characters in theirs.

It is in these chance encounters that we recognize 

that every life is a story waiting to be told."

--Ralph F. Couey

I'm now nearly five months into my job as a tour guide for the USS Missouri Memorial in Pearl Harbor.  While learning the tour presentations presented some challenges for my aging and leaky brain, I've managed to put them in one of the few reliable areas within that mysterious organ.  I've found that I really enjoy doing the tours, partially because public speaking has always been easy and enjoyable for me, but mostly because the ship has such an amazing story to tell.  My biggest problem seems to be not being able to shut up, as my tours usually last way too long.  Working on that...

I underestimated the impact of the innumerable memories that ambush me in every compartment, and down every passageway.  Sometimes they drift in and out, much like the clouds that drift over the harbor.  Then there are the powerful ones, tied to significant events and relationships from those long-ago years that charge in, hitting my most vulnerable places.  As Paul Simon once wrote, 

"Time it was, and what a time it was, it was...

A time of innocence, a time of confidences

Long ago... it must be...

I have a photograph

Preserve your memories

They're all that's left you."

Jubilation...Devastation

 

Union Station, Kansas City, MO

Copyright © 2024 Kansas City Star

"You think you're lost, but you're 

not lost on your own.

I will stand by you, I will help you when you've done all you can do

If you can't cope, I will dry your eyes

I will fight your fight

I will hold you tight

And I won't let go."

--Rascal Flatts

Copyright © 2024

By Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

It was a day of celebration in Kansas City.  The Chiefs had won the Super Bowl yet again and from all over the heartland, people gathered to celebrate.  A glorious, warm mid-winter day, a gift this time of year, added a bit of spring joy to the atmosphere.  In the over one million fans gathered, it would have been tough to find a care in the world.  

A two-mile parade brought the heroes to the place in the city that had seen jubilation before.  Two previous Super Bowl celebrations, and an epic World Series party that, while nearly ten years in the past, still resonates in the memory.  It had always been a place of joy.  It had always been a place of safety.  Nobody ever thought twice about crowding onto the lawn between Union Station and the World War I Memorial, nor lining up 7 or 8 deep along the parade route.  The players got down off the double-decker buses and came right up to the fans, shaking hands, high-fiving, fist-bumping, even hugs.  Jerseys were signed, selfies were taken.  Heroes usually worshipped from afar, became close and personal.

This was KC; it was home; everyone there were neighbors and friends, even if only vicariously.  

There were speeches, fueled by alcohol to be sure, but the kind of thing that gets the heart going and the spirit soaring.  We were champions, and nothing would ever change that.

In that massive crowd, however were a group of people who were not there to celebrate.  They had come to settle a score.  With bullets.  It mattered not that there were innocents present, especially children.  The only thing that mattered was their anger, their hate, their vengeance.  In a moment that will forever live in darkness, they pulled out guns and opened fire.

Bug Time

 

I think I got his best side...

Copyright © 2024

by Ralph F. Couey

We usually take a passing note of things nature, usually because there are things that require our more urgent attention.  But sometimes, nature pulls up a chair, sits down, and forces us to pay attention.

I was at work earlier this week assigned to the entry line, which is actually down on the pier.  There, people show up with their tickets for the Battleship and their tours.  My job is to give them a safety brief, which goes something like this:

"Welcome aboard the Battleship Missouri!  Just a few words to the wise... She's still configured as a warship, so please watch out for tripping hazards, things sticking out from the sides around your arms and head.  The ladders are steep and narrow, so please use both hands on the rails going up or down.  There is no eating, smoking, or vaping. You can drink as long as it is a covered container, like a water bottle.  Please obey the posted signage.  It is there for your safety.  And please hold on to your belongings.  If it goes over the side into the harbor, then it belongs to King Neptune now and forever."

We do this to remind folks that the ship hasn't been modified for visitors and there are hazards around.  That last bit about King Neptune I throw in to get a few smiles.  It's one of the pleasant posts we stand because this is where people first arrive, and we get a chance to give a good impression to start.  When it's busy, that little speech is given a lot as people move through the tent.  When its not, there's time to strike up some conversations.

Then there are days, and times during those days when I might not see anyone for 30 or 45 minutes.  There is time for contemplation.

On this particular day, one of the young ladies from ticketing, gave out a short shriek.  When I looked, she was pointing at a trash/recycle receptacle (made from 1,179 recycled milk cartons).  I followed her point and found that we had a visitor.  Sitting on the side of the container was a preying mantis.  I hadn't seen one in quite a long time, and as I came closer, it showed to tendency to flee.  With nothing else to to at that moment, I decided to take a closer look.  

Confluence and Life

 

Copyright © 2024
by Ralph F. Couey

One of the most valuable uses of time for me is watching sunrises and sunsets.  Here in Hawai'i, they're nearly always perfect and beautiful.  Bright colors decorating the sky -- the pallet and skill of the Great Artist bringing peace and wonder to so many.  I've lived in a lot of places, and been to a lot more, but of all those mornings and evenings in far-flung locales, but nowhere are they more stunningly beautiful than here.  And twice per day, no less.

In a life where there never seems to be enough hours in the day, those times are when I force myself to slow down; to empty my mind of the mundane.  It is the best time to think, reflect, and contemplate, freed of the have-to-dos and gotta-be-theres, for a time at least.

I've had little time to write of late and I've missed that.  There are moments when I feel thoughts, ideas, and emotions throwing themselves around inside me like a caged animal.  It becomes imperative to take up pen and paper, if for no other reason than to set them free.  Also, at my age, it's important to act on them immediately because thoughts and ideas suddenly have acquired a shelf life.  Just as suddenly as they may blossom, they are likely to fade and vanish leaving behind a miasma of frustration and loss. And sadness.

Everyone needs catharsis, and writing has always been mine.  Beyond the sheer joy of creativity, expelling those restless thoughts to paper (or computer screen) is an act of healing.  That's one of the reasons I began this blog some 18 years ago. Looking now through those nearly 900 essays is a trip back in time.  I can see where I was and what I thought about, how events affected me.  Ruminations about the future have showed not only that I am anything but omniscient, but how fundamentally unpredictable life truly is.  At times, the future seemed tangible, something just out of reach, a trail marker pointing me forward.   Other times, life has needed to be lived one day at a time, even minute to minute because the hill immediately before me was too daunting.  The way forward from that place is mandated by the requirement to put aside doubts and fears and just climb that hill regardless of how steep or rocky.   Only from the top will I be able to grasp a clearer view ahead.  I know also that the struggle uphill is the price for clarity.  And in the midst of that struggle I know I will grow stronger, and perhaps wiser.

Lately my life has become a happier place, for which my job change is mostly responsible.  Leaving the state job proved to be a healthier choice.  I'm now a tour guide aboard the USS Missouri.  There was a significant pay cut involved that is now making itself felt.  But gone is the intrigue and drama, as well as the insidious intrusion of partisan politics.  In its place is the pure and straightforward task of telling the story of a remarkable ship and her important place in history.