Adventures in Reading

Jamie "reading" his Elmo book to Mickey Mouse

When I was a child I loved reading. Books took me on adventures to far away places, times long ago, and showed me things that were limited only by my imagination. In these stories I became the charaters ... a princess, a nurse, a detective, an adventurer. When Jamie was born I knew I wanted to instill the same for reading in him that I had nurtured as a child.

Recently, in my book club, we read a book called the Reading Promise. It's author tells the story of her father making a deal with her to read together for 100 days ... those 100 days stretched to 1,000 and beyond ... lasting, unbroken, until the day she left for college. Other members of the book club, mostly other moms in our play group, discussed how we enjoyed reading to our kids and the traditions we'd hoped to create with them. Many of us decided to set a goal of reading nightly to our kids ... whether or not we were able to do it continuously, unbroken was not the concern, we only wanted to start to create memories that they could pass on to their own kids some day.

On June 20, 2011, Jamie and I started our journey with the Adventures of Frog and Toad, the 3 book collection of the Frog and Toad books by Arnold Lobel. So far, we have successfully read each night, though some were much harder than others, and have completed to set. Yesterday, we started Grimm's Fairy Tales ... let the adventures begin!

Holding onto Memories, Dealing with Goodbye

It's hard to believe that its been 6 months today since we said goodbye to my paternal Grandfather. For those who may not remember, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving I got a call that my grandfather, or Paw Paw as we called him, was in a serious car accident and was in critical condition in New Orleans. George and I cut our Houston visit short to headed to the hospital the next day to spend some time with my grandmother and the rest of the family.

The following Tuesday (Dec. 1) George left for a conference in North Carolina and I settled in to get a few of the nearly 200 boxes unpacked since we had just moved to our new duty assignment. I got multiple daily updates from my Dad and aunt about my grandfather's recovery and for a while he looked to be improving, but on Thursday (Dec. 3) the doctors sent him home saying there was little else they could do. They thought he'd have a few days if not a week or two left and my grandmother wanted him to be where he was most comfortable, at home surrounded by his 3 children, 16 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren. At the time I was 8 months pregnant with Jamie and desperately wanted him to hang on long enough to meet his first biological great-grandchild, but it was not to be. Just an hour or so after he arrrived at home with my grandmother and his 3 living children around him, he quiletly passed away. I got the call from my Dad shortly after that. George arrived home the next day and we made the long journey back to Louisiana for the funeral.

While this may be the last memory of my grandfather, it is just one of many that I treasure.

My parents were divorced during my first year of life, so my earliest memories were of my brother and living next door to my grandparents. They took care of us when my dad was at work. I was smitten by my grandfather from early on. He was a larger-than-life, quit, hard-working man, who's stern discipline was only outweighed by his fierce love. My father's ability to make my brother and I laugh as children was definitely a trait learned from my grandfather.

For the first 7 years, it was just my brother and I. My father would marry my step-mother and we soon learned we'd have to share our grandparents with her 4 children, something that caused my turmoil as a child, which I revisted at the funeral, but that is a different story.

I had 31 great years with him, but somehow it just doesn't seem long enough. He taught me how to pick up three eggs in one hand (they had an egg farm), tie my shoe with one hand and the proper way to eat Zapp's potato chips (open the bag from the bottom where all the spices are!) One day I'll pass great pearls of wisdom down to my children, but I am sad that they will never know him, but am comforted in knowing that I am a better person for having had him in my life ...

Here are a few favorite pictures of me and "Paw Paw" from my "cute days!"









Until our next cup of tea ...

To Quietly Turn the Page or Get it at a Click of the Button ...

So, I know that things have been a little crazy regarding posts lately, but this one is a bit more light-hearted!

Moving here to Miami was hard because the structure of the unit we are in does not give us a lot of choices as far as "peers" goes. For me it's not so hard because there is no structure in the spouses world ... that's right, I said it!

