Two weeks ago a local Marine was killed in Afghanistan, he left behind a 18 month old daughter and a pregnant wife, who had a son he will never know 5 days after his funeral. The man was a local hero a football star that was quarterback on the team that won the state championship. He was smart too, went to St. Anselm's and did well there, a tough Vermont college. As we continue to waste and kill our best and brightest I would like to propose a checklist that the president would have to review and sign before he is allowed to send the youth of our great country onto battle.

___ This war is Worth killing and maiming our best and brightest.

___ It's worth empty place settings at holidays and pews in Sundays

___It's worth crushing families and ruining the lives of children and spouses

___It's worth the murder,mayhem and horror that my armed forces will have to face.

___I have exhausted all options and war is the only answer

___No one in government will be able to profit from this war.

___ I would gladly volunteer my own children to be sacrificed for this cause.

___I have served in the armed forces to my fullest capacity and with honor.

____ History will look back on this war as just and righteous.

___I want to kill the enemy, ruin their country, leave families broken and battered and bring untold misery to millions if innocent citizens.

Last He should read Mark Twain's "The War Prayer".

It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and sputtering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spreads of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country and invoked the God of Battles, beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpouring of fervid eloquence which moved every listener.
It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety's sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came-next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their faces alight with material dreams-visions of a stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender!-then home from the war, bronzed heros, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation -- "God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest, Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!"

Then came the "long" prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was that an ever--merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory -

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher's side and stood there, waiting.

With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal,"Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!"

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside -- which the startled minister did -- and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said

"I come from the Throne-bearing a message from Almighty God!" The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. "He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd and grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import-that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of-except he pause and think.

"God's servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two- one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of His Who hearth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this-keep it in mind. If you beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor's crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

"You have heard your servant's prayer-the uttered part of it. I am commissioned by God to put into words the other part of it-that part which the pastor, and also you in your hearts, fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. The whole of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory-must follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God the Father fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle-be Thou near them! With them, in spirit, we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with their little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it-for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

(After a pause)

"Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits."

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said.

_____ Check Here

________________________________________________________

Sign /Date

Am I Old or Are You Young.

I can't wait for college to start my daughter told me last summer. I was sitting out on the bac kdeck with her just talking and hanging out. Why?, it's really no big deal Emmy..Dad she said " are you kidding me". SO I began to come to terms with the fact that my little girl was going to college, but more importantly leaving the nest and finding her way in the world.

Risky Business

October 28th, 2007

Today was the most dangerous day on the water I have had since I was a young and reckless kid and quite frankly I consider myself lucky to be alive. It all started when I made plans to go fishing for striper today at the Narrow River Inlet. I arrived at my boat in Point Judith and noticed that it was not blowing 5-10 knots like the marine forecast said but was 10-15 knots with gusts to 20. I listened to the marine forecast on the boat at it looked like I would be okay once I got Point Judith Light into Narragansett Bay.

My gut told me not to go that the wind was strong and was going to increase but I decided to go anyway. The flags were straight out and flapping hard. However I was feeling frustrated as the last two times I took the day to go fishing I never left the harbor because to was so rough. This time I am going out. Leaving the harbor of refuge the breakers we pretty big but not that bad, I rocked and rolled until I got around the Point Judith Light house and then it was down hill sled ridding all the way to the Narrow River Inlet.

When I got there the Coast Guard was on site because a fellow fisherman was flipped right out of his boat and had been rescued by another vessel. That made me a little concerned. I got out my gear and started to fish. The weather just got worse by the half hour. I thought lets just catch a couple of keepers and get the hell out of here. I wanted to stay because this was my last trip of the year. Boats were beginning to peel off and leave a hour and a half later I decided to blow dodge. I set course back to Point Judith and was taking some monster waves, this is where I screwed up…I have a safe mooring in Newport Harbor and another at Prudence Island, however the car was at Point Judith so it is there I must go.

