It's Not Pretty But It's Home... For A While

A photo from last trip. Baghdad ballet students gather around their teacher.

I made it into Baghdad yesterday morning after a day and a half of traveling. Coming back to the villa is in some respects like coming home; I’ve spent so much time here over the last fifteen months or so. Few things have changed and the media guys are telling me that it’s been remarkably quiet over the past several weeks, some say that they’ve never seen it this calm.

To me there’s a sense of creeping progress, by that I mean that Iraq seems to take two steps forward and then one large step back. I see the signs of development and progress all around; thriving road-side shops, clean, well-dressed kids walking to school, families playing in the zoo or the park. Then, however, the heavily armed convoys roll past reminding me of where I am. Masked militia thundering around in police vehicles, siren screaming, and threatening people with a pointed weapon that don’t readily yield.

It’s not pretty and it’s far from what I would call normal, but it’s home for the next several weeks.

Back At It Again

Back at it again. I’ll be in Baghdad in 30 some-odd hours. Posts and photos soon to follow.

Memorial Day

Today is Memorial Day in the United States, the day when this nation’s war dead are officially honored. For those around the world who are unfamiliar with how it is celebrated I offer this brief description.

I grew up in New England, the northeastern part of the United States punctuated with small, agrarian towns and deep traditions. Memorial Day for us always began with a parade down the center of our tiny town, the procession being lead by serious looking veterans of past wars carrying the national and state flags. The then-aged veterans were gleefully followed by all manner of celebratory vehicles; fire trucks, riding lawn mowers, and little red wagons pulled by happy parents. The high school band was usually present along with the Girls Scouts and Boy Scouts. The parade normally ended in the town cemetery where a brief service near the grave of one of the town’s fallen and accompanied by a lone trumpeter playing Taps off in the distance under the huge oak tree.

When I was younger, marching in the high school band it all seemed like a fun prelude to summer vacation. Now, almost thirty years on, after twenty years of military service around the world, the day takes on a different significance. The young faces of the scouts and band members and glowing, smiling, and carefree. To them the day more of a celebration of up-coming school vacation, a time for shorts, swimming pools and ice-cold soda. They can’t comprehend the meaning that it holds for those serious men carrying the flags at the front of the parade. Nor do they fathom that in less time than they realize that it may be them carrying our nation’s colors, or who’s grave the precession stops at to observe a moment of silence on this special day.

The Reality Of The Moment

Early morning fog rises over an Atlanta neighborhood.

My wife and I sat out on the deck this morning over coffee, watching the sunrise through the Atlanta fog. She stared at the two groves of very rare, one year-old bamboo that we have lining our property and exclaimed, “I wish that I could see what this is going to look like in three years.” At that point our four year-old made his presence on the deck, and I began to think about my wife’s statement.

Would you be willing to leap ahead into the future, fast forward your life to get to an expected point? Can I just jump ahead a few years to when my son is already in school, or to the point when our back yard Japanese garden has taken full-form? I think that the answer is, no. Why? Because it doesn’t exist. The future is a myth, a construct of our minds, a dream, mist, nothing more.

There is no future, and for that matter there’s no past either. Neither exists. Doubt me? Then show them to me. The only thing that exists is right here, right now. I can close my eyes and feel it, it smells, it’s cold, it tastes bitter, it’s now. Nothing else exists outside of your mind. Don’t be fooled by this simple mind trick. Enjoy and live what you have here and now because in the flash of lightning it’s going to be gone and will never exist again.

The Terminator

Today I did a “disruptive employee termination”, not the funniest job I’ve ever done. I get called to watch over a company’s management team as it “terminates” an employee that may have the propensity for violence or aggression. These jobs are not very challenging, and rarely develop into anything dramatic.

I laughed a little today because this particular employee was a very small woman that looked like someone’s great aunt. I think having an armed, 6’ 6”, 215 lbs protective agent there was a little over-kill, but hey, who am I to say?

Pushing Away From The Inevitable

I’m traveling back to the Middle East again soon. I’ve been doing this now for over a year and my biggest regret is that I haven’t made more of an effort to learn Arabic. When I first arrived I was keen on hiring a local teacher to assist me a couple of times a week, but I was quickly overcome by other events and it never panned out. I cringe now when I think where I would be if I had pursued Arabic as I had originally planned.

