America's Surrogate Family

I had the honor and privilege spending part of Sunday afternoon with 110 members of the Army's 113th Field Artillery Regiment returning to the United States after more than a year in Iraq and the approximately 300 strangers welcoming them home to America. It was an experience that will stay with me forever.

As I watched the men and women in camouflage walk down the corridors crowded with hundreds of "Pease Greeters" cheering and clapping at the Portsmouth International Aiport at Pease, their first stop back on U.S. soil, many of the soldiers stopped to play with a baby or reached down to pat the friendly dogs in the crowd-- two simple pleasures we take for granted but denied to them for 13 months.

They did not know they were filing in beneath the first U.S. flag to fly over Guadacanal in 1942, or about the food, drink, free phones and gifts that awaited them in the terminal. When their chartered plane touched down at Pease to refuel and change crews, the soldiers had already been traveling for 25 hours and still had a few hours to go before arriving in Georgia for a week to 10 days for demobilization before returning to their home post in North Carolina.

They were astounded by their warm reception in Portsmouth and told me they were especially greatful for the American-made pizza (pizza is made with goat cheese in Iraq, one soldier told me) and to be able to pat dogs without fear of rabies or that the animals were trained to attack them.

I was part of the Pease Greeters crowd Sunday because I am writing a story for the AARP Bulletin about one portion of this multi-facteted grassroots program -- the hundreds of women who knit and crochet hats for every soldier who passes through Pease en route overseas. It gets cold in the desert and the hats are worn under their helmets.

JoAnne Schottler (the energetic lady in red in the photo to the right) heads up the handmade hats effort, along with making sure each soldier receives an embroidered star cut from a retired flag that's accompanied by a poem telling them they are not forgotten. She also orchestrates a care package program that sends hundreds of pounds of donated snacks, toiletries and fun items to 141 soldiers, some from the area but about two-thirds to soldiers who rarely, if ever, receive mail from home.

I've posted more photos below that tell part of the story from Sunday, but they can never reflect the hundreds of hours contributed by all the Pease Greeters to make each arrival and departure a special memory for the soldiers -- such as the "Cookie Lady" who's now baked over 100,000 cookies for the receptions -- or all the items people throughout the region have donated to the effort that began in 2005 with a small group of retired Marines and airport workers meeting the planes. It’s mushroomed to an alert list of well over 2,000 and is supported by lots of other individuals, as well as business, civic and veteran’s organizations.

Those who are able to come to the airport, do so at all hours of the day and night, often with little notice. They drive from across New Hampshire, as well as Maine, Massachusetts and Vermont to act as "America's surrogate family" offering a final goodbye on U.S. soil or a first welcome home. They never know which branch of the service is coming through the doors or where they're headed until the soldiers appear. And the soldiers have no idea how many people are waiting to greet them.

Sunday was my third Greeters event. The first, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, drew about 500 people meeting an incoming flight. A few days later, I was there in the middle of the night and a snowstorm and there were about 75 diehards waiting at 1:30 a.m. to greet Air Force troops headed to Iraq. It is not unusual to see soldiers tearing up, whether they are incoming or outgoing, when they experience a greeting at Pease. The outgoing flights do have a slightly different feel, but instead of saying "welcome home," the Greeters offer a "we'll see you when you get back" or "be safe." All the troops hear "thank you for your service" no matter what their destination.

Anyone can attend these flight events. Although there are always several former members of the military in the crowd, wearing hats and clothing reflecting their service, there are many many with no direct military connection. The Greeters are all ages and political persuasions. Their motto is "Serving America's Heroes, One Flight at a Time."

They will soon meet their 350th flight. The photos of every military unit that's landed at Pease are displayed along the "Heroes Walk" leading into the terminal. Although a great deal of the food and many other items are donated, each reception costs about $150 to host because some businesses don't provide food free (they've paid Dunkin Donuts over $65,000 to date, for example). It also costs $12 to ship each care package. So if you're inclined to show a little monetary support for this incredible grassroots program, visit http://www.peasegreeters.org/ for info on how to do that.

The photos below show the food line, the group photo taken after the reception, the presenting of the colors, the "we the old warriors support you, the young warriors" moment between veterans and the younger troops, and the presentation of a sweatshirt signed with messages from the Geeters because "we'd give you the shirt off our backs in thanks."

