The lost N.Y. tourist asked, "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?"
The wise ass New Yorker replied, "Practice, practice."
BOOM. RATATATAT. BOOM. BOOM.
The explosions rattled my brain, as well as my windows. The dogs started barking and running in fright. I hoped it would end soon.
How do you get to war? Practice, practice.
The military base, on the other side of my mountains, was holding a dress rehearsal. I wondered what real war feels like. I thought of how much I hate it.
Then I remembered that my nephew recently returned from war. Another wonderful relative is a Navy Seal. My own husband was in the military many years ago, and I used to provide counseling to soldiers at the nearby missile range.
A few nights ago, I attended a party honoring my friend's daughter who was promoted to Lieutenant Commander in the Navy. He glowed with pride that his "little girl" was not only in the same branch of the military, but she surpassed his rank.
She displayed this poster. Said she just had to have it when she ran across it. Memorabilia from before her time.
So proudly, her father pins on her stripes.
A young man who attended the party referred to his military experience. "I'm so grateful that I joined. I grew up because of it. It changed my life." He hadn't been successful in school and admitted he was at risk of making bad choices. He seemed like a real good guy now, apparently responsible, and definitely appropriately sociable.
Clearly my hatred of war is incongruous with my love of warriors. Or is it?
My head started pounding.
How do you get to peace? Practice, practice.
The explosions stopped, the dogs calmed down. I sat quietly for a few minutes and I wondered if I love peace as much as I hate war. I have more questions than answers about so many things.
I breathed deeply. My headache subsided.
Just then, my husband came home. I kissed him lovingly, put on some soft music. We shared a meal and talked about the mundane - agreeing and disagreeing about many things.
For those moments at least,