Because George has taken command of a smaller element or detatchment, I have been fortunate to get to know some of the spouses well, since there are only 12 of us right now (in our detatchment, not the whole unit.) For the most part, with the exception of one or two spouses, we have become a close-knit group who shares everything from parenting stories to coupon-swapping and everything in between.One of the best things was that I learned one of the spouses was just as much of a reader as I am. Now I don't know if I've said this before, but I AM ADDICTED TO BOOKS!!

Don't really know, why, but I've always loved to read. Maybe it's because as a child in a family of 12 kids, I knew that I'd have to keep myself entertained. So thanks to books,
I have been a princess in a foreign land, a detective on the hunt for a killer. I have traveled the open seas in a ship rocked by towering waves and run the jungle paths with refugees fleeing oppression. I have been a Navy nurse and an Army general –– all while curled up with my favorite pink blanket.

I have lived the adventures of a thousand lifetimes through books. Growing up in a large family, we had two entertainment areas –– in the tree house or our rooms. There was no television, radio, game systems or motorized bikes.

I remember my maternal grandmother made it a point to ensure we went to the local library regularly when we were visiting my mom. Grams was an elementary educator, and family vacations were always educational adventures, from spelunking in caverns to exploring Indian reservations. She encouraged us not only to read, but also write our own stories. She instilled in me a love for adventure, which I relived in the pages of my journals.

My dad and step-mother also took us to the library regularly, because it was one of the few activities we could do on a limited budget. Instead of feeling cheated, I fell in love.

The smell of worn leather, the crack of a new book’s spine opening for the first time and the delicate pages of an old edition –– dreams were made of these. Opening a book for the first time was as exciting as starting a new adventure. I never knew where I’d end up, but I couldn’t wait to get there.

Once my step-mother began home schooling, we went to the library more frequently. We had more time, interrupted fewer people and it was easier for my her to keep track of where we were. Once I picked a few books, I would grab my favorite pink blanket and curl up in one of the overstuffed chairs or on the carpet beside the window with a view of the old oak tree that seemed to be bigger than the small-town library. I would begin reading, falling like Alice in Wonderland, into the world within the worn pages.

I would often get irritated with the sibling tasked to tell me we were leaving. More often than not, the bruises scattered randomly across my legs and arms were from reading while walking, not playing on the farm.

My favorite books were from the Cherry Ames series, a mystery-solving nurse. I also enjoyed stories from the Victorian Era, classics such as Tom Sawyer, and mysteries. I read “War and Peace” in the eighth grade, though I admit, it was a bit complex.
As I grew older, I fell more in love with books. While other girls dreamed of being actresses, dancers and princesses, I wanted to be a writer. I admired those who could make words come to life. If I couldn’t be a writer, I wanted to be an editor, if for no other reason than to be the first to read a story.

Now I still love to read, and have already started reading to Baby Jamie, though I anxiously await the day that I can take him to the library and open up the world of adventure to him too.

Lately, I have been seeing more and more advertisements for the electronic readers ... Barnes and Noble's Nook, Amazon's Kindle ... and while I am excited about the propect of having a world of books right there at my fingertips, I am saddened by the thought of not having the feel of the book in my hands, turning the pages, smelling the dusty old leather or glue of the binding.

I was watching one of those crime shows the other day and they were selling the bookstore of a murder victim. When asked if the store was worth much, the realtor replied, "Not really. With the increased use of internet and electronic reading, bookstores and libraries will soon be a thing of the past."

"How sad," I thought. One day my children will look at bookstores the way that those of my generation look at arcades ... the thought that you had to make and effort to entertain yourself versus having everything come to you, made me wonder if we are creating a better world with all this technology, or just a lazier one. Does anyone under the age of 20 know how to find a book using the Dewey Decimal System? Maybe, I should first ask, do they know what it is?

I haven't decided if I want to get an electronic reader or just hang on to my books for as long as possible, but I still cherish the memories of a childhood "among the stacks".

Until our next cup of tea ...

Getting it all together!

