A letter to my best friend

I couldn’t wait to move out of the dorms and into a house. Not because of the extra room, or the lack of neighbors above me. No, because I would finally be able to get a dog! Once I got all my stuff moved in and situated, I began searching in earnest for you. Because I had a yellow lab as a kid, I was looking for a lab puppy. However, there were none to be had in the animal shelters in the Sacramento area, and I couldn’t justify spending $400 for a dog when so many great dogs were available for adoption. After a few weeks of searching, I found you at the Nevada County Animal Shelter. You were there with four or five of your brothers, but you were the most “lab-looking” of them all. So I picked you, the little tan puppy with the white chest and the white toes, and the black-tipped tail. I had your name picked out already; Sam. I filled out the paperwork and drove you to your new home. You were no bigger than a football, and your entire head fit in the palm of my hand; you put it there and slept on the ride home. I fell in love with you instantly.

As you grew up, you had your mischievous times. You ate an entire couch, the bare frame of which Jay and I had to toss into a dumpster under the cloak of darkness before the movers came to pack my stuff for Florida. You may not remember, but you ate half of my VHS tapes when I left you with John so I could fly home for my dad’s funeral. Adding insult to injury, you didn’t even have the common courtesy to eat both tapes in a 2-tape movie. Take it from me, Sam…Part one of Titanic does not flow well into part two of Scarface. More than a few plot holes get uncovered. But I guess I should be thanking you for that, since the destruction of my tapes is what prompted me to convert to DVDs. You always were ahead of your time. And we won’t even go into the details about how you excavated several yards of soil from the backyard trying to catch the gophers that were tunneling in from the field behind the house.

But you grew up to be a fantastic dog, Sam. On our trip from California to Florida, we stopped at a hotel in Fairview Park, IL where you rode on your first elevator. I’ll never forget your face the first time you felt that rise in your stomach as we ascended. Later that night, as we were out for a walk, we came around the corner of the hotel to discover dozens of rabbits in the field near the pool. You looked up at me, ears raised and tail wagging. I said “Get the bunnies, Sam!” and ran with you as you chased those rabbits around the field. For years after that, whenever I would ask, “Where’s the bunnies, Sam?” your ears would perk up and you’d start looking around for those bunnies to chase. It made me laugh, but it also made me remember that night forever.

You were such an easy-going dog, Sam. You adapted well to my weird work schedules, my frequent deployments, and my strange tendency to move into a different house every few years. You were always willing to take a nap with me, to curl up on the couch and watch “Rocky,” or to go on a walk. As much as I hated living in a house that was for sale, I could tell you really enjoyed it; you quickly learned that whenever someone came to look at the house, you and I got to go for a walk. If it was up to you, I doubt you would have ever accepted an offer on that place. Whenever I came home, you greeted me at the door, tail wagging. That is, unless you were sound asleep on the bed. Then it became a game of hide-and-seek, until I finally found you all tangled up in the blankets. But every time I found you, that little black-tipped tail would wag.

You really loved living in Eric and Rina’s house, Sam. That expansive back yard was just what you needed to spread out and relax. Whether it was getting some sun, rolling around on your back, barking at turtles in the pond, or just lying in the grass, you really seemed to like that place. Sometimes I would just let you stay out there for hours, because I knew you liked it so much. And then, sometimes when I would try to call you in, I would discover turtle carnage strewn about the yard and a Samson-shaped hole in the fence. Then I’d get to drive around the neighborhood until I’d find you, soaking wet and covered in mud, grinning like a fool.

More than anything else, you were a fantastic companion, Sam. This was no more evident than on road trips. You were the greatest road dog ever. Whether we were evacuating for a hurricane, driving to Ohio, or just going to the vet, you were my favorite co-pilot. For short trips, I’d put you in the passenger seat so you could look around; for long trips I’d fold down the back seat of my truck and put your bed in there so you could sleep. You never barked, never whined, never fussed. You'd just lie back there quietly. Sometimes you’d sit up to look around, almost as if you were seeing how far we’d driven. We’d stop for gas, and you and I would go for a short walk so you could handle your business. I’d stop for lunch, and I would always order a cheeseburger for you. We’d sit there in the parking lot, just two dudes in a big ol’ truck, eating cheeseburgers and listening to the radio. Life sure was good, wasn’t it?

We moved to Columbus last year, you and me. It was extremely difficult; I was leaving the Air Force and leaving my friends, but most of all I was leaving Jess behind. This was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but you were there to help me through it. I cried as I kissed her goodbye until who-knew-when, and you and I started the trip to our new home. We made some of the usual stops along the way; the McDonald’s in Andalusia, the rest area in AL with the NASA rocket, and the gas station just outside of Louisville. Having you there with me helped to ease some of the pain I was feeling. We pulled into the driveway at our new place at about 1:30 AM, got inside, and set up the air mattress. As you always did, you plopped down in the middle of it before I could even put the sheets on it. We slept on that mattress that night, just you and me in a new place, a new town, and a new beginning. But you were there with me, so it was okay.

