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.  

Then one day, about three weeks into September, the air clears and dries.  The sky shifts from the milky, hazy look of summer to a sharp, vivid blue.  I am reawakened, the old vitality returns as does my joy.

I guess for me there are two falls, the one that reliably shows up on the calendar.  Then there is the climatic one which announces its arrival with delightfully cool weather and the marvelous transition of the trees.  Suddenly, I remember how much fun it is to wear sweaters, jackets, and wool hats.

There is an urgency to this season.  Animals scurry around preparing for winter.  In the sky, migratory birds begin to gather for test flights before heading south.  Even humans feel it.  Farmer begin the harvest, racing against the first frosts.  Stores and shops fill with supplies for the back-to-school crowd.  Kids, though mourning the loss of that glorious summer indolence, feel an excited anticipation for the new school year, though they'd never admit it out loud.  

Even sports change.  Summer is baseball and golf, sports which are not governed by the clock.  But fall is football, and eventually basketball and hockey, all that live and die by the clock.  The short season makes every game serious and vital.  A 4-game losing streak in baseball is just a bad weekend in Chicago, but it can wreck a football season.  Everything is played and lived at a frenetic do-or-die pace.  And yet, with all that, there is still a joy to this time of year.  Looking ahead, we see barreling at us that time we call "The Holidays" when families gather and everyone seems happier.

While my passion for autumn seems more climate driven, it is really that overall sense of awakening joy and the sheer energy of the time of year that has always made this my favorite season.  My love of spring is similar, but it is a much more gentle time, slower-paced.  Autumn has always been energy, excitement driven by the awareness that life is also ticking away.  I am driven to go to the forest, far away from noise and clamor.  There is a peace there that exists for me nowhere else.  I am transfixed by what I see and feel there.  I do enjoy hiking, but sometimes it's enough to just sit on a stump and just...be.

I want to preserve in my memory all that my senses perceive.  The cool air, the smells, the sounds, the colors...but mostly the sense of peace and contentment which fills me to repletion.  It if were possible to arrange my last moment in this life, it would have to be such a moment.  Filled with joy and peace, I could pass willingly to the eternal rest that I know awaits me.  

Such happiness is so terribly rare and when it arrives, it must be embraced and cherished, preserved in the vault of memories within the heart.  From there it can be recalled and relived, always a balm to an aching soul.

Living in Hawai'i has created an ache for this time of year.  Here, some form of summer exists all year 'round.  The average high temperature between January and July only differs by six degrees.  You could record the weather forecast, run it all year long and still be right about 60% of the time.  I miss the change of seasons, and what has become an annual pilgrimage to the mainland always raises my anticipation, as the time there is finite and always ends too soon.  But even these short visits will always fill me to the brim with my autumn joy. 

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.

The three in California are something of a collection of miracles.  The older two were born autistic, and one needed open heart surgery shortly after birth.  The oldest we thought might have to live in a group home.  But he is one his way to college, with a plan to work on, work with, and perhaps design Formula One race cars.  All three of them are blossoming out of what was a cruelly difficult childhood.  They are tough beyond words, and nothing will get in their way.

I look at all of them with pride, and gratitude.  I was not very good at being a father, being unable to draw that barrier between career and family.  But my kids survived it, and learned from those experiences.  They are successful professionally, and are deeply involved in their kids' lives.  I hate regrets, but I wish I would have been better.

I don't try to judge my life, good or bad, because it makes me sad.  And at this point in life, kinda useless.  When I pass from this life at some point in the relatively near future, there won't be any statues or buildings with my name on them.  I won't have cured cancer, the common cold, or brought world peace.  I don't command princely wealth or exercise worldly power or influence.  If that were the sole yardstick, then I've been a failure.  

But I've also learned from my offspring that there are far more important ways to measure a life.  I love, and have been loved.  I've been a friend, and received friendship.  I've given and received respect.  I've  enjoyed the exercise of gifts and talents, particularly writing and public speaking, that has given me so much joy.  And perhaps when I look at my grandkids and what they can and undoubtedly will do with their lives, the future, sometimes bleak, now has a distinctly rosy, optimistic glow.  Perhaps I can look at that and surmise that some good is here to pass along to the future.

