United.

I used to have the news on in the background as I would get ready in the morning.  My mom always did, and I guess I felt something nostalgic about it- like it was something you did when you’re a grownup.  However, over the past few weeks- I have really hesitated to even turn it on.  I knew it’s not going to be good.  More deaths.  More hate.  More conflicting opinions resulting in longtime friends and even family members turning against each other.  The same thing carries through onto social media.  It’s overwhelmingly dismal.  I find myself having to step back and focus on what is directly in front of me- the welcomed monotony of endlessly reminding my kids to brush their teeth (and yes, even shower) every day.  I almost welcome the chaos of getting three kids out the door, because it’s a happy stress.  Not the feeling of devastation for mankind that is coming through from the media.

Then, last week I went down to Dallas.  My publisher, Tactical 16, was sponsoring and participating in an event to raise money for The Lone Survivor Foundation.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  I knew there would be a softball game with a mix of celebrities and veterans.  Matthew McConaughey and TobyKeith were the headliners.  I knew to bring my books.  I was armed without expectations, but knowing it had potential to be a great time.

The night before the game I was introduced to Tim Klund (the organizer of the event), Ryan Weaver, and Cristina Coria- and each of them blew me away with their amazing personal stories.  Weaver is a combat veteran, Gold Star Family member- not once- but TWICE, as he lost both his brother and brother-in-law in combat.  His journey of rising to a successful country music star is unlike any others. 

Coria is a retired veteran of the police force.  She has survived many things in her life to include tragically losing her father at the age of 12, being hit (and temporarily paralyzed) by a drunk driver, and a gunshot wound that she barely escaped with her life.  She went on to become a guest on the reality TV show Survivor. 

What captivated me the most with both of these two was their enthusiasm and kindness.  They were survivors.  They had been through the ringer.  And all they wanted to do was to help others that were going through an even more difficult time.

The next night I set up my table of books and began meeting and speaking with many of the guests in the audience.  After the game, the night continued on, and I met the players- celebrities and veterans.  The theme was resounding.  Everyone was here for a reason.  They all had stories.  They all had endured some of life’s greatest hardships, but it didn’t break them.  And they were here to make sure no one else would break.

At one point, I looked out from the top of the stadium at the audience and the players under the lights.  It was a complete rainbow.  They all stood together- black, white, Hispanic, Asian- all colors and nationalities, from all parts of the country.  Everyone had a story about how they got there.  Everyone had ties to or were there to support the military in one way or another.  The veterans weren’t in a war overseas anymore, but they were still fighting for their brothers and sisters standing next to them.  They were still fighting for the people of our country.   

The event served as a huge reminder that we were all united, simply under Red, White, and Blue.  And in a world where so many of the bad stories have become the focus, they gave me hope. 

 

How to Survive MEPS: A brief down-and-dirty of what to expect.

I often get questions about boot camp and surviving the military in general.  Having just gone through the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS) a second time, I thought I would post some informative advice while it was still fresh in my head, to help get you through one of the very first steps towards your military career.

1. Don’t lie.  But lie a little.
   Don’t lie about the marijuana you did last week.  It’s going to pop up on your drug test, and then you are just wasting everyone’s time.  If you’re planning on going to MEPS or into the military- just don’t do drugs.  It’s simple, and there is no tolerance.
   
   
2. Lie a little.  They are going to cross-examine you. 
    Them:  “If you took any type of pill in the past month, and you don’t list it on this form, you will be kicked out!”  This does not include the TUMS you took after dinner two weeks ago.  No one cares.   You don’t need to write down TUMS.
    
3. The same rule goes with allergies.  If you have a deathly peanut allergy or have asthma, you need to report this.  If you touched fiber glass, poison ivy, or poison oak and broke out in a rash, congratulations.  You are normal and the military doesn’t care.
    
4. Get over your insecurities.  They are going to watch you pee into a cup for your drug test.  It’s gross.  No one enjoys it- least of all them.  Just follow directions- like every step- and you will be done quickly.  If you do not, you will be there twice as long.
    
5. To piggy back on #4.  They will examine EVERY part of you.  They are just being thorough, and it’s not intended to be a personal violation.  They are professional doctors.  If you can’t handle it, you shouldn’t go into the military.  There are worse things in life.
    