You seemed to really like Ohio, Sam. I’d take you for a walk in the park behind the house, and you’d stop and sniff every tree, rock, stump, or suspicious looking thing you came across. More than anything, I enjoyed taking you to Southern Ohio. Seeing you run and play with Mary Kay’s dogs, swimming in the pond, barking at squirrels, and lounging around by the fire always made me smile. The first time we went there was the first time I was ever scared I’d lose you, though. You slipped away from me when I had my back turned and you disappeared into the woods. I had no idea where you went, how far you would go, or if you knew your way home. Making matters worse, it was about 90 degrees that day, and I was afraid that you’d tire from the heat, get disoriented, and die in the woods. I rode through the woods on Denny’s four-wheeler calling for you, and I went to Marcum’s place to ask them to keep an eye out for you. An hour or so later, Keith came up and said that he’d heard a strange dog barking down by his place. I followed him to the bottom of the hill and I could hear you in the distance. I jumped into the creek, wading toward the sound of your voice. There you were, standing in the cool creek water, barking at cows. I was so happy to see you, Sam. An enormous weight was lifted off my shoulders, and I hugged you and kissed your head. I feared the worst, and sure enough you knew just what to do. Granted, coming home or not wandering off in the first place would have been much better, but the relief and happiness I felt when I saw you in that creek were immeasurable. My boy was safe.

Life in Columbus became pretty routine for us after a while, Sam. You adjusted well to my changing school schedule, and as always, you met me at the door with your tail wagging. When winter came, you and I would play outside; you’d run around in circles kicking up snow, and we’d eventually wind up wrestling. I was never prepared to wrestle in the snow though, so those sessions didn’t normally last very long. I’d build a fire in the fireplace, and once you realized the house wasn’t burning down (“Ding ding ding!! Fire!!”) you’d sprawl out in front of the hearth next to my chair and we’d watch television. At night, you’d hop onto the bed and sleep near my feet, curled up in a ball. You were the most perfect house dog ever, Sam.

This summer, you started getting the runs a lot. The vet would give you some antibiotics, which would help for a bit, but they’d come back. You also started to throw up every now and again. We all thought it was some kind of intestinal bug, as you didn’t change your habits, and you still had plenty of energy. We continued to treat it with antibiotics. Toward the end of August, you began losing weight. This was a new concern, so the vet did some blood work on you. The results indicated that you had high white cell count, which could point toward an infection or something more sinister. I took you in for an endoscopy so we could pinpoint what was going on and treat it. I left you in the care of the vet and went to Dayton for Reserve drill. The doctor called me the next day to tell me the news; before they could do the scope, they felt a lump in your abdomen. They did an ultrasound and found a tumor. It was about the size of a TV remote, and it was tangled in your intestines. The surgery would be very invasive, and a dog your age would have a difficult time even coming out of the anesthesia, let alone recovering from the surgery. Also, there was no guarantee they could excise the tumor. Radiation and chemotherapy don’t work well on these types of tumors, either. I was told to make you as comfortable as possible. Sam, I was devastated. There I was, at work and in uniform, and I was on the edge of just crumpling into a ball and sobbing. But that wouldn’t help either of us at that point. I called Jess that afternoon and told her, and I cried a little. But then I got myself together and soldiered on.

When I picked you up the next day, you were your normal self. You were getting really skinny now, but you still acted like your usual self. One great thing about dogs is that they don’t understand what cancer is, so you weren’t upset. You were just happy to see me, wagging your black-tipped tail. We went home, and the pampering began. Nothing was off-limits for you. No longer would you eat dog food. I changed your diet to ground beef, chicken, turkey, or pork with rice. And then we went on vacation! We loaded up the car and drove down to Florida to see Jess and Ham. As usual, you were a wonderful traveling companion. We made the usual stops, grabbed a cheeseburger, and pulled into her driveway at about 9:30 PM. You made yourself right at home, and we began a terrific 2 ½ week vacation. We took you and ham to the dog park, where even though you were slower than you used to be, you still played with the other dogs and made new friends. We went on walks, we ate tasty food, and we slept on the couch. By now, your runny poops and barfing were almost nonexistent, and you really seemed to enjoy yourself. The only thing I didn’t get a chance to do was take you to the beach. I regret that. But you’ve never been much of a beach dog, and I think that we still had a good time.

The drive back to Columbus was hard for me, Sam. I knew that you had taken your last Florida vacation. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before your health started taking a turn for the worse. When we pulled into the driveway late that night, it felt like when we first made that trip. I opened the door, and the house had that same smell. I was instantly transported back in time to when we first moved here. Except this time, I knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay much longer to keep me company. I suddenly felt very alone, and I cried as I held you.

I had two Reserve weekends back-to-back when we got home, and I couldn’t bear to put you in the kennel, Sam. You didn’t have many weekends left, and the thought of you spending any of them in a cage tore me up. I made a tearful plea to the vet, and she arranged for you to stay on the hospital side, where the staff let you wander around during the day. I made you lasagna to eat while you were there. You were happy to see me when I showed up on Sunday, and your black-tipped tail was wagging like mad. The next weekend I took you to stay at Jeanie’s farm. You had never seen horses before, and we laughed as you barked at these weird creatures. When that great big pig came around the corner, you lost your mind! Oh, the barking! She just grunted and ignored you, but you barked and barked. When I picked you up on Sunday, Jeanie told me that you had a good time playing in the barn, but that you didn’t eat much. You looked even skinnier than you did when I dropped you off on Friday. We went home, and you promptly fell asleep. After such an exciting weekend, you were exhausted!