When I got my captains license they drilled into your head it is not one thing that sinks a vessel it is a sequence of events that does the job. This was my sequence. The waves were steep and short sets. The wind was howling out of the South West with gusts I guessed up to 30 knots or so.. I smashed off a wave and the speaker for my radio exploded and landed at my feet…now I can not hear the radio. In order to hear over the internal speaker I have to remove the plug at the back of the radio, which is tucked into my overhead T-top locker and virtually inaccessible.. Okay for now because I am okay and It is too rough to do. One hand on the wheel and one for myself. Next the zip down windshield on by T-Top broke over the summer, that was something I planed on fixing during the off season. The waves were now crashing over the bow and the spray was hitting me in the face blinding me as it fogs my glasses up. My head is soaking wet, no hat and I am getting cold… Next my PFD is at home in the garage as it went off over the summer and I was eventually going to recharge it, but had not.. so no PFD and few life vests are on the boat but I can’t get to them easily as they are in the bow locker, I do have a throwing device which at this point give me little comfort. Next I have my dog on the boat, he is a distraction, he is small and I can not see him, I have too look around to make sure he is okay, he is not. At this point he is catatonic and drooling smashed into the rear of the boat pinned to the stern rail by the cooler. As we go off a huge wave and crash into the trough two things happen A the dog flies about 4 feet into the air and my glasses go flying off and into the sea. I can still see but everything is a little blurry. At this point I am a ½ mile North of the light I stop the boat and check out the dog he is messed up. I tie him to the boat and try to calm him. I slow the boat to about 9 knots and hope to ride it out and slowly head for the harbor.

A serious problem develops as the boat is heavy in the stern and sits low. In the stern as the waves pick the front of the boat up the stern settles and takes water over the motor mount bracket, which in turn drains out the one stern baler I have open since I blocked the other 3 with wooden pegs so she would not take water through the stoppers when I have a few people on the boat. So the water is now pouring into the bilge and the pump is going nonstop. At least I have a manual pump, if I should need it. But oh yeah the hose fell inot the ocean in rough weather because I was hand pumping the fish boxes out as the macerator pump was vapor locked. Something I was going to fix at the dock but never got to it. At this point going back to Newport pops into my head as it is downwind and once I get by Beaver Tail and tuck into Castle Hill I am home free. But that is miles in the wrong direction and I am only a mile and a half from the Harbor of Refuge. I decided to go for it. I am very close ,so I hit the gas and get through the last ½ mile then turn the corner as I turn I look back to the dog and it happens. A huge set of waves hit the boat broadside and tips her on her starboard side, My body slips and now I am hanging by the wheel with my torso over the side as the next wave hits the boat. my legs are still inside the boat pressed up against the gunnels. . I can not let go of the wheel to throttle back because I will most certainly fall into the sea and drown and I can not turn the wheel to nose back into the next wave because I have no leverage. The last wave hits the boat and we slide down again broad side. The boat levels and I get back in behind the wheel. Very carefully and very focused I pick my way into the break wall opening and live to fight another day.

Once I get into the dock the dog starts to rebound, he was very frightened it took him a few minutes to reset himself. When he got off the dock he took off for the hills and I spent 20 minutes chasing him.. he wanted no part of me. I guess he is smarter than I thought.. He slept all the way home and is now okay but he thinks I am an idiot, he may be right.

So what the hell happened a lot of stuff did and lot of petty stuff that did not concern me as it happened but combined with the seas and weather almost got me killed. I very well could have drowned today over a poor decision coupled with a distracting dog and not addressing a few minor maintenance issues. So as it sit here with 8 lives left I thank God for not drowning me and feel pretty lucky today. I am going to hug my wife and kids and have a tall scotch with ice and keep an eye on the dog as he is probably planning on finishing the job I started.

A Dark, Bleak, Dreary, Sad, Defeated Wednesday.

a death in the neighborhood

It is raining still, a dreary, spiteful little rain that refuses to stop. It is late and dark, the rain masks the light glowing from the parlor with a veil of sadness. The air is heavy and dank. Everything is wet and gives the impression that it will remain so for eternity. The man walks across the street, careful of the cars that cruise by like ghosts, headlights dim from the fog on this weary night. He trudges one step in front of the other, walking slowly, a man carrying a heavy load. As he walks up the stairs into the parlor each step draws him down into himself, he is being crushed by the circumstance of this visit like a diver that has gone too deep. The weight of the situation pushing in from all sides, he can’t seem to breath right, ever breath an effort every step an effort. The front door looms before him, it is red of all colors and seems strangely out of place. The door is a sentry holding in all the emotion of what lies inside. He sees the faces on the other side of the glass, sad, grim, shocked. The door has a brass handle, he knows as he turns the handle this is Pandora’s box, all the sadness, brutality and hopelessness lies on the other side of that door. Yet still he turns the handle, holding his breath, his last act before the truth is confirmed.

