We’re in the midst of turning over a new leaf here in the LightHouse. The other day, LightGirl announced that she rather preferred her friend’s home which was neat, tidy **and** artsy to ours, which is just sort of cluttery, but we do have a fabulous mural on one wall.
This is the long way of saying that I’m trying to go grocery shopping with some regularity these days. I’m trying to prepare dinner each evening and have the menus planned ahead of time with the food on hand. This seems simple and ordinary. I used to do this as a matter of course, but we’ve fallen out of the habit. So we’re relearning old ways.
All of this lead me to the grocery store this morning and a short wait in line. I’m not the best waiter-in-line there ever was and there was a very sweet elderly couple in front of me who required extra patience. So I began to peruse the magazine covers. This one caught my eye:
This is a tiny image and I apologize, but the headline reads: Failing Our Wounded. I itched to purchase the magazine, but reasoned that I can read the article on-line. Then continued in my head with, I don’t want to … it will only make me bitter. Rather it will continue the bitterness that I have carried for years. The Army and armed forces in general is a war machine that disposes of it’s parts that are no longer useful. It spits them out like a shark does it’s worn out teeth. New sharp teeth spring up to replace them and the shark swims on without realizing or caring about the teeth that have since fallen to the ocean’s bottom. This is appropriate in the life of a shark. Afterall, teeth are not life forms. In the words of the immortal Big Bird, they do not eat or breath or grow.
It is not so appropriate when we are speaking of humans. One of those humans happens to be my husband. Several thousand of them happen to be the young men and women who are serving or did serve in Iraq. Machines which are powered by humans cannot be treated like machines. We must find a different way to accomodate their wounds, fear and grief.
As I stood there looking at the magazine rack attempting to overcome my bitterness and rage, I noticed something else. This magazine looked like a black eye in the midst of partying Rome. The rest of the magazine cover stories had to do with pain too. But it was pain of a different sort. It was the pain of drug and alcohol abuse of celebrities. The pain of post-partum depression in celebrities. Washingtonian magazine was hawking Home Design. Several magazines were offering tips to reduce weight and sizes (get better abs, etc.).
When I’m out driving around I see plenty of cars with the yellow ribbon magnets on them proclaiming devotion to the needs of our troops.
But just exactly how are we supporting our troops? I thought about that as I looked at the magazines there on the rack. I thought about radically the lives of our troops have changed and how little mine has. My life has changed not at all since we went to war. The price of gas has gone up. Once in a while I make a quilt for the wounded soldiers to show my support. But I think about the stories the LightMother tells me of the sacrifices that were made on the homefront to support the war effort during WWI and WWII and I wonder just what we could actually do to dig down deep and really support our troops? What could we give to make sure that they are supported in the field? What could we do to make sure they have the appropriate medical care when they are wounded? What are we doing, as a country at war, to support our troops?