That night, I noticed that your breathing had become shallow and raspy. You seemed to be congested, too. You still slept through the night, so I figured maybe you were just still tired from your farm weekend. Monday night was more of the same, and this time you had to stop halfway up the stairs to catch your breath as we went up to bed. You’ve never done that before, and I knew that you were getting weak. Your breathing was still very labored, and you had what seemed to be a coughing fit at 1:30 AM. I cancelled an appointment I had the next morning so I could be with you. I took you for a walk that morning, and you were too weak to make it more than a few driveways down the street. You still had that same curious look in your eyes as you sniffed and peed on every tree, rock, and bush. Your black-tipped tail wagged. But you just didn’t have any more fight left in you. We came inside, and you slept on the couch while I went to class. On my way home, I stopped at the store and bought two big filet mignon steaks. I wrapped them in bacon and grilled them up for you and me. We ate those steaks in the living room, just two guys hanging out and devouring slabs of meat cooked over a flame. Manly stuff. You polished off your steak with some ice cream, and we watched television until it was time for bed. You slept beside me, snuggled in the fuzzy blanket on the bed.

Yesterday I called the vet to talk about you, Sam. She agreed that it was time. You weren’t going to get better. You weren’t going to magically put on 40 pounds and be healthy again. And you weren’t going to enjoy pain-free life for much longer. I decided that I had to do what was best for you, my friend. I made the most difficult decision in my life. At 11:00 the next day, I was going to take you to see your friends at the vet’s office one last time.

Today was one of the most unbearable days of my life, Sam. I woke up knowing that the clock was ticking down. Our time together was running out. I drank my coffee and let you sleep on the bed for a while longer than normal. I went up to get you, carried you downstairs just so I could hold you close, and took you outside. When we came back in the house, you were tired and you struggled a bit to get up the steps into the door. You plopped down on your bed in the living room and I brought you some breakfast ice cream. I got dressed and ready to go. Before I came back downstairs, I folded up your green blanket that was on the bedroom floor and put it in the guest room. I clipped your leash to your collar and we went to the car.

I didn’t turn on the radio as I always do. I just rolled down the back windows so you could bask in the cool morning breeze as we drove. You looked so peaceful back there, though I could tell you were taking shallow breaths. When we arrived at the vet’s office, you climbed out of the car and slowly ambled to the door, stopping to sniff the rocks out front where you’ve peed dozens of times over the past year and a half. I carried you to the exam room, again so I could hold you close. They had a blanket laid out on the floor for you, and I sat next to you. Some of the staff came in to say hello, a testament to the friendships you made there during your stays. They really love you, Sam. Everyone was sad because they knew why we were there, but they were happy that they were able to have you in their lives, even for such a short time. The doc came in with one of the techs and began the procedure. You were so peaceful, Sam…such a good boy. You drifted off to sleep and died in my arms. No more pain, no more suffering. You were at peace.

I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve given me, Sam. Over the past 12 years, you’ve been my faithful companion, my television watching buddy, my security system, my traveling buddy, my entertainment, my bed warmer, my taste tester, my furniture fuzzer-upper, and my best friend. The time that we spent together means so much to me, and I don’t even know how to begin processing the thought of life without you. You won’t be there to greet me when I come home, you won’t be at the foot of my bed in the morning, and you won’t be next to me on the couch. But you’ll forever be in my heart and mind.

I miss you like crazy, and it’s only been an hour. I want to go into the living room and look for you on your bed, but I know you won’t be there. However, I also know that you aren’t sick anymore. You aren’t in any pain. I just hope that you know how much you were loved. Not just by me, but by everyone who had the opportunity to know you. You were absolutely the best dog I could ever have hoped to have. So here’s to you, Sam. My best friend, my companion, and my faithful sidekick. I hope that wherever you are, you find a way to drop in sometime. And I hope that you finally caught those bunnies.

The Prodigal Blog

I stumbled upon my blog site again, and I realized that I haven't written anything since September of last year. While this was certainly not my intention, life just kinda started happening and my little blog got pushed to the dark recesses of my mind. Because I find writing to be therapeutic, I think I'll catch you all up on what's been going on these past few months.

As previously mentioned, I left off just as fall quarter was beginning. I was just starting my classes, and I hadn't yet been to any football games. Well, those classes are behind me (two As and a B), and I've now been to four Buckeye games in the Horseshoe. My seat wasn't exactly primo, as I hadn't completed any coursework at OSU when I bought them so I was lumped in with the freshmen. But I was able to see the entire field, I had a clear view of the Jumbotron for replays, and I could clearly hear the announcer. All in all, good seats...though I'm hoping for better ones this year. I won't give you a play-by-play of every game I attended; you can find that on ESPN.com if you're that curious. Spoiler alert: we won.

While we're on the subject, I really don't have an opinion on the suspension of Coach Tressel and five of our players. I think that what Tressel did was shady, but I also feel that given the "crime" committed by the players, the whole thing is much ado about nothing. Was an NCAA rule violated? Yes. But get real. If you don't want college kids selling their 24K gold jewelry for spending money, DON'T give college kids 24K gold jewelry. I think it should go in a shoebox that they get when they graduate. "Here's all the stuff you amassed while you were here. Best of luck in the NFL." Anyway, I hope that we can pull it together with the younger kids and put together a good first half of the season. It really sucks here when they lose. The whole city is bummed. And that's all I've got to say about that.