He slowly enters the parlor, it feels like he is forcing himself into the room, slowly he goes. The sadness and hopeless parts like a fog then envelopes him wholly, he is now in the room, one of them, truth confirmed. The room is crowded, however he seems to connect with each person singularly, as they share the same burden, the same way. I know their eyes tell, it hurts, it is sad, it is a horror. He looks down at the floor unable and unwilling to make contact with anyone. The burden is personal, a weight on the soul, all happiness flees and he moves forward towards the body, it is a small journey.

He kneels in front of the coffin, so close to death. The young man lies there, eyes closed, hands clasped, an angel without wings. He remembers this was once a boy who rode his bike and wore black framed glasses and had brown hair. He had a dog or two and was nice to the adults and they liked him. He remembers his own fondness for the boy, who would build towers and bridges out of the old bricks stored in the back yard behind the dog house. The boy told the man that he wanted to build things when he grew up, bridges, buildings, roads. He was a typical boy, rough and tumble, bikes and hero’s , mom and dad.

He prays for the boy, for his soul, for redemption. His prayer is weak and undetermined. He can’t force the words through his mind. Can’t find the thoughts that make the words. Can’t calm himself from the horror of what is in front of him. He hears the boys parents slightly off to the right whimpering, he gives up on the prayer and rises to meet them. They are dazed and worn, souls ripped apart, a lifetime of healing will not repair them. He drapes his arm around the shoulders of the man. Brutal is all he can say, that is all that will come out. A single word, uttered without thought, slipping out of his mouth like a cat through the door. He looks into the man’s eyes and they are red and full of tears, his face a mask of pain, failure, hopelessness. This is a pain he cannot attempt to heal. He moves on to the woman. She is broken, crushed, defeated. Her beauty is gone, what makes her a woman now challenged by the ugliness of what has happened. The man can not bear to be near her, her hopelessness, real and visceral sucking the very essence from his being. The boy’s sister grabs the man sinking her head into his chest, she wails in agony clutching his shirt with trembling hands, her tears stain his shirt, their wetness shocks him. He gently kisses the top of her head ,saying nothing, there is nothing to say. All has been said in that moment. He gently pushes her away and steps to the side, he sees that she is pregnant; he hopes it will be a boy. Next to her is her husband whom the man has never met. The greet each other awkwardly, each acknowledging the personal nature of what has occurred. The man steps back, turns and heads for the door. He looks up and around the room, people are talking in hushed tones, in little groups. An older couple sits away from the crowd, holding hands and crying softly. He sees a few young people, they look confused, unbelieving. There is no joy, no hope in that parlor, only despair, disbelief and hopelessness. He moves towards the exit quick and with purpose, acknowledging no one, he shuts the door behind him, firmly. Pandora’s box slammed shut, too late. He looks across the street and sees nothing. His mind is blank, moving forward, away from the nightmare he steps down the street, glad to be putting time and distance from what he has witnessed.

He starts to walk slowly, his mind begins to focus again, he feels like he is coming alive again, his soul coming back from that dark retreat. He tries to take meaning from what he has seen, there is none. The boy, lost and alone, haunted by mental illness, has taken his own life. He sees the boy’s younger, happier face in his mind. Black framed glasses with specks of dirt and leaves in the lenses, dirty little hands holding a brick as he builds his castles. A look of determination and purpose, of happiness and being. What horrors of the mind took this boy to that dark place, that place where all hope has vanished, all purpose erased. The boy a pathetic shell of what he was to become. The battle between life and death pitched back and forth both sides presenting their evidence. The boy to decide his own fate, feet on the ladder, noose around his neck. What final thought did he have was it one of peace or horror, death or new life.