The dreams we have as children are almost never fulfilled in life.  Because of the experience and wisdom we acquire along the way, that context alters our expectations.  What we loved to do at age 7 or 8 will be very different from what we eventually choose.  I tell people to be patient as this sorts itself out.  I did not find out what I wanted to do when I grew up until I reached the tender age of 40, and proved to be far removed from the baseball player/astronaut I wanted to be as a kid.  The only consistent thing in life is change, and everyone must be ready for whatever comes their way, and be nimble enough to keep our footing as we shift course.

There was a time when five years from now was just that:  five years.  I am 69, and am well aware that my future will be considerable shorter than my past.  Another important thing I have learned is not to just exist from day to aimless day.  But live!  And live with passion, fervor, and joy!  And so what if nobody outside my family and friends remembers me?

Because at the end, I can be assured that it has been one hell of a ride.

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. 

 Now, in the time since, there have still been occasional dropouts, but I continue to give all my tour presentations, all told almost two-and-a-half hours of memorized material.  I am finding though that if I get distracted, I can lose my place, and picking up the loose string can take a minute.  So focus becomes absolutely essential. When I'm driving, I always know where I am and where I'm bound.  I remember my past in detail.  I've always had difficulty with remembering people's names, so that doesn't worry me all that much.  All my appointments and obligations are on my phone's calendar.  I spend time (maybe too much time) playing various word games on my phone.  I still read voraciously, and I still write, although that's limited by having only 24 hours in each day.  Walking about the ship every day, climbing up and down ladders (stairs to you landlubbers), I log about 3 miles, so I'm getting my physical exercise.  

One thing I am very focused on is the amount of sleep I get at night.  On days that I get 6 hours or less, things don't go so well.  But over 6 hours, and better still, 7 to 8 hours, things are terrific.  I'm going to bed early, usually by 8:30 pm, and am able to fall asleep quickly.  I still get up a couple of times a night (curse you, prostate!) but can go back to sleep quickly.  My son Robbie got me one of those wrist tracker things (Whoop) which tracks my sleep patterns, as well as the amount of exercise and stress during the day, so I'm always aware of how I'm doing in those departments.

The future has always been an unknown, as there is still no reliable way to predict for its inevitable twists and turns.  But in hard times, I always fall back on the best lesson from my days hiking the Appalachian Trail:  The only thing you can do when standing at the bottom of a long, steep hill is to quit complaining and just climb the doggone thing.  Even on that terrain, I eventually reached the summit.  

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.

What is most wonderful about this entity we call the United States of America is that we have not yet reached our final form.  It has been a continual experiment in freedom and liberty, constrained by responsibility and accountability.  This is why the Constitution was never a final product, and would be amended time and again.  Many ideas have been tried and accepted.  Many others have been considered and cast aside.  We have made mistakes, yes.  But we have not yet, nor will we ever stop trying to get it right.  We are still today asking tough questions and seeking difficult answers.  Debates go on with the same passion as they did in that hot, humid summer of 1776.  We are still a young country when compared to the history of this world, but we will always be seeking a better way, a better life.  We continue to challenge expectations, even accepted assumptions.  We remain convinced that no matter how magnificent our achievements, we can always do better.

In my job as a tour guide aboard the USS Missouri Memorial, I talk to people from all over the world.  They have told me that what sets Americans apart is our absolute refusal to accept average.  As a culture, as a people, we are driven by excellence, and not just the hope, but the expectation that we will not only succeed in that task, but even exceed the goal.  We compete to be the best in all fields, in all endeavors.  We hate losing.  Even coming in second causes us to grumble and grind our teeth.  It has been that unrelenting drive that has resulted in our supremacy in so many fields.  Science, technology, engineering, math, bioscience, medicine and the arts.  We won the race to the moon, to Mars and the rest of the planets.  Today, Voyager I, Voyager II, and Pioneer X, three technological ambassadors, built and launched by America, have left our solar system and started their journey into the galaxy.  There, they will travel for millennia, carrying a message from humanity to intelligences far beyond that we were here, and that our restless, questing intelligence led us to the stars. 

It takes courage to challenge the unknown.  But America has never lacked that courage.  Our willingness as a country to accept that challenge comes not from government mandate.  It comes, rather, the way our nation was formed:  Of the people, By the people, and for the people.  President John Kennedy once said, “For in a democracy, every citizen, regardless of his interest in politics, 'holds office.'  Every one of us is in a position of responsibility.”  We, even we here, and those who follow us will be the ones who determine if we will continue to reach beyond the stars, or look only downward and dig our own grave.  We are a restless people.  Let us always be restless.  It will be our unwillingness to accept the present as permanent that will propel us upwards, along with the rest of humanity.  In that soaring journey, none of us can afford to sit quietly on the sidelines.