6. Don’t hit on anyone.  MEPS and boot camp are NOT the places to flirt.  You want to be taken seriously and this is not why you should be there.
    
7. Please, for everyone’s sake, wear clean underwear.  You will spend a lot of time in it with others.  Women, for the love of god, don’t wear a thong.    No one wants to see you in a thong doing the duck walk.
    
8. You will have to do the Duck Walk and other awkward coordination checks.  Just listen carefully, and once again follow directions to get done as swiftly as possible.
    
    
9. If you’re going into the Air Force, you’re going to have to valsalva.  Practice this ahead of time, as MEPS should not be the first time you valsalva, nor should boot camp be the first time you attempt to do a push up.
    
10. Make sure you are within the military standards for weight.  This will save you time and embarrassment if you’re not.  Lose weight first, and then sign up.
     
     
11.  Above all, BE RESPECTFUL.  Follow directions, only ask questions if you really need to (there are such things as stupid questions), and just go with the flow.  This will also serve as good advice to get through many of your trainings ahead.  Relax.  You got this.

Too Old For Round 2?

“Well, I’m not going to lie.  You’re old.”

This was not necessarily new information to me, but I did believe it was all relative.  Situational.  I mean, in my day-to-day, I didn’t run into too many age discrimination situations.  In fact, it had often been that I was rather young in my current job for so long, that somewhere in there my age must have crept away from me.  Perhaps it was lost in those sleep-deprived, mommy brain moments that came with raising 3 kids so close in age and blurred out much of my twenties.  I had my last child by the time I was 27, so in relation to the other moms that shared kids that were the same ages as mine in  the schools, I was usually on the younger side.  Not that I really even noticed. 
 

Comparatively speaking, to the young woman in her 20s that sat next to me in this moment in her camouflage uniform, I was old.  I was 38 and a half years old now, and considering most of my peers that had stayed in were now retiring from the military at this age, I was way too old to be entertaining the idea of getting back in. 

“I mean, you don’t just have a break in service, you have been out now for 15 years,” the recruiter continued on.

“Right.  I understand that.”  I shrugged my shoulders.  “I just figured I could at least look into it- to see if it’s even a possibility now that my kids are older and more independent; it would be easier for me to be in the reserves.”

She looked me up and down inquisitively, as if she was waiting for me to laugh and say this was all a big joke; that I was just pulling her chain.  This was just the first stop on my way to the muscle car dealership that specializes in midlife crises like the one I was apparently having.  When she finally determined that wasn't happening, she responded by stating, “I’m going to have to talk to my supervisor.”

I sat and waited in the empty office full of military propaganda that was screaming of promises.  It was exciting.  And then for a second I felt like I was betraying my family.  My Navy family, that is.  Here I was in the Air Force recruiter’s office.  The Chair Force.  All those years of making fun of them, (in good fun, of course) and now I was attempting to sign up with them.

After five minutes or so, the recruiter returned.  Clearly, she had not been reassured over this absurd situation. “Well,” she went on, “she said you’re old.”

I sighed, “Right.”  I wasn't denying this.  I was also doing my best not to let it give me a complex.

“And you’d have to go through MEPS again because you’re so old and have been out for so long.”

“Okay, that’s fine,” I replied.  "I had kind of figured that." 

I’m pretty sure I stunned her at this point.  Perhaps she was thinking I’d bail at this point, as my arthritic, pot-smoking days would come to a gentle close.  (P.S. I don’t smoke pot.  Or cigarettes.  Just fish. But not rolled up.  Flat, from a smoker, like everyone else from Minnesota does.)

“Okay.  Well, I guess we can start on the paperwork then,” as she reluctantly logged onto her fancy computer (because these kids nowadays use computers instead of the archaic type writers of 20 years ago.  Just kidding.  We had computers 20 years ago.  We even had the inter-web.  We would just have to use a little thing called dial-up to get it going and it took about 20 minutes to log onto.  Not kidding this time.  And we began the 45 minute physical and mental health checklist.

And that’s how my journey began.  The second time.

The E-Books Have Arrived!

The E-Books have arrived!  Well in the virtual, mystical world known simply as “Amazon.”  The paperbacks will be released January 12, 2016.  What a perfect way to bring in the new year!  