The lesson for me has been not to put things off until I have time, and then never get around to them. Do it now because life is passing by and isn’t about to wait. I’ve been very aggressive about pursuing those things that interest me; being a good father, a good husband, a fair bagpipe player, a better than average athlete, a fledgling photographer, a competent medic, and the list goes on. There isn’t enough time for it all in a single day, but little by little I chip away, and improve.

I look at my 10 year-old son, Connor, just learning to play the bagpipes. In a few years he’s going to leave me in rolling in the dust with young, nimble fingers and lightning fast birls. I don’t stand a chance; I know that. Until then though, I’ll continue to work hard on all of those things, pushing the inevitable away just one day at a time.

The Struggle For Understanding

I’m not the best driver in the world; I’ll admit it, but I’ve probably had, however, more driver's training than 99.9 percent of the people on the roads. All of which has helped me recognize my limitations behind the wheel. Which makes me wonder how the twenty year-old kid that blew past me on the highway this afternoon; weaving in and out of traffic like a video game, knows his limitations? I’m pretty sure that he never attended a performance-driving course, so what makes him think that the world is his personal racetrack?

I struggle with understanding my rage at dangerous and inconsiderate drivers, those that put my family and I at risk because they believe they’re invincible. I understand that the problem lies within me, in other words, I’m the one that feels the anger, its my issue to grapple with. This is the great adventure of Zen, identifying life’s little snags and considering deeply the source of the emotions that they elicit. It’s a riddle or a kõan, something to be unraveled, deprogrammed; understanding then follows. The struggle continues.

Go Outside And Play

A low tree branch hangs over a slow-moving New England stream

I attended my 10 year-old son’s field trip yesterday and stood in absolute awe watching ten coach-style buses pull up at the location and unload hundreds of like-aged kids. The first thing that struck me was the absolute chaos that seemed ready to explode as the anxious and excited kids teamed everywhere while chaperons attempted to gain control. The “Army” in me was eager to take charge and put things in order, but I was only a by-stander on this trip so I bit my lip and watched with interest.

The second thing that I noticed was the physical condition of the kids. What the hell happened to gym class? When I was that age there might have been one child in the class that was “husky”. Coming off the bus, over 30 percent of them fit that chunky description. Throughout the day I witnessed the throng of hundreds sitting around the venue sucking on candy that they purchased from the gift shop and sucking down high-calorie soda. I know this is a sore topic in American culture, but this is the first time that I’ve actually witnesses it up-close.

I’m uncertain if the kids have gym class anymore, if they don’t it needs to be re-instated, and if they do, it’s a dismal failure and should be re-examined. That entire experience was a real eye opener and convinced me to redouble my efforts at monitoring my sons’ diets and exercise. “Go outside and play!”

Flowers Of The Forest

Wilted flowers sit in a plastic water bottle at the grave of a young soldier killed in the first Gulf War

I’m traveling this weekend, up in rainy Connecticut. I brought my pipes with me in hopes of finding some out of the way place where I could practice and not bother too many people. As I arrived at the hotel I noticed that the building sat right next to a cemetery… perfect!

I play piobaireachd on the highland bagpipes; sort of very old, “lamenty”, stuff meant to be played by a solo piper on a misty moor or an ancient castle abutment. The tune I’m currently working on is MacDonald of Kinlochmoidart’s Lament, which is an emotional piece that I often struggle to find the right depth of feeling.

Walking through the cemetery I discovered the emotion that the tune required. Stones marked with veterans of all of the 20th century’s wars, others stood over generations of entire families, stone angels kept vigil over the graves of lost children. The music flowed from the pipes, singing out over the garden of stone as people watched and listened from a distance. It was a good moment.

Cleaning Up

Installing a new front door on the house.

My parents visited this past weekend. It’s been years since they’ve visited me wherever I was in the world. I spent the week beforehand cleaning the yard and the house. We augmented the landscaping, and did a very thorough spring-cleaning. My wife accused me of trying to impress my parents, which grated against my Buddhist bones. I secretly believe that she made that statement on purpose.

I like neat and orderliness, and it’s always been that way for me. I don’t think that my ego is involved at all; at least that’s what I keep telling myself (Zen joke there). Of course with a 4 year-old running around it’s always a challenge to keep things in their place. I wonder sometimes what I’m doing to my son’s development by chasing after him making him pick-up everything that he casts aside, or clean up after every mishap or spill. No worries, my wife’s Type B personality more than balances my compulsions.