We had a granddaughter, named Zoe  who was born with a serious birth defect, missing a part of her fifth chromosome.  Now, there are 46 chromosomes in each human cell.  Cells are microscopic.  Chromosomes even tinier.  One might think that missing such an infinitesimally small thing might not be that big of a deal.  But in fact, it left her severely disabled. We lost her at the tender age of five months.

Each of us is only one of over 330 million people.  Like a chromosome within a cell, that may seem small and inconsequential.  But in a representative republic governed by the will of her people, there are no small parts, no insignificant pieces.

Nora Jones sang a song, “American Anthem,” in which were these words:

"For those who think they have nothing to share

Who fear in their hearts there is no hero there

Know each quiet act of dignity is that which fortifies

The soul of a nation that will never die."

There’s no magic wand, no Jedi hand wave which can make that happen.  It is too easy to look in the mirror and decide that we have nothing to contribute.  But each individual American is a collection of unique gifts, talents, and abilities that can spring to life in the fire of passion and possibility.  It remains to the individual to open the door and turn those gifts loose upon the world.

However, in order for this nation to live, we must decide to live together.  We have differences, yes.  But each individual has walked a separate path, a unique journey that has shaped their life and how they feel.  We don’t have to agree on everything.  But we must respect each other’s journey.  Let us instead look to those things that we have in common, that can unite, rather than divide us.  Remember those remarkable days after 9/11 when we as a nation stood together, arm in arm, shoulder to shoulder.  And remember that an America thus united cannot be defeated.

There is no better example of this than the passengers and crew of Flight 93 on that terrible day.  If you had been in the airport that morning and encountered one of them and asked later on for a description, you might have used the word “ordinary.”  As events unfolded, we know now that they were anything but ordinary.  In the face of grave danger, they decided together, stood together, and acted together.

John Wayne once said, “All battles are fought by scared men who’d rather be someplace else.”  The actions of those people on that day have been called valorous, brave, heroic.  Undoubtedly, they felt fear.  But that did not stop them.  The biggest difference, after all, between the courageous and the cowardly is how one reacts to that fear.  For some, the fear collapses into mindless, paralyzing panic.  But others embrace the realization that something needs to be done, and knowing that they can act.  I think that defines courage, the willingness to push fear aside and do what must be done.  Once again, President Kennedy: “The cost of freedom is always high, but Americans have always paid it.”

We live in perilous times in a dangerous world.  The drumbeats of war, once distant and indistinct are now beating loudly.  We hear them from the west, from China and North Korea.  We hear them from the east, from Russia and Iran, and in seemingly every direction from terrorist groups all over the world.  It is a time when our greatest courage and strength is needed.  But it is also a time when we face serious divisions from within.  After 9/11 we recognized and embraced that we were Americans first, last, and foremost.  We found that unity at a moment when we truly needed it.  And we can find it again.  It was an impassioned Patrick Henry who proclaimed, “United we stand, divided we fall!  Let us not split into factions which must destroy that union upon which our existence hangs." 

The future of The United States of America is completely dependent on what we choose to do today; how we choose to act, and if we choose to stand together.  This is our choice, and our responsibility.  Abraham Lincoln was speaking to congress, but his words should resonate within us during these divisive times: “Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history. The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down in honor or dishonor to the latest generation.  We, even we here, hold the power and bear the responsibility.”

The freedoms we possess, and the freedoms we desire are completely dependent on our willingness to pay the price and endure the cost for those freedoms.  As long as that great bell of freedom rings, those clear, strong peals will be heard beyond our country, the great sound of hope for the world.

The United States of America has accomplished much in our nearly 250 years.  But before us is a future, fraught with peril; a steep, rocky and treacherous path over which we must walk, a mountain we must climb. 

Let us vow to walk together; to climb together, and together we shall stand at the summit and welcome the beautiful light, the dawning of a new day!

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. 

In the battles of war we took a lot of territory from the enemy, more than Rome, Egypt, and Britain combined.  But what we had taken, we gave back with one exception.  In the words of General Mark Clark, “All we asked was enough of their soil in which to bury our gallant dead.”  Consider for a moment a nation that holds and treasures such values above all others.  It says something about us, something we should remember and hold close.  That even in our darkest, most difficult moments, we will not let go of our humanity.

Yes, Missouri is a battleship; a vessel of war.  But she is also a symbol of peace.  