Since we are intergrating two houses (ours and that of his father who passed in November), I hadn't taken much time to decorate until now. I am so excited!

Yesterday I finally found the fabric for my PINK and white kitchen.



It's been a long search to find the perfect fabric to compliment my great-grandmother's depression glassware chickens, maternal grandmother's teacups and my teacup collection, and mother's stained glass piece. It has become a very special room for me surrounded by these treasures.

New additions are George's grandmother's glassware and china set ...



I'm also hoping to get some items made by my paternal grandmother. She is great at crocheting, but with 16 grandchildren (plus great-grandchildren) there are a lot to of "orders" already I'm sure. Especially since a few are starting college and moving into their own homes.

I'm really looking forward to seein the finished project, but I am also excited about the project itself. Well, I'm off to finish another paper for school ...

Until our next visit ...

Part Patience, Part Anxiety, Completely Army Life!

Well, here we are mere hours away the last of our Soldiers returning home and I can barely contain my excitement. I am exhausted from nearly two weeks of baking cookies, talking with parents, cleaning my house (even though my Soldier is home ...) and balancing work and school, but it is absolutely worth it.

This day ends 14-month long months of waiting.

I am in heaven as the smells of peanut butter and chocolate chips waft through the house. My husband sits contently in the livingroom catching up on XBox gaming and periodically pausing to send a batch of cookies through "quality control testing." I've already had to go get more cookie dough, but I'm not complaining.

A few weeks ago we attend the Reunion Training Class offered by the unit's chaplain. It was a time for George and I to look back at our experiences and share with other spouses, those who are facing it for the first time.

Many commented on how we seemed to be perfectly content amid all of the turmoil and stress surrounding the challenges of reintergration. We both admitted that it's not always easy, but the key is to communicate and give each other space.

I sit here now, thinking back over his return from the last deployment compared to this one and realize that even if the factors are the same (unit, deployment time, their mission) we still handled this reunion differently that last time.

Most military spouses will admit that over the course of a deployment you change. You mature, become more independent and gain confidence. Lst time he came home I was clingy, catered to his every whim and routinely sacrificed what I wanted to do for his choice. Boy have things changed now!

It's not that I don't do those things, but I've learned to give him his space, communicatied about what we wanted to do and compromised on jumping to assist his every need or want. Judging the two deployment reunions, I realized that as much as we can try to plan for what we expect, things will be different. And THAT is what makes Army life such an adventure, the unknown and uncertainty can help bring a Family together if they are willing to communicate and face challenges together.

Well, the oven is beeping at me and the cookies are disappearing, so I must return to the kitchen ...

Unit our next cup of tea ...

A trip down memory lane

For those long-time blogger friends, you have know me as Rose Michelle, but have switched to "Spanish Princess" as a reminder of a memory of childhood playtime at my grandmother's when I played with her silver teaset and pretended to be a Spanish Princess in a faraway land.

I've also restarted my second blog, The Teacup Collector's Cottage. Some of my longtime readers may have seen it before, but a few years ago, I'd reached a very busy time in my life and deleted it. My original goal on this one was military life, but some home and crafts found their way here after that one was closed. But there are so many things that I am looking forward to doing and I don't want to combine the two here. It is still in the beginning stages and will see some changes over the next few weeks/months, but I am very excited about it.

Until our next cup of tea ...

Staring down the eye of Hurricane Gustav ...

What a bundle of emotions I been since the threat to Texas and Lousisiana became known. I sit here in Texas, concerned about my home, family and friends who are in the path of the storm. My long time readers may remember as I chronicled Huuricane Rita in 2005. It was shortly after Hurricane Katrina, which my father's side of the family had been in the path of to include my brother who was on call as a medic for the Fire Department while his wife and four girls rode it out with her family. Rita was suppose to hit Houston, which is where my mother's family is as well as George's family, but it split down the middle and hit the western side of Louisiana where we are.

I was well prepared having grown up in the area and was use to it, but it was the first time I had to do it on my own as an adult and of course I was responcible for decisions that would affect Sgt. Major as well.

