The wifey got an email from her best girlfriend in the unit that she would be picking up her husband (my friend and roommate at Camp Eggers) late last night. They have a little girl who has missed her daddy. No more! May they and the family families who enjoy this unexpected joy today have a blessed and memorable time together.
I enjoyed my own little many Thanksgiving after a six mile hill run last night, compliments of my wife. I replenished with my typical carton of milk, as well as some newly arrived, protein-laden "Turkey Jerky" and an all-natural "Cashew Cookie" Larabar. The good life.
For the first time in a long time, I got to sleep in today. Like a dummy, I set my alarm for 0800 in order to make breakfast chow before it closed. I realized my mistake when I work up and adjusted my alarm for 0900, but it was too late. My body is conditioned to start pumping adrenaline as soon as I wake up in order to get jump into the day. I still missed breakfast due to my futile attempt to go back to sleep, but I compensated for that by drinking a few packets of Maple and Brown Sugar Cream of Wheat from a giant coffee cup.
I looked at the menu for our special meal today. I don't care about turkey, potatoes, stuffing, or pie. All I noticed, with East Coast-induced tunnel vision, was "shrimp cocktail." I'm skeptical. When they serve shrimp of "surf and turf" night each week, it's fried. Rumor is that frying the seafood covers up the frozen/re-heated taste. If the shrimp looks legit, you can expect several rounds of "More, please." It'll be the deployment equivalent of Oliver Twist.
Tomorrow, I will bask in the grizzly aftermath of my overindulgent culinary binge by enjoying the even more popular American holiday, Black Friday. I noticed that Barnes and Noble will have a 50% off deal on some of their book sets. I plan to claim a couple of said book sets and retire thereafter into the parlour (by which I probably mean the wooden bench by the Gatorade-bottle fountain).
Later today, I will be conducting an informal Thanksgiving chapel service. I call it "informal" because I believe true worship services belong to the Lord's Day and not to any civil holiday. That said, it provides a useful, informal opportunity to encourage the saints and perhaps prick the hearts and minds of the unbelieving. I will teach (not preach) on Rev. 22:1-5 and the importance of giving thanks for future realities, which are just as real as anything we hold in our hands today.
As I sign off, I look around at my broom closet of an office, now cleared of an assistant and more organized and breathable. I look above my dual computers and see a German calendar, one month removed from its conclusion (and largely mine, here on this deployment. On the right side of the calendar, there are pictures of the last time I played with my boy down in Texas (he already had his daddy's goofy grin by then). On the left, there are two hand prints from the daughter of our good friends in Colorado (the loud daughter, not the quiet one, who was probably meditating on something substantive during that time). Just underneath the hand prints is a small, stuffed moo cow holding a sign that says "Eat Mor Chikin."
I turn to the right, past my three shelves of books, to my one open widow. More pictures of wife and baby surround the window, as well as a number of counseling pamphlets. A Washington Redskins basketball hoop is stuck to the center of the window (I know, they play football). Now I turn to the back of the room, where my extra-small body armor hangs upon the wall. I love that it's so small, so that I can still move around like a ninja. Next to the armor is a facsimile Michelangelo painting of Adam's creation leftover from my wife's college dorm room. It covers my other window, which illuminates it with light during the day. Below it hangs an empty, solitary stocking where my assistant's body armor used to hang.
Turning to the final wall, I look upon two more shelves of books. My assistant's old "desk" is now adorned with a two foot tall Christmas tree, sent from a veteran and VFW member who has deluged us with decorations with the support of his fellow vets. On the wall above the tree is a Washington Redskins folder, which almost mocks me with taunts of a wasted season and not even a top draft pick to show for it. Next to the tree (which has cool, color-changing LED tips on the bristles) is a bag of candy for soldiers, packed by elementary school students in New Jersey.
Between the bag of candy and the tree is a scrolling picture frame, where I can enjoy pictures of Malawi, my proposal to the Mrs., crazy college days, and the arrival of the little one. There are also a bunch of pictures of me from when I was little, taken from a slideshow given at our wedding rehearsal. I'm not sure my mom realizes that several of the pictures were not actually me, but my younger brother. I've had several "Wait a second!" moments when looking at the picture that are supposedly me.
Finally, resting against the base of my tree, is a large index card with a little green baby hand print on it. That gross, spittle-covered hand will be touching my face in a couple of short months. I will love it (and then will wash my face). Until then, little Jack Jack's hand greets me and bids me come home.
