Energy Bars
Tobacco products
Squirt Guns
Comfort Items
Cookies
Use flat rate boxes-
Declare: Find out if you can send tobacco legally before declaring it.
Alcohol is illegal as are pork products. If you send contraband... you could get them in trouble.
Spam and vodka are probably not the greatest idea--
Please add any suggestions-
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Home Front: Hate the war? Love the warrior from the Ahwatukee Foothills
June 19, 2007 - 2:49PM
HOME FRONT: Hate the war? Love the warrior
Commentary By Missy Martin
Last week I traveled to Fort Polk, La., to see my brother Mike, and the rest of the 7th Chemical Company, off to war. For the next 15 months they’ll log miles all over Iraq, providing convoy security. Mike’s job is to drive a Humvee while a gunner mans the 50-caliber machine gun mounted on top of the truck. Their buddy in the passenger seat will lookout for assorted threats. It’s no secret that Iraq’s roads are the most dangerous in the world; roadside bombs account for the vast majority of troop casualties.
The guys in Mike’s company are actually chemical operations specialists, trained to detect nuclear, chemical and biological agents in the air and on the ground. They could argue that “convoy security” is not in their job description. But soldiers do what’s asked of them. They’re a special kind – people who voluntarily give up their liberties and put their lives on the line for the benefit of others.
Regardless of our feelings about the war, I think we all should cherish our warriors.
Some of the soldiers I met at Fort Polk talked about how they’ve been personally touched by the kindness of strangers. Even though polls show that most Americans oppose the war, it doesn’t stop people they don’t know from approaching them in public places, patting them on the back and offering to buy them something like a burger or soda to show appreciation for their service.
Perhaps no one supports our troops like the folks in Bangor, Maine (www.mainetroopgreeters.com). The Bangor airport is often the last stop on American soil for military planes heading oversees, and the first stop for troops returning from war. Ever since the first Gulf War in 1991, Bangor residents have made it their mission to greet every unit that comes through – often in the middle of the night. They offer food, the use of phones and overwhelming gratitude. Mike’s plane stopped in Bangor on June 5. He called me from the airport and confirmed that indeed the soldiers were thunderously greeted like rock stars.
Some of the soldiers, including Mike, said the celebrity-like attention embarrasses them. They don’t see themselves as special – they’re just doing their job, they say. But I think they deserve the love and more.
Especially when there are people out there, like the real celebrity Rosie O’Donnell, who just as thunderously dole out undeserved hate. Recently, she smeared our troops by implying that they’re terrorists. It’s her right to say whatever she wants – it was earned through the sacrifice of veterans – but she has no insight to judge the intent on every soldier’s heart and mind. She’s the one who should feel embarrassed.
Some people excuse Rosie because she donates oodles of money to children’s charities, a loving act indeed, though not a sacrifice when you’re rich like her. I’m more impressed by the folks who reach into their pocket for a couple of bucks to buy a soldier a cup of coffee. Like soldiers, these kinds of people are pretty special too.
Missy Martin is an 11-year Ahwatukee Foothills resident, mother of three and editor of Bombshells: War Stories and Poems by Women on the Homefront. Her brother, U.S. Army Specialist Michael Dunn, is a graduate of Arizona State University. He can be contacted at Mike Dunn 7th Chem – APO AE09327.
HOME FRONT: Hate the war? Love the warrior
Commentary By Missy Martin
Last week I traveled to Fort Polk, La., to see my brother Mike, and the rest of the 7th Chemical Company, off to war. For the next 15 months they’ll log miles all over Iraq, providing convoy security. Mike’s job is to drive a Humvee while a gunner mans the 50-caliber machine gun mounted on top of the truck. Their buddy in the passenger seat will lookout for assorted threats. It’s no secret that Iraq’s roads are the most dangerous in the world; roadside bombs account for the vast majority of troop casualties.
The guys in Mike’s company are actually chemical operations specialists, trained to detect nuclear, chemical and biological agents in the air and on the ground. They could argue that “convoy security” is not in their job description. But soldiers do what’s asked of them. They’re a special kind – people who voluntarily give up their liberties and put their lives on the line for the benefit of others.
Regardless of our feelings about the war, I think we all should cherish our warriors.
Some of the soldiers I met at Fort Polk talked about how they’ve been personally touched by the kindness of strangers. Even though polls show that most Americans oppose the war, it doesn’t stop people they don’t know from approaching them in public places, patting them on the back and offering to buy them something like a burger or soda to show appreciation for their service.