It was here on these decks that humanity’s longest and bloodiest war came to an end.  

It was here on these decks where two nations, once the bitterest of foes, began a friendship and partnership that would change the future.

It was here on these decks where peace was restored throughout the world.  

And it was here on these decks where hope was reborn.  That is important.  For of all the possible futures, the best future will always be the one founded on hope.

This is the story we tell.  Our official title is “Tour Guide;” sometimes we are called “Docent.”  But the real reason we are here every day runs so much deeper.  

We are custodians of the past; keepers of memory.  Those who once knew come to us and remember.  Those who never knew come to us and learn.  With respect, dignity, and pride we share the story of this great ship, and her place in history.  

We are her voice.

We are her legacy.

We are her life.

We will ensure that the world will never forget Battleship Missouri.

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.

Now, the Army's song says a lot of the same things.  The original version was apparently written for the members of the field artillery, hence the term caissons, which are carts which carry powder and shells for the guns.  It was rewritten to go like this:

First to fight for the right,

And to build the Nation’s might,

And the Army goes rolling along.

    Proud of all we have done,

      Fighting till the battle’s won,

And the Army goes rolling along.

Then it’s hi! hi! hey!

The Army’s on its way.

Count off the cadence loud and strong;

For where’er we go,

You will always know

That the Army goes rolling along.

A proud song, sung by soldiers advancing into battle with heart and soul.  Again, there is no differentiation between ranks.  Whether officer or enlisted, all fight together, all share the risk.  It is a statement of pride that can be shared by all soldiers.

The Air Force, a relative newcomer, also has a song.  Their focus is the sky, of course, so it goes like this:

Off we go into the wild blue yonder

Climbing high into the sun

Here they come zooming to meet our thunder

At 'em now! Give 'em the gun! Give 'em the gun!

Down we go spouting our flame from under

Off with one helluva roar!

We live in fame, or go down in flame!

Hey! Nothing'll stop the U.S. Air Force!

 Brave, bold lyrics, courageous men and women charging into the face of the enemy with clear confidence in their ability to win any battle.  Now, there is a hint of rankism here, since pilots in the Air Force, and it's predecessor Army Air Force, were all officers.  But what it clear is the promise to all to meet the enemy and prevail.

 

Now the Navy.

 

Anchors Aweigh has been the Navy's signature song since about 1905.  It was the fight song for the Academy's football team, and eventually came to be the song for the entire service.  This has been the source of grumbles for a long time.  This tells of the experiences of officers boozing it up before heading out to sea in the morning, which any sailor can tell you is a massively bad idea.  The words are completely exclusive of anything involving the enlisted personnel.  Like the other three services, when the service goes to war, everyone goes to war.  Ship's crews all share the same dangers of sea duty as well as the hazards of battle.  Even in the air contingent, it's not only the pilots, but the enlisted crews taking care of those aircraft on the decks of the aircraft carriers, always vulnerable at sea who share the common dangers.  

 

This is not a new complaint.  Enlisted men and women in the Navy have long held a grudge against this divisive song.  In my time in the service, I knew a lot of sailors who outright refused to sing Anchors Aweigh because, as one said, "It's got nothing to do with me."  This disputes have been aired often in the All Hands news source, in the unofficial Navy Times, and even in the august pages of the Naval Institute publication Proceedings.  All have fallen on deaf ears, of course.  Officers have their fraternity, and the rest of us are not allowed.  That we have, and will, fight and die for this country alongside them apparently makes no difference.  I have a hard time understanding this.  Why does the Navy continue with a theme song that ignores more that three-fourths of its membership?  The other services have chosen the high ground of common service with their songs, and have done so for decades.  They can be sung with equal pride and sense of belonging with ALL members of the service, without regard for rank or position.  Although I am a proud Navy veteran, and Chief Petty Officer, I have to say in all honesty that I am ashamed of Anchors Aweigh.

Anchors Aweigh, my boys, Anchors Aweigh.

Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay.

Through our last night on shore, drink to the foam,

Until we meet once more. Here's wishing you a happy voyage home.

 Really?  

 But what would a new song be like?  First off, it would omit all references to rank and privilege, or the closeted academy experience.  Maybe it would reference a few battles, like the Marines.  Perhaps Midway, Samar, Lake Erie, Mobile Bay, or even Vicksburg.  It would have to state clearly the value of courage and indomitable will, and how those fights have preserved freedom, not only ours, but everybody else's we have fought for.  Everyone fights, everyone risks, so all share in the victory as well, and so deserve the soaring salute.