Then, I thought that it would've easier to stay and now that I am gone, I am convinced of that. The Army did an amazing job of taking care of it's families. They had tractor trailers coming in daily with food, gas and other supplies. We had water the entire time as well as electricity within three day where the outlying communities were without for up to six weeks.

Now I sit here imagining all of the things that could go wrong and all of the things that should've been tucked away. I think of all the little treasures I left behind ... the jewelry box George sent me from Afghanistan, my tea cup collection to include the ones from my greandmother's collection, all of the pictures that chronical my life with George. It's nerve-wracking to say the least. I know I shouldn't be so worried about material things, but there is so much that hold precious memories, like the lace angel my great-grandmother made or the handmade Christmas ornaments that line our Christmas tree each year. Thankfully, I have a friend who has agreed to stay at the house in between patrols (she is military police) so I know that there is less chance of my home being targeted for theft if there is power outages. I guess all I can do now is what I did then, sit back, wait it out and deal with whatever happens when it does. I am learning that I am not a patient person ...

Until our next cup of tea ...

Sharing the Love ... and then some

First I must apoligize to Ann at Ancient One's Place who generously gave me an award earlier this week. I was very touched and did take the time to research the origins of the award at Memoirs of a Mommy. It was a very inspirational story.

Then, earlier today, after a very exhausting week filled with the sadness as I watch the Soldiers in my unit continue to prepare for deployment, I got an announcement of another award from Jade at Stitch and Serve called Brilliante Weblog Award.

So Ann's award first:
Here are the rules for this: SHARE THE LOVE!!! That's it! Share this award with all those blogs out there that you love. All the people who make you smile. All those that make you laugh. All those that make your day. All those that leave uplifting comments on your blog. All I ask, is that you include a link to the original post by the award's creator and ask your recipients to do the same.

So for my inspirational people, this time I will point you towards the military family bloggers who have been a source of inspiration and support for me as I face the daily adventure of military life.

1. Army Blogger Wife ... it's very easy to bounce ideas off of her and she doesn't judge my insanity ... probably because we are competing to see who is crazier!
2. Two Star Mom ... the only job as hard as a milspouse or kid is milparent!
3. Proud Liberal Army Wife .. she really tells it like she sees it!
4. Butterfly Wife ... has a unique view on life ...
5. Sgt and Mrs. Hub ... always a fav because you never know what the next post will hold!

Now for the rules of Jade's award:

~ Put the logo on your blog;
~ Add a link to the person who awarded you
~ Nominate at least 7 other blogs;
~ Add links to those blogs on yours;
~ Leave a message for your nominees on their blogs.

So here are my awardees:
1. Alice at Tea in my Cup ... this is one place where I go where I know there will always be something to comfort me. From recipes to tips on tea parties, there always seems to be something to cheer up the darkest mood at Alice's place!
2. Smile-n-Sigh makes you want to do just that with her beautiful photography. Check out all of her blogs, linked to her page.
3. StitcherW has always been supportive of the troops and her postive attitude has inspired me on many occasions.
4. Vee at A Haven For Vee ... sees the beauty in the world
5. KBug is a new friend, and fellow military Family member
6. Meari at Meari's Musings is actually one of my longest blogging friends
7. Seamus a fellow animal lover who captures wild creatures in their peaceful moments

Thanks to all of my regular readers. If you see the post before I get to your blog, thanks for letting me share your world. I hope to stop by over to each of your pages soo.. I try to nominate a different person when I get awards, but I encourage you to explore all of the links in my list. I enjoy them allso much and know you will too ... so go forth and make new friends!

Until our next cup of tea ...

Memories are what you make of them ...

O.k. so I know Tommy Gunn is totally gonna make fun of me here, being all mushy and all, but I have the share this story ...