Perhaps no one supports our troops like the folks in Bangor, Maine (www.mainetroopgreeters.com). The Bangor airport is often the last stop on American soil for military planes heading oversees, and the first stop for troops returning from war. Ever since the first Gulf War in 1991, Bangor residents have made it their mission to greet every unit that comes through – often in the middle of the night. They offer food, the use of phones and overwhelming gratitude. Mike’s plane stopped in Bangor on June 5. He called me from the airport and confirmed that indeed the soldiers were thunderously greeted like rock stars.
Some of the soldiers, including Mike, said the celebrity-like attention embarrasses them. They don’t see themselves as special – they’re just doing their job, they say. But I think they deserve the love and more.
Especially when there are people out there, like the real celebrity Rosie O’Donnell, who just as thunderously dole out undeserved hate. Recently, she smeared our troops by implying that they’re terrorists. It’s her right to say whatever she wants – it was earned through the sacrifice of veterans – but she has no insight to judge the intent on every soldier’s heart and mind. She’s the one who should feel embarrassed.
Some people excuse Rosie because she donates oodles of money to children’s charities, a loving act indeed, though not a sacrifice when you’re rich like her. I’m more impressed by the folks who reach into their pocket for a couple of bucks to buy a soldier a cup of coffee. Like soldiers, these kinds of people are pretty special too.
Missy Martin is an 11-year Ahwatukee Foothills resident, mother of three and editor of Bombshells: War Stories and Poems by Women on the Homefront. Her brother, U.S. Army Specialist Michael Dunn, is a graduate of Arizona State University. He can be contacted at Mike Dunn 7th Chem – APO AE09327.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Hard to Read...
Hey Everyone! I was starting to think that I was posting a little too much on here...and I certainly don't want to become annoying. However, I am a little lonely I will admit and it is so nice to have this place to post my thoughts and have other people who understand read them! I have to thank Jesse and Missy for creating this blog and allowing me an outlet.
What I wanted to discuss was the book. I was able to sit down and actually read the book the other day. After about 2 pieces in, I was finding it very difficult. I found myself getting really choked up. I don't know if it is because I know how each and everyone of these women feel or just because I miss my husband terribly? I just wondered if any of the other writers find it hard to read each individual piece? They are all amazing, and touch me deeply.
What I wanted to discuss was the book. I was able to sit down and actually read the book the other day. After about 2 pieces in, I was finding it very difficult. I found myself getting really choked up. I don't know if it is because I know how each and everyone of these women feel or just because I miss my husband terribly? I just wondered if any of the other writers find it hard to read each individual piece? They are all amazing, and touch me deeply.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
The Ultimate Question
In the last week, my husband and I, although he is far away, have been faced with the ultimate decision. To stay in or not to stay in? While he still has approximately 3 years in, we have started to contemplate our options.
This is a harder decision than I would have thought. Surprisingly we are on completely different sides of the fence, and they aren't the sides you would think. He wants out, especially right now. He isn't liking carrier life, or being stationed overseas. No one likes deployment, that is not surprising, but he is getting fed up with being away from home.
I of course want him here more than anything, but when I consider the idea in the long run, I have mixed feelings. The military has provided us with great stability and benefits that you do not see often in other careers. I don't like being away from him, but at the same time I like knowing that we will be supported and almost always know where we stand. I am in no way opposed to the idea of moving around the world with my husband! It sounds like fun to me.
I don't know if this is something that a lot of families struggle with because i've only been living in this world for about 2 years. This is all new to me. I don't want us to make the wrong decision because I am scared about what the real world may bring...but then again we could be living in the real thing right now. We might be living in a world that no one else could even begin to understand...
I'm not looking for answers, just looking to find some people who understand where i'm coming from.
This is a harder decision than I would have thought. Surprisingly we are on completely different sides of the fence, and they aren't the sides you would think. He wants out, especially right now. He isn't liking carrier life, or being stationed overseas. No one likes deployment, that is not surprising, but he is getting fed up with being away from home.
I of course want him here more than anything, but when I consider the idea in the long run, I have mixed feelings. The military has provided us with great stability and benefits that you do not see often in other careers. I don't like being away from him, but at the same time I like knowing that we will be supported and almost always know where we stand. I am in no way opposed to the idea of moving around the world with my husband! It sounds like fun to me.
I don't know if this is something that a lot of families struggle with because i've only been living in this world for about 2 years. This is all new to me. I don't want us to make the wrong decision because I am scared about what the real world may bring...but then again we could be living in the real thing right now. We might be living in a world that no one else could even begin to understand...
