I drove to Greeneville this morning to have the Nissan dealership discover the source of what we believe to be belt noise. After they looked the Pathfinder over they told me that I needed two new belts, an alternator shaft pulley, possibly a crankshaft pulley, and that my wheel bearings need to be re-packed. We’ve been careful to perform all the necessary maintenance on this vehicle since we bought it in 2001. Still, mechanical parts wear out and I’d rather not have failure occur on the road. There are long stretches between here and there with no cell service and no shoulders to pull off onto. We were hoping for a simple belt replacement. But this is still less expensive than a breakdown. Sometime next week, I’ll plan on spending the day at the dealership while they make the necessary repairs. We have medical appointments on Tuesday and Wednesday. Here’s hoping that everything holds together until we get this repaired.
Tomorrow is Veterans’ Day. I hate the lack of regard for our veterans that the day demonstrates. Over the weekend I noted ads for several appliance and one mattress sale. Today’s paper was filled with fliers and inserts for local clothing and household stores.
I’m so grateful that I was able to wear my country’s uniform in defense of car dealers who honor such service by flying flags that consist of more canvas than a squad GP tent or the cover for a deuce and ½. I ever so thankful that my service and that of my comrades-in-arms is recognized by refrigerator and mattress sales. Tomorrow, veterans of our various wars will work while people who never wore the nation’s uniform will not recognize the veterans who work alongside them.
Far worse to think about is the horrible fact that many veterans are homeless and unemployed
According to the National Coalition for Homeless Veterans, “no one keeps national records on homeless veterans -- the VA estimates that 131,000 veterans are homeless on any given night. And approximately twice that many experience homelessness over the course of a year”
In a nation filled with empty apartment complexes, vacant strip malls, out of business diners and restaurants, there is no justification for allowing any veteran of our wars to be homeless or hungry. Yet every night finds thousands of our veterans sleeping on cardboard or in appliance boxes on city streets. They gather under bridges and overpasses for shelter and create campgrounds where they can find some semblance of community and protection from people who would harm them or rob them of the little they possess.
I won’t argue the reasons for homeless veterans. Some of it is due to mental illness, some due to problems that have little to do with time in service. Some of them suffer with PTSD. Some can be rescued and rehabilitated. Some will never be anyone but who they are today.
That this many, that any of our veterans, are homeless is a national disgrace. Rather than cite statistics, I’ll provide you this link and ask you to follow it. Then, if you can, write your legislators, asking them to become involved. They seem to have no problem deploying troops. But providing care for them after they are broken and used up is something Congress never remembers to do unless pushed.
http://www.nchv.org/background.cfm
Tomorrow is Veterans’ Day. Don’t visit any store flying a flag the size of a football field or holding a sale for fashion items. (4% of the homeless veterans are women). Instead, find some way to help get the veterans in your community off the streets, out of cardboard boxes. They don’t need a parade, they don’t need another round of speeches in a cemetery by those of us who were lucky enough to come home and not wind up homeless. They need a government that cares as much about them today as it promised them it would years ago. That starts with you and me. Those of us who served and those of you who didn’t, we need to remind our legislators that we are the government, we the people who fund it with taxes and support it with our bodies and futures. We need to remind Congress that the obligation to our veterans never ends.
Tomorrow is Veterans’ Day.
Bullwinkle’s Corner
Requiem 3 Voices in the Wall
See them walking halting to the wall,
Hope pinned on their faces, faces drawn and white.
They come for healing, for surcease from doubt and grief.
Standing in the dark reflection, see them fight,
See them wrestle with emotion see them lose,
See the years-old layers shatter in the hard reflected light,
That pours from all the names written on the wall
See the strongest of them stand and start to sway,
Watch their vision cycle swiftly back across the years,
See the faithful drop down on their knees to pray,
See the strong ones as they crumble and their eyes brim full of tears,
See them asking for forgiveness; see them trying not to falter,
See them choking on their memories and remembering their fears,
In the presence of the names written on the wall.
Hear the popping of the flag in the wind,
The muted driving anthem that all of them fought under,
How it drove them forward unsuspecting,
Programmed from their birthrights not to wonder,
Whether cause was righteous, or if it was a blunder,
That wrote the many thousand names written on the wall
See their trembling fingers touch the stone,
As they find an ancient agony, a single graven name,
Of a child or friend or lover taken from them out of time,
See their twitching faces as they try to fix the blame,
For the loss that changed their lives and fates,
The answer echoes back again,
Silence from the names in stone written on the wall.
See survivors who are left to carry on alone,
Children come to find a father they have never known,
Parents, seeking children, lost a lifetime's years ago,
Finding solace gazing at the somber reach of stone,
Think of the pasts that might have been,
Thinking of the varied futures that they might have known,
Asking, seeking answers from the names graved in the wall.
And the things they leave behind them tell a story all their own,
Single roses, silver medals, photos dimmed and cracked by age.
Letters washed with teardrops, speaking volumes 'cross the decades,
Scream like jets of sleepless nights, of loneliness, of rage,
Tell of dislocation, empty days, going on alone,
A generation's saga on a single wrinkled page,
But no answer issues from the names upon the wall.
See them leaning on each other as they leave,
See the changes in their faces as they leave the shouting stone.
Tourists come by busloads, taking pictures for their albums,
And the victims of the conflict come in pairs or come alone.
To remember those who stayed behind, who failed to come away,
A million different reasons, pilgrims coming one-by-one,
Hear the voices of them all calling softly from the wall,
"Please remember us,
There is no other answer hidden here"
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