Remember two weeks ago when I said that George and I bought a fondue set? Well the next day when we went grocery shoppping and got some extra stuff to have a "fondue party" that night. I got some steaks, chicken, bell peppers, onions, "crusty" bread (soft in the middle like french bread) and cheese. For dinner (which was a little earlier than usual because we were so excited) we make spicy "mexican" fondue dip with a little Corona and jalapeno peppers. I cooked the beef and chicken, then threw in chunks of onion and bell peppers. Next George helped me make the cheese mixture with the beer and jalapenos.

We sat down to dinner as the sun was setting with the sounds of Sinatra and others playing in the background. Later we danced in the kitchen to more blues and jazz. It was one of those memories that will be even more precious when he is deployed.

Until our next cup of tea ...

Would you like sugar in your tea? Virtual Tea pt. 3

Hello everyone. Sorry I missed tea yesterday, our Internet was down. Thank you for all of the comments left on the previous posts. I love them. It makes my day a little better when I am working an they randomly pop up on my email.

Now, today, I want to tell you about my maternal grandmother. She can be tough as nails when needed (and when my brother and I were young we needed it a lot I'm sure), but she is also the most poised, well-mannered and elegant lady. Even when she is elbow deep in her garden after a rain storm, she still seems to have the elegance of a grand lady. I must say she has probably been the largest influence on my life even though as a child we saw her only twice a year when my mother had visitation.

For my pending birthday (Jan. 22) she gave me five tea cups and saucers to add to my collection.

I asked her about her collection and she said that she started collecting them when she was my age. She had no preferences or requirements, just choosing those she was drawn too. She has given some away over the years, but I think secretly she was happy that I was starting my own collection and she could pass her collection along to me.

I told her about how when I was a little girl I would sit at the coffee table in the den and pretend I was a Spanish Queen pouring tea for her visitors. I loved playing with her silver set.

Growing up I loved to look at my Granny's tea cup collection, from afar of course. She kept them on top of the china cabinet, but there was a silver tea set that sat out on the coffee table, probably because it was unbreakable (trust me I dropped them a few times.) My grandmother wasn't a "high class socialite" but she is a firm believer in perfect manners, being polite and getting the most from your education.

Recently, I told you about having to take her to the emergency room. It was scary, but she pulled through and is home resting.

These tea cups are from her personal collection that she passed to me in January for my 29th birthday. They are elegant and beautiful – just like her.

Until our next cup of tea ...

Like Linus, I will not let it go

In my previous post I wrote about my love for reading, in it I mentioned my pink blanket. Well here is the story of that beloved piece of fabric.

The blanket entered my life as a toddler. My parents were divorced and when I was an infant and my dad got custody. When he would take us the the babysitters before work (at like 4 a.m.) he would wrap my brother and I in our blankets while we were still asleep and drop us off on their sofas or extra bedrooms.

A few years later, in the 1980's there was a scare of electric blankets catching fire and my grandmother removed the wiring because I didn't want to give up my blanket. I held onto it for the next few years, but when my father remarried, my step-mother and I didn't see eye-to-eye and she trid to get rid of "the ratty thing" quite often. But alas, I won.

Over the years it did become tatter. I washed it regularly, especially when I was sick. I didn't sleep with it, I would curl up in it when I read which was about the same amount of time as sleeping. When we were homeschooled and later when I was doing homework after school, I would wrap my legs in it because the desk chair in my room was quite uncomfortable.

When I was 14 or so, I tried to stitch the tears in it with embroidery floss and pieces of fabric I got when visiting my mom one summer. It wasn't very professional looking but it held up until about three years ago.

I have been trying to figure out a way to nake it last longer -- maybe make it part of a quilt or something.



As you can see I've had to learn to share my blanket. Sgt. Major has taken a shine to it and I have to be careful not to let him grab it when he gets into his playful, tug-of-war moods or he'll tear it.

Love of books leads journalist to adventure, finding herself

Editor's note: This is a a commentary I wrote recently Some people will tell you that I am a fanatic about books, but don't beleive everything you hear ... o.k. this one might be true.