I'm not looking for answers, just looking to find some people who understand where i'm coming from.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Scroll down
New Pic of Mike in Missy's piece from below-
Also, don't miss the Memorial day contribution from syndicated columnist Debra LoGuercio!
Also, don't miss the Memorial day contribution from syndicated columnist Debra LoGuercio!
Sometimes the deepest wounds can't be seen- a Memorial Day Tribute
Because I Say So
May 24, 2007
Debra LoGuercio
Sometimes the deepest wounds can’t be seen
On Memorial Day, we (hopefully) pause to honor those who’ve served our country, in particular, those whose lives were cut short in a visible way. Like returning home in a body bag. Or not at all.
Thankfully, most returned home in relatively better shape, scarred or missing limbs, and we honor them too. But what about those wounded in ways that can’t be seen? In some ways, those are the hardest wounds to heal.
My father suffered one of those wounds. He went into World War II as a second lieutenant, straight out of Bordentown military school, graduating at the top of his class and fluent in five languages. He went out of the war via an extended stay in a US Army hospital in Germany, babbling like a child, barely able to write his own name. It’s amazing the effect seeing your entire unit being blown to bits will have on your mind.
My father rarely spoke of it. He once told me it happened in some building or warehouse, during the Battle of Normandy. They heard German planes coming and hit the ground. The ack-ack-ack of bullets shattered the building. When my dad looked up, every single soldier in his unit was dead or dying. Outlining the place where he lay were two rows of bullet holes. He wasn’t even scratched.
It was his first and only maneuver, and it ended in disaster. Seeing his unit slaughtered utterly traumatized him. At 18, he was unprepared for what he saw in France. You see, back in the 1940s, there were no gory war movies or video games to desensitize future soldiers to the sight of bullets exploding someone’s skull or a grenade turning a body to hamburger. They didn’t watch “Saving Private Ryan,” they lived it. Scraping your buddy’s intestines off your face can really do a number on your mind, long after you leave the battlefield.
Back then, they called it “Shell Shock.” Nowadays, we call it “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” – PTSD. Seems like in all this time, we could do better than come up with a label, like provide comprehensive psychological treatment for all veterans who’ve seen active duty. But in talking with soldiers who’ve recently returned from Iraq, it doesn’t seem like much has changed. No meaningful, intensive treatment for PTSD, just an honorable discharge, some pins on your chest and a shove toward the door to civilian life. Unless, of course, they can coerce you to reenlist first.
So, those with Shell Shock and PTSD muddle along as best they can. If they’re lucky, they learn to cope. My father wasn’t quite so lucky. True, he eventually “recovered” from Shell Shock (as far as the Army was concerned), and devoted himself to saving lives rather than taking them, and became a physician. On the exterior, all was well. The interior was another matter.
Years went by, he married, had kids, but his invisible wound continued to fester. He attempted to soothe it with alcohol, and was unable to recognize that ultimately, this only made it worse. As time went on, his thoughts and behavior became increasingly disturbed. He was consumed with the idea that enemies were perpetually after his family and it was his job to keep them at bay.
I vividly remember him coming into my room in the middle of the night and whispering, “Stay down. Keep quiet.” He’d close the door behind him and step down the hall. Soon, I’d hear his footsteps outside the window, slowly trudging around, and see his silhouette from the streetlight, his rifle at the ready. I chalked this bizarre behavior up to “alcoholic” or “paranoid” just plain “nuts.” It was only last year that someone snapped it into focus: “Don’t you see? He was still protecting his unit.” I felt like a lead weight was dropped onto my chest. For the first time in my life, I finally “got” him. He spent his life obsessing; making sure his “unit” didn’t meet the same fate as his first.
Was my dad’s wound disabling? Absolutely. Was his life cut short? Positively. Was his invisible wound ever acknowledged? No. You don’t get a Purple Heart for a wounded mind.
So, this Memorial Day, remembering the fallen. Remember the wounded. Rather than scramble to the mall to get that great deal on pillowcases, leave a flower on a soldier’s grave or say “thank you” to a veteran, even if he doesn’t have a wound you can see. Maybe particularly so.
May 24, 2007
Debra LoGuercio
Sometimes the deepest wounds can’t be seen
On Memorial Day, we (hopefully) pause to honor those who’ve served our country, in particular, those whose lives were cut short in a visible way. Like returning home in a body bag. Or not at all.
Thankfully, most returned home in relatively better shape, scarred or missing limbs, and we honor them too. But what about those wounded in ways that can’t be seen? In some ways, those are the hardest wounds to heal.