I had a busy break after fall quarter. I spent the first week in Dayton with the Reserves serving part of my annual tour. It wasn't bad, but I'm very ready to not have anything to do with aircraft maintenance ever again. More on that later. After that, I spent a weekend in Cleveland. The following week, Jess flew in for Christmas. We had a great visit; I showed her around Columbus, we played in the snow, ate too much, drank too much, built fires, opened presents, and just enjoyed each others' company. Unfortunately she was only able to stay a short time. After she flew back to Florida, I loaded Sam into the truck and headed down to my property in Southern Ohio to get back in the woods and do some deer hunting. I haven't hunted since 1995 or so, so I was really excited to get back out there. I got down there just as night fell and discovered that the heater that we thought was on the fritz in the trailer had officially bought the farm. As it was 12 degrees outside (and in the trailer), I contemplated just heading back home. But I was able to secure lodging at our friend Mary Kay's cottage just around the corner (thanks, Mary!), so I was able to fall off her porch and into my tree stand in the morning while Samson slept on the couch. I wasn't successful in harvesting any deer, but I did manage to see eight of them in two days, and they were all close enough to be within range. I actually got a shot off at one of them, but either she jumped or Cousin Dave's crossbow shoots low, because I missed her clean. Must've been that crossbow...always blame the equipment, right? But even though I came home empty-handed, I felt like I accomplished a lot. I saw a bunch of deer on our property, I got back in the woods, and I cleared my brain with some cold, fresh air and a dead-quiet forest. After my hunt I came back to Columbus, dropped off my dirty clothes, grabbed some clean clothes, and headed back up to Cleveland to spend New Year's Eve with family and friends. Tony and Gerri Polo threw a great party (as usual) with too much food, too much drink, and too much fun. After the confetti settled on the New Year it was time to head back home and face reality.

Winter quarter started without any issues. This was the first quarter that I had all business classes, so I didn't have to trudge across campus from building to building with a frigid wind whipping me into submission. In fact, there's a tunnel system that connects all the buildings in the business complex, so once I walked from the parking lot to the first building, I didn't have to deal with Ma Nature until it was time to go home for the day. I had a full slate of business classes to keep me busy; accounting, linear programming (the second in a series after my business calculus class in the fall), and an ethics/public speaking class. No real curveballs here, though I'd heard horror stories about the OSU accounting gestapo. They turned out to be just rumors, likely propagated by 19-year olds who felt some sense of entitlement and who didn't want to put forth the effort needed to succeed. Me personally, I did just fine. I managed to keep my streak going of two As and a B, though this time it was an A, an A-, and a B+. I believe that's called a trifecta. In any event, I've managed to secure a spot on the Dean's list every quarter, and my goal is to keep that streak alive until I graduate.

Wow, this is a longer post than I was prepared to write. I guess that's what happens when I ignore das blogge for six months.

After winter quarter, Jess and I decided that we needed to go somewhere new, so we met each other in Washington, DC. We let William Shatner book us a swanky hotel with his Priceline negotiations; we stayed at the Mayflower near Dupont Circle. It's the same hotel where Eliot Spitzer entertained hookers. It was really posh, but also really expensive, as was pretty much everything in DC. But we enjoyed ourselves; we went to see museums and monuments, we took a tour of the Capitol, we ate and drank a lot, and we just generally had a good time. We got there the week before the Cherry Blossom Festival, so we saw all the blooms but none of the crowds. It's a busy city with lots to do, and we both really like it there. Who knows...we may find ourselves living/working there before it's all said and done.

So once again, I'm back in the school routine, this time at the beginning of spring quarter. I have a manageable course load; another accounting class, my final Earth Science class (the planets...should be neat), and a marketing class. Of the three, I see the accounting class being the most labor-intensive. I'm also trying to get back to my regular workout regimen. Now that the snow is (for the most part) done until next winter, I'm taking advantage of the milder weather and running again. I also hit the gym three or four times a week. My plan is to be back in fighting shape by summer. This college lifestyle is starting to take its toll on my midsection, and we can't have that!

Oh yeah...I told you I'd come back to my comment about the Reserves. I'm angling for an opportunity to retrain out of aircraft maintenance and into intelligence this fall. If the chips fall in my favor, I should be working for an intel squadron before Thanksgiving. Then once I finish my degree I'll take a few months to head off to Texas and go through tech school to officially become an intel guy. Keep your fingers crossed, this could be the chance to finally get the hell out of maintenance!

I'll keep you posted. Hopefully in intervals shorter than bi-annually.

Back to Semi-Normalcy

Well, here we are, on the first official day of fall...I think. I'll have to check my farmer's almanac. Anyway, today is also the first day of the fall quarter here at THE Ohio State University, and I'm furiously typing away on a computer in the main library. It's a balmy 70 degrees in Columbus (the weather girl kept saying that it was hot outside this morning...lemme tell you about a little place called Florida, sweetheart!), the campus is just as I remember it, and I'm fully prepared for round two of a hearty ass-whooping from the educational system. Because it's been a while since I've written, I'll catch you up.

So my last entry talked about how the summer quarter was trying to kill me, one calculus equation at a time. Well, I'm proud to say that when the dust settled and the grades got turned in, I managed three As and a B. The B was in my computer science class, which I was just hoping to squeak through with a C- to keep from ever having to see that nonsense again; the B was a pleasant surprise. And yes, I managed to get an A in calculus! Granted, I finished with an 89.6%...but round that bad boy up to the nearest whole number - as is required by published guidance - and voila! 90%. So I got an A by virtue of 1/500th of a point. Skin of my teeth? Maybe. But I'll take it. Also, since that was my very last math class ever, I've kept my streak alive of getting an A in every college math class I've taken (first attempt at college in 1996 excluded, of course). So I wound up with a 3.68 GPA, good enough to put me in the top 15% of my class and fill my mailbox with solicitation from honor societies. Nice...