-- Published in Fort Polk Guardian (March 30, 2007) --
By: MICHELLE LINDSEY, Guardian staff writer

I have been a princess in a foreign land, a detective on the hunt for a killer. I have traveled the open seas in a ship rocked by towering waves and run the jungle paths with refugees fleeing oppression. I have been a Navy nurse and an Army general –– all while curled up with my favorite pink blanket.
I have lived the adventures of a thousand lifetimes through books. Growing up in a large family, we had two entertainment areas –– in the tree house or our rooms. There was no television, radio, game systems or motorized bikes. I was the fourth of 12, living on a chicken farm in rural Louisiana.
The cost of sending so many children to private school was a burden my father and stepmother carried for many years before deciding to home school us. With so many siblings, our home looked like a one-room school house, but it gave us the opportunity to sharpen our individual skills rather than follow a mandated curriculum in a public school system.
I remember, even before my parents decided to home school, they made it a point to ensure we went to the local library regularly. It was one of the few activities we could do on a limited budget. Instead of feeling cheated, I fell in love.
The smell of worn leather, the crack of a new book’s spine opening for the first time and the delicate pages of an old edition –– dreams were made of these. Opening a book for the first time was as exciting as starting a new adventure. I never knew where I’d end up, but I couldn’t wait to get there.
Once we began home schooling, we went to the library more frequently. We had more time, interrupted fewer people and it was easier for my stepmother to keep track of where we were. Once I picked a few books, I would grab my favorite pink blanket and curl up in one of the overstuffed chairs or on the carpet beside the window with a view of the old oak tree that seemed to be bigger than the small-town library. I would begin reading, falling like Alice in Wonderland, into the world within the worn pages.
I would often get irritated with the sibling tasked to tell me we were leaving. More often than not, the bruises scattered randomly across my legs and arms were from reading while walking, not playing on the farm.
My favorite books were from the Cherry Ames series, a mystery-solving nurse. I also enjoyed stories from the Victorian Era, classics such as Tom Sawyer, and mysteries. I read “War and Peace” in the eighth grade, though I admit, it was a bit complex.
As I grew older, I fell more in love with books. While other girls dreamed of being actresses, dancers and princesses, I wanted to be a writer. I admired those who could make words come to life. If I couldn’t be a writer, I wanted to be an editor, if for no other reason than to be the first to read a story.
My maternal grandmother was an elementary educator, and family vacations were always educational adventures, from spelunking in caverns to exploring Indian reservations. She encouraged us not only to read, but also write our own stories. She instilled in me a love for adventure, which I relive in the pages of my journals.
In college, while studying chemistry, I took a creative writing class to fill my scholarship requirements and rekindled my joy of reading and writing. I was good at science and math, but it didn’t hold my attention the way books did. After completing my degree that semester, I re-enrolled for a degree in journalism. I had finally found my place.
Today, that love is still as strong as ever. I sometimes visit the library on my lunch break or weekends. My favorite stop at the mall is the book store, the smell of new books and fresh ink is soothing. During my husband’s last deployment I started on my master’s in military history, which opened my eyes to a new genre of books.
The library is where I get my inspirations, whether for work or my personal life. The rows of books beckon me to join them in the adventures captured between their leather binding. Life may be busy, but I always manage to find time to read, still curled up with that old tattered pink blanket. Each book, like an old friend, waits patiently on the shelf.
The greatest gift my parents could have given me was a love of reading. It has opened my eyes to a world that I might not have otherwise considered. Now I just take life one chapter at a time. I am a book whose pages are still wet with ink, waiting to be finished.

For more articles in the Fort Polk Guardian, visit our web page.

I am from ...

I got this from Lime, and of course if Lime is doing it, then it must be cool. So I gave it a try. While it put my already overtaxed brain to the test, I think it turned out great.

I am from hand-me-down dresses, from silver needles and tiny thimbles.

I am from the rippling pond glistening in the summer wind with a colorful patchwork blanket of floral fantasy heavy with morning dew.

I am from the wild roses and the strong oak trees.