However, I didn't get photos of the Lindt candy they receive before returning to the plane, the singing of the Star-Spangled Banner, the prayers offered by the chaplain, the piles of stuffed animals for the soldiers to take home to waiting children, the NASCAR hats and t-shirts available, the 18 phones provided free by BayRing and Whaleback Systems for them to call anywhere in the world, the toiletries for them to freshen up in the restrooms, the folks taking photos in order to send any soldier who wants it a CD of pictures taken during the visit, the "Fence Force" that goes to the end of the runway to wave flags and signs saying goodbye as each plane departs, or all the hugs and thank yous the soldiers receive at Pease. If you live nearby, you'll just have to go out to Pease to see all of that for yourself.

Flash Fiction Competition -- Part 2

As promised, I’m going to reveal whether Husband No. 1 or I won the Mystery Writers of America-New England monthly flash fiction contest, but first I want to ask:

Have you ever read a book and thought to yourself: “Why did anyone publish this? – it’s terrible.” Have you ever loved a book that others hated -- or vice versa?

Of course you have -- because evaluating (and also writing) fiction is subjective. For a writer, this is very important to keep in mind while we are trying to attract agents, publishers -- and readers. Just because one person doesn't love our writing, doesn't mean there isn't someone out there who will. Of course, the ideal thing for any writer would be to find several hundred/thousand/million in that latter category!

I think last week's Flash Fiction smackdown proves my point about subjectiveness. I posted the two entries over at another place where I blog, http://workingstiffs.blogspot.com/, and kept the contest open to the nationwide readership for 24 hours. By the end of the voting period, the first entry had won, 56% to 43%. On this blog, however, readers favored the second entry by a 2-to-1 margin.

Let me refresh your memory about the entries, both of which began with the same 11 words:

I was glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. Mother Nature loved me. Last night at the camp, Harold had humiliated me. “A pistol on the partners hunting trip? Idiot!” This morning in the woods, I’d emptied it into his body. Now a shallow grave, dead leaves across the top, maybe a few branches. Tonight’s snowfall would cover everything. One fewer partner. A growl on the left broke my concentration. A scrawny wolf appeared from the brush, then another straight in front of me, then another to the right, and one behind. Maybe Mother Nature loved Harold more. (Did you guess this was composed by Husband No. 1?)
OR....

I was glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. It makes it so much easier to clean up the blood. The sight of crimson tentacles spreading through the fresh, white snow would set the wrong tone for the New Year anyway. While most people have traditions like making resolutions they’ll never keep, eating black-eyed peas or buying a new broom, I like to start mine with a clean slate. Unfortunately, that means getting rid of the old by Dec. 31. Good thing the fireworks and popping champagne corks make it hard to hear my Glock do its work. (Did you figure out that I wrote this -- AND won the Mystery Writers contest?)

As further proof how subjective the writing process can be, take a look at these Flash Fiction entries that my fellow mystery writers and fans offered at the Workingstiffs blog after I posted ours:

I was glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. The soft brown earth beneath the snow gave easily beneath my spade. Nearly three feet down before I finally hit the hard pan. I put the spade aside and bent to line the grave with Grandma's finest quilt. I piled the dirt around the edges where it would be easy to pull into the hole. Then I lay down and blanketed myself. Goodbye, cold world. – Gina Sestak

I was glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. Only an hour of digging and I had quite a can of worms. People already think I'm strange, especially the women at the Nightowl Bar.I've seen the way they look at me; the disgust in their eyes. They think they're better than me, but they're not. Yeah, I'm glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. The worms here seem to love dead human flesh. I don't see the disgust in their dead eyes now. --Wilfred Bereswell

I was glad to find the ground hadn't frozen yet. Being transferred to this miserably cold part of the country was bad enough, hardly any property available to rent near an entertainment center. Everyone wanted to huddle close so no outdoor walking was necessary. I found a spot thanks to some lucky sod transferring further south. Most of the foundation was already dug, and it wasn't too expensive to enlarge the softer ground as it helped remove all those blackened tree stumps. There was government subsidies for that. My house arrives tomorrow. – Pat Gulley

I was glad to find the ground hadn't frozen yet. It was difficult enough to dig up dinner when the temperature wasn't six degrees below zero and the wind wasn't howling down the small space between your neck and your collar. Whose idea had it been to bury the stag in the first place? Somehow I think the video that posted on YouTube from the "Hunting Cam" totally defeats the goal of fooling the game warden. Better get this barbecue going or work on my alibi now! -- Mari Sloan (who then went on to finish the story, which you can read by clicking here.)