For my break between terms, I went to Florida to see Jess for a few weeks. What a great trip! Granted, it was hotter than the surface of Mercury (the side that faces the sun) and humid to boot, but it was great to see her again. There was much relaxing, much swimming in the ocean, and much eating of good food. I managed to see some old friends while I was down there (though I didn't get to do as much visiting as I'd hoped, but I felt that my time was better spent with my honey). Kicking and screaming, I headed back to Columbus last Friday. I really do like it better up here; the little thermometer doo-hickey in my truck didn't drop below 97 degrees until I got north of Nashville. It was over 100 through pretty much all of Alabama. When I pulled in my driveway here, it was 54. I was actually cold in my t-shirt and shorts! Jess is gonna come up to visit at Christmas, so I'll be able to turn the tables on her...I hope it snows!

So now I'm back at school. The campus is alive; there are 5,000 new freshmen wandering around all lost and dopey-lookin' who weren't here in the summer. In fact, there are about 40,000 more students here now than there were last quarter. Parking is gonna be an interesting experience. Time to start riding the motorcycle to school! My first class isn't until 9:30 AM, and it's "The History of Rock and Roll." I'm thinking of just coming into the classroom with my Les Paul slung over my shoulder. One would think that would earn me an automatic A. Extra credit, if nothing else, right? I mean, I'm MR. Rock-and-Roll! In kindergarten we had to bring in our favorite song one day; there were lots of Disney records, a few nursery rhymes, stuff like that. Me? I walked in with ZZ Top's "Eliminator" album tucked under my arm. "Sharp Dressed Man, please." Needless to say, I'm not expecting any curveballs in this class. I also have Business Management 330, which is OSU-speak for "another round of statistics." Rounding out my schedule is an Earth Science class, "The Geology of the National Parks" (get it? Rounding out? Earth Science? Because, you know...the Earth...round...never mind. Just forget it). I think stats is gonna be my brainbuster this quarter. Fortunately, I made good friends with everyone in the math lab last quarter with my calculus debacle, so I'll be able to hit them up again. I may have to bribe them, though...

Also, it's FOOTBALL SEASON!!! I had a ticket to the game this weekend, but the Reserves expects me to be in Dayton, so I had to sell it. The next game I'll be here for is against Indiana in a few weeks. By then the air should be crisp, the leaves should be changing, and the place will be GORGEOUS!. Don't worry...I'll take pictures.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to run along so I can teach the professor about Robert Johnson, Blind Willie McTell, and the Beatles. I wonder if my story about meeting Warren Haynes and Buddy Guy will be enough to excuse me from the final...

Treading water, or where the hell is Kurt Vonnegut when you need him?

I'm a liar. A big, fat liar whose pants, as a matter of fact, just happen to be on fire. A few weeks ago I promised you I would write, but I never got around to it. For that, I apologize. However, this is nothing new for me. I don't often write; ask my mother. She had to threaten to take me out of the will unless I wrote to her while I was deployed. And then, I'd generally write something along the lines of "Dear mom, hope this finds you well. It's hot here, and I'm tired of sand. Please put me back in the will. Your son." Or something similar to that, anyway (though I'm not really sure what that threat was supposed to mean; who was she gonna give her stuff to, my brother?). So you see, this is a recurring issue for me. But I don't want you to think that I don't WANT to write, because I do. It's just that I've gotten myself into a situation that demands pretty much every waking moment of my life, and those moments get longer and longer as I am slowly deprived of sleep, like a prisoner of war.

I'm halfway through the summer quarter at Ohio State, and it is kicking. My. Ass.

There. I said it. School is hard. And it's not like I'm new at this. After 12 years on active duty, I've done my share of school. Every time I would turn around, there was another course I had to complete, or some training event I had to attend. I also managed to get three (count 'em, three) associate's degrees in the past few years. But this is unlike anything I've ever done. This is just sick.

Before you all get to feelin' sorry for me, let me say this. Going to Ohio State is not only a dream come true, but it's the most enjoyable thing I've done in a very long time. Every day as I walk across the campus, through the Oval, along its meticulously manicured carpet of deep green grass and brick walks, I look at buildings like Orton Hall, University Hall, Ohio Stadium, and Thompson Library and am awestruck at the majesty of this place. How many hundreds of thousands of fellow Buckeyes have walked these same paths, had these same experiences, and been forever changed by this grand old girl! It is truly a humbling experience, and I consider myself lucky to be able to take part in it for myself. The fact that I get to be here for free (thank you, GI Bill) makes it that much sweeter.

But on the other side of the coin is the work it takes to be here. Having been in school in some form or another for the past 28 years, I will say that this is, beyond all doubt, the most difficult thing I've ever done. Get comfy, I feel a story coming on...