I am from farmers and carpenters, Soldiers and Sailors, from Marys, Marks and Gilberts.

I am from warm embraces and quick smiles.

From “love your sibling” and “help each other”.

I am from the devout Catholics, humble Christians and staunch Protestants.

I'm from creole country, with its majestic plantations and cajun charm, gumbo and crawfish.

From the father who unselfishly raised others as his own, the mother who fought to protect her community, and the grandfathers who sacrifices their innocence for America’s freedom.

I am from dusty cardboard boxes, the worn leather pages and faded frames holding pictures of my past, those whose strength and honor runs through my veins. I am the bearer of my family’s history, the hope for its future. I am the protector of precious treasures that I will one day pass to the next guardian.

If you'd like to try it, click here for the template. Enjoy!

Sept. 11 remembered ....

Four years ago America was changed forever. I remember where I was the exact moment I learned the towers had been hit.
I was in the library on the computers waiting for my next class. A friend and I were e-mailing back and forth and he told me the towers had been hit by a plane. I rushed to the closest television I could find, skidding into the cadet lounge at the Sam Houston State University Military Science building just as the second plane hit.
Out of breathe and not believing what was happening I looked for a place in front of the television.
Some of the cadets already there made space for me on the sofa in front and we watched in disbelief as they replayed the video feed over and over.
I immediately began to wonder how this would affect the cadets. For them, this had a huge impact. They had joined the program during peacetime and with the events of the day, it was clear as the day wore on that and act of aggression against America would not be taken sitting down.
Others on campus would look to them as examples of what to do. Every week the cadets walked the campus in their BDUs. They were visible even when they didn't want to be, now more than ever they would be watched.
One student and friend of George and I had a sister in the area. We watched as he desperately tried to get in touch with her or a family member who had heard from her.
I talked with Lt. Col. Mooneyham, the professor of military science at the time, and Maj. Andre Dean, then the XO, about what it meant for the cadets.
The cadets themselves expressed anger and a desire to "retaliate" against those who could attack innocent people such as this.
But for the most part, all we could do was wait. Watching as those who could be reached and morning for those who were lost.
I don't think I will ever look at a pile of crumpled bricks the same as before those fateful moments when the skyline was changed forever.
As time for my class drew near, I found my professor, Dr. Ardyth Sohn, whom had supported me in my decision to focus my student articles on the military science department and cadets as well as the military units in the area they worked with on a regular basis.
She had already heard the news.
I told her I wouldn't be in class, I needed to talked to the cadets and staff to see how this changed things for them. I wanted to tell their story. Give names to those who would eventually fight the global war on terrorism.
As clear as if she had told me only a minute ago, I remember her only response ... "Share their fears and anger. This is your chance to tell their story."
I don't think at the time she knew how those words would drive me even today as I work in military public affairs.
The next few days were a blur as I talked to cadets, cadre and students who were effected. I tried not to think about the fact that George, and all of the people that I had grown close to could possibly go to war. I knew the realities of it, I just didn't want to face it.
During the day I wrote articles, and photographed training. At night I cried, worried of what the future could hold for America and the loss of so many lives.
At first the support to go to war was great, but over the past four years, it has waned. I still see the determination on the faces of the Soldiers and families I work with daily as they fight to end terrorism in the names of those we lost that day and the service members who have sacrificed their lives and families since then.
As I attend Purple Heart ceremonies, see the tears of sadness as Soldiers leave and the smiles of relief as they return, I think about Sept. 11 and the cadets who sat beside me as we watched our nation fall under attack.
It is hard to know that soon my husband will leave to fight, but I know it is a choice he made before Sept. 11, 2001. The events of that day only strengthened his resolve and that of the others in the "Bearkat Battalion."

I remember when ...

These are my absolute favorite pictures of Sgt. Major. We had gotten him Aug. 7 (2004) and I took these pictures two days later. He looks so little in that big collar and his feet were so big he kept tripping over things. He was a little underfed when we first got him and he looked so small and helpless ... really could you have walked away from those eyes?