When my writer's blood is up, I can't resist putting down words.  My position as a tour guide aboard the Battleship Missouri is a real inspiration for this kind of effort.  So one day, I just started jotting down some phrases.  One was pretty silly, "Commence Firing! Fire at will! Shoot those guns and kill, kill, kill!"  Yeah, pretty bad.  But some other phrased snuck through, such as, "Go in strength across the seas, stout-hearted sailors guarding the free."  Another one, "Wherever the grey hulls part the waves, freedom and liberty they will save."   "Strong, proud sailors man the rails, into harm's way we will sail.  Duty calls us to the fight and none shall stand against our might."

Shakespeare, it is admittedly not.  But I think the point is clear.  If it is "One Navy," then the song should strongly state that, without ambiguity.  I would go as far as to have a brand new tune composed, one stirring enough to put Anchor's Aweigh firmly into the dusty bin into which it belongs.

Okay, this was a rant.  But really, Admirals, if most of your sailors won't even sing that song, why use it at all? 

And that, in the end IS the point.

 

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.

Aldebaran is an Arabic word meaning "follower."  It is a type of star known as a red giant, and is located in the constellation of Taurus.  It lies about 65 light years distant from earth.  Interesting that the light that hit my bleary eyes that night left it's star when I was three years old, a journey almost as long as I am old.  

Stars like our sun will spend billions of years fusing hydrogen into helium and other elements.  Near the end of its life, the hydrogen will be exhausted, and the star will cool and grow, throwing off its outer layers.  At the end of this process, all that will be left will be a small, intensely massive and bright white dwarf, which will then cool.  Over trillions of years, it will become a black dwarf, a dark cinder floating through space.  Aldebaran is on such a journey.  Astronomers have calculated that Aldebaran is 44 times larger than our sun.

Public Domain

Aldebaran's temperature is about 1,500 Kelvin, as compared to our star's 5,700 Kelvin and will continue to cool as it ages.  

Scientists think Aldebaran has at least one planet, a Jupiter-like gas giant, only 11 times larger.

This star has been a familiar one to human cultures for thousands of years, and has a long list of names and stories.  It's proximity to the cluster we call Pleiades actually gave its Arabic name, translated as "follower" as it seemed to pursue the seven sisters across the sky.  The indigenous Mexican culture known as the Seris, the star provided light to the Pleiades, which they interpreted as seven women giving birth.  In the Hindu culture it was known as Rohini, the favorite wife of the moon god, Chandra.  In ancient Greece, Aldebaran was the torch bearer.

A close-up view.

Credit:  Edison Urdaneta, Sky and Telescope Magazine

Pioneer 10, one of the deep space probes launched in the early 1970's along with Voyager's 1 and 2, will make a relatively close pass to Aldebaran in about 2 million years.  Although long-dead as a spacecraft, Pioneer will for tens of millions of years be a monument, a sign of humanity's existence to curious alien eyes.  And proof that they were not alone in the universe.

Aldebaran is the 14th brightest star in the northern hemisphere skies, and can be easily found by following the three belt stars of Orion the Hunter to the right to this bright orange sentinel.  It's kinda cool to look at a star in the sky and know what it is.

Credit: Earth and Sky

The universe is enormous beyond words, and is always in motion and full of incredibly interesting things.  To contemplate such depths opens the mind and the spirit to appreciate fully the beauty and majesty of creation.  That night, I looked at a dying star and wondered if life had ever existed under it's once-benevolent gaze.  That is, after all, the one unanswerable question of all living intelligence.  Am I alone?

Some five billion years from now, our sun will exhaust it's hydrogen fuel and will begin it's long, slow death.  Over about 1.5 billion years, it will swell out into the solar system, consuming the planets as it goes.  Earth's oceans will boil away along with its atmosphere, though it will have been hostile to life for quite a while.  About 60 million years later, earth will vanish into the sun's atmosphere.  

In case you're REALLY interested, about a half a billion years before that happens, our Milky Way and the fast-approaching Andromeda galaxy will begin to merge.  Given the uncertainty of climatic evolution on earth over billions of years, or our own penchant for self-destruction, it's not likely that anyone will be around to see that event.

But that would be a sky to look at!

Andromeda Galaxy as seen from Earth's skies in the far, distant future.

Source:  Uncredited

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.