Ohio State is a world-class university. It is consistently ranked among the top 25 best universities in the country, and it is the jewel in the crown of Ohio's higher learning institutions. One reason is its football program, which can stomp a mudhole in the ass of pretty much any program out there (when they aren't blowing it down their leg, but that's a story for another time). Another reason is the high academic standards. The classes are tough! I'm currently taking four classes; I have a computer science course, a humanities course, a calculus course, and a business admin course. Aside from the business admin course, which is online and a requirement for all business students, any one of the other three classes would totally monopolize my time. Combine all three, and it just crushes any hopes of down time I might be foolish enough to entertain.

The computer science class is basically a "how to use Excel and Access" class. Now, I've been using Excel for years in the Air Force. Problem is, we didn't use it to anywhere NEAR its potential; we used it basically as pre-lined paper. Never have I used any of the functions or calculation abilities of Excel. As the course director put it, my use of Excel in the past was akin to "driving around in an airplane, not realizing that it could fly." And for those who have never written Excel formulas, it's not unlike learning a foreign language. The homework for this class is pretty brutal, too. The class meets Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and every night I have about three spreadsheets to build, plus chapters in the book to read, plus a multi-page prelab assignment to complete by Thursday. It's not uncommon for me to spend two hours a night on this, though before I figured out the trick to this course I was spending four to five hours a night.

The humanities course is actually very enjoyable. The instructor is a younger guy, working on his master's degree. He's very into the subject matter and he knows what he's talking about. In a nutshell, this is a literature class. But because he's a religious studies major, our books all have a religious theme. We read "Black Elk Speaks" by John Niehardt, a book about a Sioux medicine man, "Under the Banner of Heaven" by Jon Krakauer, about the Fundamentalist Latter-Day Saints (specifically about two FLDS brothers who killed a woman and her 15-month old daughter because God instructed them to), and we're currently reading "Salvation on Sand Mountain" by Dennis Covington, about his experiences with Pentecostal snake-handlers in the Appalachians. Real "on the fringes of normalcy" stuff, and honestly, it's fascinating. What makes this class difficult is that it's a First Term class; that means that instead of being 10 weeks long like a full quarter class, it's only 5 weeks long. Our reading assignments for Black Elk, for example, were "Mon - read chapters 1-10. Tues - read chapters 11-18. Wed - read chapters 19-26." So in three days, we read the entire book. And it's not a small book, or one that's particularly easy to read. I was reading for two hours a night on average, and that doesn't include the time spent to answer questions on the reading we were given in handouts. This process was repeated for the other two books as well.

And then there's calculus. I took business calculus in Florida, so I'm not completely new to this subject. I got an A, too...so I know I can do this stuff. But that was over a year ago, and calculus isn't something you use everyday. Couple this with the fact that I'm taking a night class (which cuts into my study time for the other two classes), and calculus has become my most difficult subject. After failing to knock the cobwebs off my brain in the first few weeks of class, I've learned the hard way that the only way I'm gonna understand this material is to do lots of homework, beyond what is assigned by the teacher. Fortunately, the college has free math tutoring at the Math Learning Center. I plan to frequent this establishment as I get my analytical brain back online. Unfortunately, lots of calculus homework takes lots of time, something that - if you've been paying attention - I don't really have much of. But my humanities class ends next week, so I'll be able to use that time to study calculus.

I hope I don't sound like I'm whining, because nothing could be further from the truth. I'm here voluntarily, and I wouldn't trade this experience for anything. I just need to blow the dust off of my time management skills, which atrophied badly during the six months I had between my last day at work and my first day at school. And, it will never be harder than it is right now. This is my first quarter, I'm taking some difficult classes, and I miss Jessica. Every term from here on out will be one term closer to graduation, every day the campus gets a little bit smaller, and every day is one day closer to seeing my baby again. Before I know it, I'll have this school business down pat, and I'll be wondering why I was so stressed out. And it's almost football season; I'll be able to mark my time with each passing Saturday. I bought my season tickets, so I'll be in the student section for all the in-conference home games. Watch for me on TV...I'll be the guy in the red shirt.

So that's school so far. It's the most enjoyable ass-kicking I've ever received, and I wouldn't have it any other way. If it was easy, everyone would do it. So if you don't hear from me for a while, it's not because I don't like you anymore (though, I wouldn't rule that option out TOO quickly). It's more likely that I'm trapped under a pile of loose-leaf paper, furiously calculating antiderivatives and differential equations.

"All men are created equal. A very select few get to be called Buckeyes."

Waylaid by Jackassery

Okay, so it's been weeks since I've written anything here. I know, I know. I've let down my followers, and for that I apologize. For the record, I have no idea why I haven't written. I've been doing stuff. New stuff. Blog-worthy stuff. Like, I completed my first Reserve drill weekend, I went to the orientation at Ohio State, I found a new band to play in...stuff like that. And I WANT to tell you all about it. I just haven't been in a creative writing mood. But fear not; school starts on Monday, and soon I'll find myself with much less time on my hands. Thus, I'd better pen my thoughts before I get too mired down with homework and stuff.

So my promise to all of you (and to myself, since I'm the reason why I started this thing in the first place) is that by this time next week, there will be at LEAST two new entries for your reading enjoyment.

More to follow...

Phase One Complete

Lots to catch up on since my last foray into creative writing for mostly anonymous readers (thanks to my four followers; I promise I won't go all Jonestown on ya).