I’m reminded of the story of the young Zen monk who spends the day meticulously picking the fallen leaves from the rock garden, situated underneath a small tree. The head monk walks by and the student proudly displays his thoroughness. The old master walks over to the tree and gives it a good shake, and a handful of leaves gently fall on the pristine garden. “Better”, he says and moves on.

You Can't Argue With Results

In my quest for an ever-more healthy lifestyle I habitually read Mark Sisson’s site Mark’s Daily Apple. As a fellow blogger, I can see that Mark puts an immense amount of work into the site, but as the title suggests, it’s packed every day with great nutrition advice. As an example, Mark linked to another great site, Fitday.com, which is also loaded with even more great information as well as a nifty nutrition calculator.

I’ve been a competitive athlete for almost 40 years and I’ve always played under the assumption that your training results are 80 percent dictated by what you do on the field, court, or in the gym. I paid little or no attention to diet, easily consuming 3,000 calories a day, limiting fat where I could, and the rest just fell into place.

Lately the elite fitness and dietary world has taken my life-long assumption and turned it on its head. Twenty percent of your gains come from the gym and the rest… your diet!!! I loudly cried “bullshit” when I first heard this, but sadly it’s true. My “thrash yourself until you can’t stand-up”, philosophy had me doing 14-18-plus hours of work a week either swimming, biking or running, to achieve competitive form.

Now I’m heavily into CrossFit, still thrashing myself, but rarely for more than 30 minutes a day, and my diet is closely controlled along a Paleo or Zone model. The results have been stunning as I’m putting up overall fitness numbers that I haven’t seen for twenty years. I’m running faster and lifting more than I ever have, all the while with plenty of energy to excel through the day without the dreaded insulin spikes of my past workout regime. Hey, you can’t argue with results.

Nothing Special

Magical moments come often in life, the issue is that most of the time we’re not paying attention and completely miss them. You could make an argument that life itself is just one huge “magical moment’ and sadly we’re sleeping right through it, hoping and planning for some future event or dwelling on the past.

I sat out on our deck last night watching the last rays of the day peek out through the tall forest trees. The light was a wonderful amber color, filtered by the springtime leaves. Bamboo plants swayed in the gentle breeze and somewhere in the forest the wind chime subtly made its presence known. I remember thinking that the sun sets like this every day, and there’s really nothing special about this one. It’s just that life slowed down enough for me to stop and take notice. Ahhh, maybe that’s the secret.

Recommended Read

I’m re-reading one of my favorite books, Lama Surya Das’ Awakening The Buddha Within. This was the book that originally grabbed my attention many years ago and made me look deeply at Buddhism as a path for life. While Surya Das writes from a Tibetan point of view the concepts that he discusses hold true for any spiritual path whether it be Buddhism, or religions such as Islam, or Christianity. I can’t recommend this book enough to anyone that is interested in deepening their spirituality. I think that I’ve read it five times already and have loved it each time.

Shrinking Universe

Paddlers move a boat up the Dubai Creek. In the background is the Burj Dubai, what will be the world’s tallest tower.

I saw something interesting yesterday while walking the stacks at an Atlanta Barnes and Noble, two saffron-robed Asian Buddhist monks, each with a cup of Starbucks coffee in-hand. This is not something that you see every day in this mostly African American part of the city. I watched them with great fascination as they calmly walked through the store, also observing the reaction of the other patrons. It struck me as a huge contrast of cultures, incongruent pieces of different worlds. I wondered if you would get the same reaction at a Thailand monastery if, for example, one of the younger hip-hop dressed customers arrived with a cup of tea in his hand. The universe is truly becoming a smaller place.

New Pipes!

I just received my new set of highland bagpipes today. They're a set of David Naills and are truly breath-taking, made of deep rich African Blackwood, imitation aged ivory, and engraved silver. Now begins the unending process of tuning and tinkering, which is either the joy or the bane any piper. It's said that the bagpipes were the result of an unhappy marriage between a plumber and a watch maker.

My old set of pipes, also Naills, that I've had for over twenty years will go back to Scotland for some re-fitting. I hope to give them to my son, Connor for Christmas, as he's just started to pipe on his own.