What They Don’t Teach You in Deer River is just in time to be your perfect holiday travel companion on your e-reader- for those long car rides or delayed flights.  And it is also perfect for those nights spent by the fire sipping eggnog.

My dream has come true.  I finally published my novel- and it only took me 13 years!!  So now I can officially say now that my life is literally an open book.   At least a portion of it anyways.  After reading this book you just may know way more than you ever wanted to know about me!

Ooh, and one more thing: [disclaimer] This is a book about Navy sailors.  Some words may be descriptive- and not just amazing adjectives.  (Though there are some pretty fabulous adjectives.) Some stories may involve strippers.  (But only the nice strippers, of course.)  If you are easily offended, you may want to skip this one and read the ‘G’ version:  My Mom Hunts Submarines. 

And so it goes…

I grew up in Deer River, MN- a one-stoplight town of 903 people.  Two weeks after I graduated high school  way back in the old days (1997) when everything was in black and white, I enlisted in the Navy in a combat aircrew position that had just been opened up to women.  At first we were mistaken by tiny hairless men.  Quite a few people told me I was crazy and I would be back home before I knew it.  Some of the old WWII veterans patted my shoulder, and nodded, wishing me luck.  My dad, fearing my safety, begged me not to go.  Honestly, I had no idea what I was getting myself into- which probably was best that way.  I just knew I didn’t want to fail.

Spoiler alert- I didn’t go off and become a war hero.  I didn’t save the world.  I didn’t win the Noble Peace Prize or even receive the perfect attendance award.  (I was runner-up) However; I did serve my country, met some lifelong friends, flew over 1300 hours in a war-fighting machine, kicked some submarine ass, and learned a few lessons (the hard way).  This book is a compilation of short stories and those lessons learned.

If you are looking for Steinbeck or Dickens, you probably should put this book back on the shelf and keep looking.  However, if you are looking for random entertaining stories that begin with conjunctions, contain cheesy metaphors, and improper sentence structure- well this, my friend, may be the book for you.  You may laugh.  You may cry.  You may want to dance on a barstool next time the opportunity arises.  I’m not a writer, I’m a story teller.  And this is my story.

Get your copy here:

http://smile.amazon.com/What-They-Dont-Teach-River-ebook/dp/B019EWS7LS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1450362994&sr=8-1&keywords=julia+maki

Veteran's Voices

 

Veterans Day is an interesting day.  Formed with all the right intentions, I can’t help but think it is also a very conflicting day for anyone who has served and has suffered loss, pain, or anger due to a multitude of circumstances.  While yes, the free meals and day of discounts are nice - are they really acts of gratitude - or are they just tax-deductable contributions for large businesses, spotlighting the sympathetic, pull-at-your-heartstrings advertisements?  Usually an idealist, I hate to sound so cynical. 

 

With these thoughts circling in my head, I decided to reach out to various veterans.  Some were old friends.  Some were wounded veterans that belong to an amazing organization that I am proud to be a part of, Shepherds for Lost Sheep.  (http://www.shepherdsforlostsheepinc.org/) I asked them how they personally felt about Veterans Day.  Did they feel honored, or did it conjure up other feelings that are often too impolite to mention?  Unintentionally, their responses moved me.

 

“No matter how screwed up I am, I’m proud, honored, and would do it all again (Jun ’87-Dec ’11)” ~Michael

 

“I don’t mind it… it is a pretty solid way to honor people who generally speaking don’t ask for much.  I however do not take part in any of the free stuff.” ~Erik

 

“I don’t know if I’d say honored, but it’s always nice to be thanked and recognized.” ~April

 

“I do believe in the power of having a good life, and that people need a day off to relax and/or party sometimes, so if you need an excuse for it, well then, call it Veterans Day if you like.  Just don’t forget on November 12^th that many of those veterans you “honored” still live in the streets.  [Many also] are getting over the stress of last night’s fireworks.  (Here in xx the fireworks are practically launched over the VA Hospital).” ~Deena

 

“[After much internal debate] I've decided to go to the [Veterans Day] ceremony.  My kids want me there and sometimes it isn't always about me.  It's about them.  Besides...Ella will be in hog heaven with all these kids petting her.”  ~Zach

 