I am now living in Ohio. Let me say that again, since it still hasn't really hit me yet. I am now living in Ohio. For those who may not know, this is my home turf. I was born and raised in Cleveland, about two hours north of here on Lake Erie. For those of you with smart-ass jokes about Cleveland, the Browns, the Indians, LeBron James, Earnest Byner, Bernie Kosar, Life's a Plum, The Mistake By The Lake, Jacobs Field, Gund Arena (no, it's not an STD), hypodermic needles washing ashore at Edgewater Park, the Cuyahoga River catching on fire, Drew Carey, snow tires, potholes, Polish people, Parma, pierogies, or the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, go ahead and laugh about them to yourselves. Get it out of your system...I'll wait.

...sigh...

Feel better? May I continue? Thank you.

So as I was saying, I'm a lifelong Buckeye. When I joined the Air Force it was my goal to get as FAR away from Ohio as possible. I was successful, too. This is the first time since 1998 that I've had an Ohio address, and to be honest I have mixed emotions. It's nice up here. I'm comfortable up here. There are no hurricanes or fire ants up here. Things are cheaper up here. But Jess is still stuck in the mire that is Florida. The Ham is still down there too, as are my friends for the last nine years. Now I'm in an unfamiliar town with unfamiliar people, and I'm all by myself. Sure, Cleveland is just two hours away, but when has "visit your family" been the answer to any of your problems? It may be the answer to THEIR problems, but this isn't about them. So there. Nyah!

Let me also say this. Moving sucks out loud. The gub'mint moved my household goods up here on their dime, which helped. Monday I had people packing all my stuff into boxes; Tuesday I had people loading those boxes onto an 18-wheeler. This Monday, those same people will pull up to my new house in said 18-wheeler and put all those boxes inside for me. However, even with all that help, I still managed to spend my final 30 hours in Florida (also my final 30 hours with Jess and Ham) packing and moving. The movers can't take certain items like aerosols or flammable liquids. But I still need shaving cream and gas for the lawnmower, so I had to schlep that crap up here with me. I had my '56 Chevy on a trailer, and it was jammed with stuff; dog stuff, house stuff, car stuff. My truck was jammed with stuff as well. Stuff that, naturally, I can't live without. More accurately, it was stuff that the movers didn't take but that I couldn't just leave behind. I should have sorted it out and thrown away what I didn't need, but I had no time for that. In a box it goes, to be not sorted/not thrown away up here.

Overall, the trip up was uneventful. I had blue skies and warm sunshine the entire drive, and my truck is a towing monster. Aside from getting HORRENDOUS gas mileage I couldn't really tell that I had a 3200 lb car back there. Sam was crashed out in the back seat on his bed. He never threw a fit; every now and again he'd sit up and look around, almost as if to see where we were. He enjoyed a delicious roast beef sandwich at Arby's, since dog food doesn't go over too well in the truck (side note - Arby's Beef and Cheddar sandwiches aren't good road food. The cheese sauce on my jeans is proof). We stopped two or three times to stretch our legs, make some phone calls (me), drink some water (both of us), and pee on sign posts (mostly him, but you know...I'm kind of a boy). We pulled into the driveway of our new place at about 2 AM this morning. Once I got the pillows, linens, air mattress, and cooler out of the truck, sleep was instantaneous.

Today we got up, made some coffee, went out to pee (just him this time), and finished unloading the truck. I turned in the trailer on my way to the rental office to sign the lease. When I went to disconnect the trailer from the hitch on the truck, I noticed that the ball was loose. In fact, it was so loose that the nut that holds it to the hitch was halfway off! Did you ever get that cold sweat feeling, like you just escaped disaster? It happened to me right then. I was hauling - and I mean HAULING, 75-80 mph for 14 hours - towing my car, my prized possession, my labor of love for the past twentysomething years, and the only thing that was keeping it from flying off the road to its gristly demise was a few threads on a trailer ball. Wow, thanks for helping me on that one, dad! I'm certain that had I been en route to Cleveland I'd have totaled my car.

I signed the papers for the lease on my new crib. Once I get some pics of the place I'll put them up here so you can see what poverty looks like. I hope the rental company takes rolled coins. Not that I have any of those either, but I like having options.

And now here I am, sitting in a McDonalds stealing their WiFi at midnight because the jerks who lived in the house before me weren't kind enough to leave the cable turned on. Ingrates! Hopefully I can get it taken care of Monday or Tuesday; otherwise I'll be eating a lot of fries so I can stay connected with the world.

Now that I think about it, I have no earthly business sitting in a McDonalds at midnight. It's time to go home. You're pretty much all caught up now, except for the park and the river. "Wait, what park and river, Steve?" you may be asking yourself. Stay tuned for that. The night manager is looking at me funny because I've been nursing this diet lemonade for an hour now. That's my cue to split.

Kafka, eat your heart out

As many of you may know, I'm getting ready to undergo a major change in my life. No, I'm not gonna be a daddy, and no we still haven't set a date for the wedding. But after 12 years in the Air Force, I'm separating from active duty. I figured that now would be a good time to start a blog, since I'll finally have stories to tell and experiences to share as I wipe my proverbial slate clean and plod my way down life's road less traveled.

Some of you are likely asking, "Why, after 12 years, are you getting out when you're so close to retiring?" Well, I can honestly say that this isn't what I wanted to do. But I'll have to tell the whole story, so grab a beverage. We may be here a while.