Doing What It Takes

Cameraman working hard to get "the shot", I think :)

I had a conversation with a friend of mine who is still working as a contractor on a PSD. He was recently involved in a major contact that killed one of his team and wounded several others. As the medic on the scene, he worked on the causalities for 90 minutes until a MEDEVAC finally arrived. In the end, he wondered what more he could have done. During the course of the discussion my friend lamented to me that many in this industry are under-trained, over-egoed, and far more concerned about looking like a miniaturized action figure than actually doing what it takes to become one.

The only thing that separates the real cool guys from the Wal-Mart ninjas of this world is.... training. There is nothing special about the SPECAT, "been-there-done-that", real-deal other than the fact that he's trained his ass off and continues to do so. It's like a professional athlete; those are the guys in the gym or on the field, all by themselves after the crowds have gone home and the lights have been extinguished, working over and over on basic skills. Do you think Tiger Woods got to where he is by putting on a Nike cap and and picking up the latest in carbon-fiber, high-tech clubs? Hell, Tiger could wipe the course with most people with just a Wal-Mart putter and a Putt-Putt golf ball. He's not on-line shopping for the latest cool sunglasses, or hanging out in the club house telling "there I was" stories, he's off by himself on the driving range hitting balls by the tens of thousands... boring stuff, but that's what it takes.

I'm sorry if I sound too critical of security contractors, but the fact is that the vast majority of them working around the world are criminally under-trained, if at all. They spend their efforts trying to look and speak the part, and hoping like hell that nothing happens to them. Clients, for the most part can't tell the difference. In the end, it's the clients that pay the price for ignorance, putting their faith and safety in the hands of some kid that looks like a Blackhawk poster boy, but has no idea of the vehicle dynamics of the multi-ton SUV that he's driving.

Applause Of A Nation

A protective tarp lay over a weight-bench, both covered in Baghdad's dust.

“Announcing the arrival of a military flight from the middle east with 263 of America’s finest men and women on board”. These were the words that came across Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport’s public address system, the busiest airport in the world, while I waited in baggage claim. Down the escalator emerged a snaking line of tired looking uniformed soldiers and Marines, daypacks slung over their shoulders, smiles on their faces, all happy to be back home to the “land of the free and the home of the brave”. The applause started as a ripple and grew to a sustained, heavy crescendo as the hundreds of passengers in the terminal, US Customs agents, flight crews, and airport personnel recognized the job that these men and women had done for the past 15 or so months of their lives.

I was happy and deeply touched to witness the welcoming that this country, or at least the Atlanta airport, gave to its returning heroes. I know from experience that this was one of those moments that will fondly reside in the memories of all 263 of those servicemen and women for the rest of their lives.

I too was arriving from Iraq, but my commitment paled when compared to the long, arduous ordeal that these heroes were emerging from. My applause, however, waited outside the North Terminal ,sitting behind the wheel of a white Toyota SUV and also strapped into a carseat in the back.

Blue Skies And Following Winds

I finally made it out of Baghdad this morning after much waiting in lines and dealing with a mixture of impatient or uncaring people. Nevertheless, the airplane took off and landed safely in Dubai two hours and ten minutes later.

I woke up this morning and was astounded by the change in weather. The biblical sandstorm had left, leaving behind blue skies and a slight breeze. The world remained covered with a fine, brown powder, something that reminded me of a light snow storm. The dust was everywhere, both inside and out. It's amazing how it permeates everything; there is no defense, and no hiding from it. I can't imagine what chronic exposure does to people's respiratory systems.

Tonight, onward to Atlanta.

The Perfect Sandstorm

Baghdad airport's empty tarmac.

I’m currently stuck in the Baghdad airport riding out what appears to the Perfect Sandstorm. All flights are canceled and it looks like I’ll be spending the night at one of the security compounds near the airport. No hopping across the street to the Marriott here. Airlines are very hesitant to cancel flights until the last moment because it means lost revenue for them, so passengers wait, hoping against all hope that the storm will clear.

Epic sandstorms pop up indiscriminately and the really bad ones can hang around for days on end. You know it’s bad when the visibility ‘inside’ the buildings is dropping to mere yards, which is about where I am today. Dust permeates everything. Sitting at the airport restaurant, plates and silverware are coated with fine brown dust in just a few minutes, and you can taste the grime in your mouth with every dry breath you take.

Baghdad Ballet School

We went to a ballet school in central Baghdad today and did a story on the school and its students. It was a fun time and I took over 200 shots. Below are a few of them.

The senior students

Boys too, but they appeared less enthusiastic

Senior students with their teacher