“Personally, I value Memorial Day more than Veteran's day.  Since I've gotten out, I feel extremely uncomfortable when I am thanked and such. Why thank me? I volunteered. I knew what I was getting into.  No reason to thank me.  Show love and honor the moms and dads who lost their sons and daughters, the children who lost a mom, a dad.  The brother who lost a brother, etc.  I just wanna lead a quiet life... The real heroes never made it home. I’m just lucky. That's my pov.  It rubs people the wrong way but well, it is my view and mine alone.”  ~Andy

 

“I am honored that there is a day set aside for our veterans when everyone else can honor veterans - personally (most of y'all know how I feel) everyday is Veterans Day to me and I will keep moving forward helping my Brothers and Sisters so long as I draw breath.  I am also disgusted in this day and age of national coffee, chocolate, garlic, onion, bagel, and every other day they can dream up to make a quick $.  Yet no matter how broken I am, if I had 10,000 lives, I would live them all for my country.  I am also with Andy, Memorial Day means a lot more to me.  It's the day I honor those who didn't come home, who paid the ultimate price for our freedom.”  ~Tim

 

And then Larry spoke up.

 

“The short and long of it - whenever someone approaches me and says "thanks for your service" - I have flash backs to San Francisco International Airport, April 21, 1973.  [I was] looking good in my dress white uniform, coming back from deployment that included my "in-country" adventure, [and] looking forward to seeing Cathie.  Then 4 strangers come straight toward me and spit on my uniform as they quickly pass me.  Bottom line is "too little, too late".”  ~Larry

 

His response nearly brought me to tears.  I still cannot fathom everything this man had gone through, and then to come home to his country and be made to feel like he didn’t belong.  How did this happen?  Are we too late for the Vietnam generation?  Those veterans suffered (as all before them) for decades in silence without help, therapy, or acknowledgment for their life of sacrifice they were forced into for their country. 

 

I’m not sure when things flipped for America and when it became patriotic once again to serve your country.  I am relieved it did.  However, just like so many other historic mistakes (Indian wars, slavery, the Holocaust, etc.), we cannot change the past.  Our generation knows better and has learned from the mistakes of the past, so therefore we do better now.  But are we? 

 

Though they may not show it, so many are suffering in silence every day.  Their wounds may never heal.  As they suffer, so are their families.  Though it may bring up difficult memories for some, we must continue to honor and remember our veterans not only on Veterans Day, but every day.  Thanking them is good.  But choosing to honor a veteran is even better. 

 

How do we do this?

 

By showing respect.  Respect to those that have served, and those that have fallen.  Showing respect to our flag and what it represents.  By removing our hats when we hear the National Anthem.  By teaching our children to respect their elders, their flag, and their country.  By teaching them the Pledge of Allegiance if they don’t learn it in school.  By teaching our children to respect and thank veterans.  Volunteering at the local VA hospitals, (http://www.volunteer.va.gov) so they know that they aren’t forgotten.  And honoring those that will not be coming home.  Freedom is not free.

 

Freedom.  It sounds so simple to us, so basic, that we’ve come to take it for granted.  We do not know what the eyes of our military have seen.   They have witnessed what life is like in countries that do not have Old Glory.  They have shielded the general public from ever knowing what that kind of a life is like.  Without our veterans, we wouldn’t know what it means to have choices.  Without them, we would not be a free nation.  We must never forget this. For the sake of our veterans, and for those that never came home.   

 

 

 

 

This one day- I stalked a veteran.

One time, I was driving and came to a stop sign.  Right smack dab in front of me I noticed a car with a license plate with the words Vietnam POW on it.  Instantly I thought wow.  There is a true-life hero right in front of me.

Then I got a great idea.  I thought, I should tell him that!  I should thank him for his service!  I'm sure it would just have to make his day.  I had it all planned out perfectly in my head.

There was just one problem.  He was in his car moseying down the road and I was in mine.  And so, it was then that I decided to I followed him.  Not to his home or anything.  That would be psychotic of me.  Just to the grocery store where he appeared to be headed.  

I made it look like I was going there all along.  I can always use groceries, right?  When he parked, I slyly  slithered my car in a few parking spots down from his.  Then, casually, I took my time getting out- making sure he and his lovely wife got out first.  I didn’t want to be too obvious.  I checked my teeth in the sun shade mirror.  I rifled through my purse.  I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see them rounding the corner into the grocery store.