The man mourns the boy, his life was just beginning, a sunrise ended by an early night. The darkness is deep, the dawn comes again grey and still raining spitefully. There is no reason for this, no deeper purpose, no meaning to be learned, no life to be celebrated, no thoughts to be cherished. It is a cold and brutal death. The boy’s life will be remembered as one lived in vain, extinguished by his own hand. The man will remember the boy from time to time holding that brick, glasses black framed, hands dirty, purpose in his eyes. He will wonder why and what may have been. Then he will feel a little older, a little wearier and a little sadder. The purpose and the meaning will never be found, all that remains is a a wall with that one brick missing, the wall can never be repaired, the missing brick irreplaceable. As time goes by the brick will be less and less noticeable to the man, however it will still be gone never to return, no days in the sun, no cool nights under the moon. The brick is gone and that is the end of it. The boy holding the brick he took with him, ripped from the wall and carried away into the darkness, his little dirty hand holding it tightly, his eyes peering from black framed glasses. His battle is over and everyone has lost.

A Greatfull Tuesday

Each day passes and life goes on. We work, play, laugh and love. Time slowly creeps by girlfriends become wives, children go from babies to toddlers, to tween, teens and adults. Little daughters that needed daddy to reach the top shelf in the closet go to college and come home well on their way to adulthood. Little boys who wanted to play army and matchbox now play high school football, listen to awful music and grow tall then strong. I am great full for the simple gifts in life, family and great wife, good friends.

I was just standing at the sink looking at the bottom the stainless steel. Just washing dishes in my home. My daughter is on the train coming home from college. I wash, she waits. Sniffing at my leg is Riley our dog a rambunctious shelte that lives for today, don't all dogs. Evan is at school, Maryanne at work. I am on my way to work too. I stood there smiling looking out the window and felt joy and happyness. How did I get here. I really don't know. John Lennon said that life is what happens while we plan our plans and dream our dreams. Life what a blast. Everyone gets one. Enjoy it.

This Thanksgiving look around the table, these are your people each one special in there own way. You are specail to, be glad and give thanks for all you have.

A Lazy Sunday

We are all just floating around the house. Having been able to avoid going to church by the narrowest of margins. As usual my wife Maryanne a resolute Catholic begins the countdown for the family. Thirty minutes to church, the three of us Evan my 13 year old son, Emily my 16 year old daughter wince as her voice carries throughout the our house. The count down carries on every 10 minutes or so till its time to get into the car, that is when I leap from my bed newspapers flying off me creating my own paper tornado. I quickly rally as do the kids as we run downstairs to the waiting car, my wife already in her front passenger seat, a big smile on her face as we pile in. But wait a problem, Evan is dressed like he rolled out of a cot at the local homeless shelter. I bellow at him, "Evan get upstairs and put some nice clothes on. Dammit." He does this about every other week or so. It is his way of sticking to the man or mom in this case. He sloooowly ambles up into the house upstairs to his room, into the closet to look for his "nice" pants. He finally comes back to the car after agonizing minutes of me beeping the horn, Maryanne and I discussing leaving him home and making him go to a later Mass, thus missing his base ball game. Finally he comes to the car, with a big smile that turns instantly mellows us both out, like a day at the beach, and we leave for church.

As I drive to church I think of many things, how I love my family, how nice it is just the four of us driving in the car, with every ones schedule it is a rarity today. Then my thoughts shift to a darker side. Can I drive slow enough to miss the beginning of church, will we get a good parking spot or will we have to walk far. The parking lot at a Catholic Church after mass still has the look of the Roman part of Roman Catholic as drivers joust and feint and battle for early exit.

We get to church and of course no parking. We have to walk 3 miles or so it seems to the front of the church, my wife scurrying us along like a mother hen. We may have to stand in the back or split up she says. I will go left with Emily you go right with Evan we can signal each other by text message as each row is numbered. As we go up the stairs to enter the church, Maryanne spies little girls wearing white veils and little boys with ties. She turns to us alarmed. Its a communion mass! Of course, its May, 10:00 o'clock mass, tons of cars people everywhere. We turn and execute a tight roll like the Blue Angels at an air show. Bail,bail, bail bail... we head back for the car the three of us smiling, light hearted, happy. Maryanne is on the cell phone checking other churches. But the momentum is lost, we enter the car and drive home where the day begins. Evan has baseball , Emily is working, I am writing this blog and Maryanne just left for Mass. Where she will pray for our souls, especially mine.