I joined the Air Force in 1998 and entered basic training with a guaranteed job of Electronic Warfare Systems maintenance. In a nutshell, that's avionics designed to detect and/or defeat radar systems as well as radar and heat-seeking missiles. It looked neat on paper, so I signed up. By having a guaranteed job, I avoided getting a "Needs of the Air Force" job, which is usually cop, cook, or clerk. I soon discovered that while the job looked neat on paper, it wasn't what I wanted to do for the next two decades. About three years ago I decided that since I already made up my mind to stick it out for the full 20 years, I might as well try to retrain into a job that I liked better than avionics maintenance. For my first attempt, I submitted an application to be a Military Training Instructor, or MTI. These are Air Force drill sergeants, the folks who get to wear the Smokey Bear hats and yell at new recruits in basic training. I figured that since I'm big and scary-looking, I'd be a shoe-in for that job. Well, I would have been if I wasn't SO big. Big as in fat. They denied my application because my PT score was only average, and they were looking for the best of the best. I was told to get into better shape and reapply in six months. Well, that hurt. So as I was licking my wounds and starting a workout regimen, I decided to look around for other jobs just to see what was available. One job I found was in Contracting. Whenever a government agency hires a non-government agency to do work (build things, mop floors, direct traffic, the list is endless), there is a contract provided. Contracting personnel are responsible for that process. It's an inside job, it involves banker's hours, and it provides very lucrative job opportunities in the civilian sector. Well, this was right up my alley; a true anti-avionics job! Best of all, the Air Force was critically undermanned in this particular job. They NEEDED me! So I completed an application to be a contracting official. It made it all the way up to the Air Force Personnel Center (AFPC), where it was ultimately denied because - are you ready for this - my current job wasn't OVERmanned, so I didn't have any priority for an available retraining class. See, there was a big push going on at the time to balance out the enlisted skill positions. People in overmanned jobs were being told that they had to retrain into undermanned jobs whether they wanted to or not. My job wasn't one of those jobs, so there was a line of folks ahead of me who got to take all the contracting slots, even though they may not have wanted to get out of the job they were in. Harumph!

Still with me? Hey, I warned you that this would take a while.

So once again I looked around to see what jobs were available for me to retrain into. I discovered the Air Force Office of Special Investigations, or AFOSI, which was desperately looking for volunteers to retrain as special agents. Basically, these folks are the FBI agents of the Air Force. They investigate crimes involving Air Force personnel, they bust airmen using drugs, they break up smuggling rings, and they're no-kidding federal agents. Cool! I went to an introduction briefing, got the application packet, and started filling it out. I made it through the first interview, completed some writing tests, and anxiously awaited my interview with the department superintendent. If I did well at this interview, my application would be sent to AFPC to have me released from my avionics job so I could pursue the AFOSI job. Well, I had one test to complete before I could go in for that interview. The next available test date was about three weeks out, so I scheduled it and waited. At work, I daydreamed about being an agent. It was great!

About a week before the test date, the Chief in my squadron comes to me and says "You need to check the assignment system, because it looks like you're gonna get orders." Bad news. Since I didn't complete the OSI application, I knew it wasn't that. I looked into it, and sure enough I was selected to move to Minot, ND to work avionics on B-52s. Snake eyes! Because I hadn't yet been released from my career field to pursue the OSI job, I had to either accept the assignment and move to North Dakota (in January, no less...thanks a lot, Air Force) or decline the assignment, become ineligible to re-enlist, and separate from active duty. I talked it over with Jess as well as some friends of mine who've been in for a while, and decided that going to Minot would be a career (and possibly relationship) killer. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I knew that whatever it was it couldn't be worse than fixing broken planes outside in North Dakota...in January.

So that answers the question of why I'm getting out after 12 years. "But Steve" you ask, "what are you going to do now?"

Well, right about the time I found out about my assignment to Minot, the Dept of Veterans Affairs announced a new GI Bill to replace the Montgomery GI Bill. Called the Post-9/11 GI Bill, it offered many more benefits including 100 % tuition assistance, a monthly housing allowance, and a yearly book stipend. So not only will they pay your tuition in full, but they'll give you rent money every month and pay $1,000/year for books. Clouds parted, skies cleared, and I can swear I heard angels sing. The best part is that they'd cover up to 100% of the most expensive state school in whichever state you choose. So being from Ohio and being a Buckeyes fan, I applied to Ohio State. It's free, might as well start with my dream college, right? Well, much to my amazement I was accepted to Ohio State! I'll be starting in June, and I'm moving to Columbus at the end of this month. And for those of you wondering about what I'm going to do with the 12 years of service I have under my belt, fear not. I also enlisted in the Air Force Reserve. I'll keep all my benefits, work one weekend a month and two weeks a year, and go to school full-time. I got a job at Wright-Patterson AFB in Dayton, OH (about an hour from Columbus), and I even managed to get a promotion out of the deal! Hopefully by fall or winter I'll be a Master Sergeant. It's still in avionics for now, but I think I can deal with it for two days a month. Once I finish school I'll look into retraining into something else. Right now my focus is on getting my degree. And because I already have 12 years down, I only have to do 8 in the Reserves and I can retire!

So that's my story up to this point. This blog is to allow me to document my experience as I transition from being a full-time Airman to being a college bum and a weekend warrior (does the title of the blog make sense now?) as well as the trials and tribulations that come from moving and changing jobs and learning my way around a new city, a new base, and two very different ways of life. I'm sure that there will be some good, some bad, some funny, some angry, and a little of everything in between. One thing is for sure, it'll be entertaining!