I leapt out of my car trying to look casual-ninja like.  I began to whistle and swing my arms, knowing for sure this would help me blend in.

As I entered the store, I cursed under my breath as they were suddenly nowhere in sight.  Ugh- this was starting to get complicated.

I grabbed a cart and skillfully began checking every aisle.  Finally I spotted them near the spaghetti sauces.  I gasped.  I love spaghetti too! 

Quickly and stealthily I raced into the next aisle.  I figured I’d cut them off head-on and make it look like an accident that I ran into him.  Not literally.  I’m not crazy.  Mostly.

So as I strolled about and began whistling again,  I saw him come into my aisle and he was wearing his Vietnam POW hat- which was good.  Otherwise I'd have to explain how I saw his license plate.  I worked up the courage and when he was in ear shot I blurted out with the greatest sincerity, “Thank you so much for your service, sir!”

He paused for a moment, looking surprised for a second and then smiled warmly, “Oh, this?” He touched his hat.  “Well, you’re very welcome.  Thank you for noticing.”

And without thinking, I said, “I just can’t imagine what it must have been like for you- and I thank you for your sacrifice.”

“Yes ma’am.  It wasn’t easy, that's for sure."  He shook his head.  "I spent 5 years over in there in a POW camp.  It was… “ his voice trailed off.  “Well, it was something else.  But I’m home now.”  He put his arm around his wife that stood next to him.  She looked up at him and smiled.  As they walked away she put her hand on my arm.  “Take care dear.” She smiled.  And I knew it meant something.

As I stood there, I came down from the rush of my 'mission' and reality hit me.  I tried to wrap my mind around the thought.  Five years in a POW camp- each day not knowing if it was his last or if he’d ever make it home again.  I could not imagine the things this man must have seen.  Stuff that no human should ever see or endure.  Somehow just saying thank you seemed hardly enough.   And I began to think we as Americans owe everything we are and have to this man.  Everything. 

I think of him today- as well as the hundreds of thousands of others that have gone before me- giving all they had to keep our country free.  Because of them we can go to bed at night and not have to sleep in fear- wondering if our families would be alive by sunrise like so many other countries must think about every night.  Until you've seen a third world country you never realize just how good we have it.

And so on this weekend as we’re celebrating our extra day off of work, barbecuing, or traveling, I ask that you please remember for just a moment what Memorial Day truly is about.  And thank a veteran today and every chance you get.  For our eyes know not what they’ve seen.

Though I personally have resolved not to stalk veterans anymore (or anyone for that matter) I will continue to thank them every opportunity I have.


To all my brothers and sisters in arms past present and future:  thank you.

All gave some.  Some gave all.

Epitaphs

The wind whipped like the tail of a dragon, stinging my cheekbones with a snap and drawing water to my eyes.  Most of the snow had melted by now, sparing just a few patches, but the grass that showed was yet lifeless and brown.  Spring had not yet come on this April day.

Suddenly my body that had been numbed to stillness jumped as a deafening shot broke through the sounds of sniffing noses and choked back sobs.  Everyone halted and exactly twenty more followed.

And then, nothing but the lonely sound of a bugle could be heard, followed by an echo off in the distance.  They were the same familiar notes that symbolized a part of who my grandfather was.  He wasn’t just my grandfather for the ten years that I knew him, he was a national hero.  He had lived a lifetime well before I ever knew him.  He had touched many lives.  I realized how many stories I never had the chance to hear.  How many questions I never had asked.  What was his favorite game as a kid?  What did he think the first time he saw my grandmother?  Was he ever scared he wouldn’t ever come home during the war? How did he ever get out of bed again after losing his first born son?  It was a life that was now done- and would no longer exist if the memories were not kept alive by those closest to him.

As I watched them delicately fold the flag into a perfect triangle, I felt the stiff arm of my cousin wrap around my shoulder and squeeze, showing the extent of affection tough country men were allowed to show.  “We sure had a great grandpa.” He simply stated.

No truer words were ever spoken.  It was then that I gave my tears permission to fall, knowing there was no use in trying to hold back any longer.

The above was written in response to a prompt from Write on Edge.