My father suffered one of those wounds. He went into World War II as a second lieutenant, straight out of Bordentown military school, graduating at the top of his class and fluent in five languages. He went out of the war via an extended stay in a US Army hospital in Germany, babbling like a child, barely able to write his own name. It’s amazing the effect seeing your entire unit being blown to bits will have on your mind.
My father rarely spoke of it. He once told me it happened in some building or warehouse, during the Battle of Normandy. They heard German planes coming and hit the ground. The ack-ack-ack of bullets shattered the building. When my dad looked up, every single soldier in his unit was dead or dying. Outlining the place where he lay were two rows of bullet holes. He wasn’t even scratched.
It was his first and only maneuver, and it ended in disaster. Seeing his unit slaughtered utterly traumatized him. At 18, he was unprepared for what he saw in France. You see, back in the 1940s, there were no gory war movies or video games to desensitize future soldiers to the sight of bullets exploding someone’s skull or a grenade turning a body to hamburger. They didn’t watch “Saving Private Ryan,” they lived it. Scraping your buddy’s intestines off your face can really do a number on your mind, long after you leave the battlefield.
Back then, they called it “Shell Shock.” Nowadays, we call it “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” – PTSD. Seems like in all this time, we could do better than come up with a label, like provide comprehensive psychological treatment for all veterans who’ve seen active duty. But in talking with soldiers who’ve recently returned from Iraq, it doesn’t seem like much has changed. No meaningful, intensive treatment for PTSD, just an honorable discharge, some pins on your chest and a shove toward the door to civilian life. Unless, of course, they can coerce you to reenlist first.
So, those with Shell Shock and PTSD muddle along as best they can. If they’re lucky, they learn to cope. My father wasn’t quite so lucky. True, he eventually “recovered” from Shell Shock (as far as the Army was concerned), and devoted himself to saving lives rather than taking them, and became a physician. On the exterior, all was well. The interior was another matter.
Years went by, he married, had kids, but his invisible wound continued to fester. He attempted to soothe it with alcohol, and was unable to recognize that ultimately, this only made it worse. As time went on, his thoughts and behavior became increasingly disturbed. He was consumed with the idea that enemies were perpetually after his family and it was his job to keep them at bay.
I vividly remember him coming into my room in the middle of the night and whispering, “Stay down. Keep quiet.” He’d close the door behind him and step down the hall. Soon, I’d hear his footsteps outside the window, slowly trudging around, and see his silhouette from the streetlight, his rifle at the ready. I chalked this bizarre behavior up to “alcoholic” or “paranoid” just plain “nuts.” It was only last year that someone snapped it into focus: “Don’t you see? He was still protecting his unit.” I felt like a lead weight was dropped onto my chest. For the first time in my life, I finally “got” him. He spent his life obsessing; making sure his “unit” didn’t meet the same fate as his first.
Was my dad’s wound disabling? Absolutely. Was his life cut short? Positively. Was his invisible wound ever acknowledged? No. You don’t get a Purple Heart for a wounded mind.
So, this Memorial Day, remembering the fallen. Remember the wounded. Rather than scramble to the mall to get that great deal on pillowcases, leave a flower on a soldier’s grave or say “thank you” to a veteran, even if he doesn’t have a wound you can see. Maybe particularly so.
Friday, May 25, 2007
The Wetting of the Stripes
Happy Memorial day. I will be signing books at Barnes and Noble of Alisa Viejo on Memorial Day and remembering the lives lost.... My many relatives and the many I never met.
Doc will visit Dupes grave. Missy will be on her way to see her brother off for re-deployment. Here are pics of the ceremony, The wetting of the Stripes. Please look it up if you can, it's an amazing ceremony. More pics when I get back! JL
Chris invited me to his ceremony to "pin" him in his new rank of Non Commissioned Officer: Sergeant. The ceremony dates back to Frederick the Great. In prior days, you pulled the sergeant stripes off if the dead sergeant, pinned yourself and moved on. The ceremony is now a bit more civilized.
Doc will visit Dupes grave. Missy will be on her way to see her brother off for re-deployment. Here are pics of the ceremony, The wetting of the Stripes. Please look it up if you can, it's an amazing ceremony. More pics when I get back! JL
Chris invited me to his ceremony to "pin" him in his new rank of Non Commissioned Officer: Sergeant. The ceremony dates back to Frederick the Great. In prior days, you pulled the sergeant stripes off if the dead sergeant, pinned yourself and moved on. The ceremony is now a bit more civilized.
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