Each of these began with the same 11 words, but ended in a far different place because of the author's unique experiences and imagination. Interesting, isn't it? How would you have written a story that began ... "I was glad to find the ground hadn't frozen yet"....

Flash Fiction Competition

When Husband No. 1 and I both entered the most recent monthly “Flash Fiction” contest sponsored by the New England Chapter of Mystery Writers of America, I certainly didn't expect one of us to win -- and be such a bad sport about it.

This, as you might imagine, has caused some tension in the house. I suppose the winner wouldn't be taking so much pleasure in the victory if the loser hadn't so loudly proclaimed “I'm sending in the winning entry now” upon deciding to also enter the competition.

The rules were simple: Generate the opening of a story with a specific sentence, but write no more than 100 words. The sentence was: “I was glad to find that the ground hadn't frozen yet.” I've listed the entries below in random order -- well, as random as you can get with 2 entries -- so take a look and tell us which one YOU like best.

I was glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. Mother Nature loved me. Last night at the camp, Harold had humiliated me. “A pistol on the partners hunting trip? Idiot!” This morning in the woods, I’d emptied it into his body. Now a shallow grave, dead leaves across the top, maybe a few branches. Tonight’s snowfall would cover everything. One fewer partner. A growl on the left broke my concentration. A scrawny wolf appeared from the brush, then another straight in front of me, then another to the right, and one behind. Maybe Mother Nature loved Harold more.

OR....

I was glad to find that the ground hadn’t frozen yet. It makes it so much easier to clean up the blood. The sight of crimson tentacles spreading through the fresh, white snow would set the wrong tone for the New Year anyway. While most people have traditions like making resolutions they’ll never keep, eating black-eyed peas or buying a new broom, I like to start mine with a clean slate. Unfortunately, that means getting rid of the old by Dec. 31. Good thing the fireworks and popping champagne corks make it hard to hear my Glock do its work.

OK, go back up to the box above my photo and vote for the one you like best! (It's anonymous so no one will know what you think -- but I'd appreciate it if you'd pick mine.)

I should tell you both entries were read aloud at a recent family party because we wanted to know which entry our relatives preferred. Their response was a stunned silence. I’m not sure if it was because:

• They were blown away by our talent
• They're horrified to be related to people who would write such grisly things, or
• They're afraid to take sides
• (or maybe all of the above....)

However, I did overhear my youngest niece share with her sister what she would have written after the opening sentence about being glad the ground wasn't frozen: “So I wouldn't have to smell the putrifying corpse.”

Now there's a girl after my own heart.

(I'll reveal the voting results -- and the authors -- next week.)

Twenty-Ten or Two-Thousand-Ten?

We’ve launched into a new decade, but what should we call it -- Twenty-Ten or Two-Thousand-Ten?

If this is the major controversy of the year, I’d be delighted. After all, don't you think it's more pleasant to ponder pronunciation than the fact that people are sewing bomb materials into their underwear to try to kill us?

Since we can't do much about that, you might be glad to know the National Association of Good Grammar (NAGG) has issued a pronouncement about 2010:

“NAGG has decided to step in and decree that (2010) should officially be pronounced 'twenty ten,' and all subsequent years should be pronounced as 'twenty eleven,' 'twenty twelve,' etc.”

NAGG President Tom Torriglia says he's never understood why anyone said “two-thousand-one” in the first place. As he points out, no one ever said they were going to party like it’s “nineteen-hundred and ninety-nine.”

Says Torriglia: “Twenty follows nineteen. 'Two thousand' does not follow 'nineteen.' It's logical.”

On the other hand, I don't know how much credence we should give a former technical manual writer who now spends his time playing his accordion for pay and claims to be writing a book entitled “The Grammar Police Never Sleep.” As far as I can tell, the NAGG group is Torriglia, period. The “National Association” doesn't even have a web site, but Torriglia told the San Francisco Chronicle he formed it in 1986 “when he found himself calling publications about their grammatically incorrect ads.”

Now I also cringe at bad grammar, but it never occurred to me to form an association about it. It is, however, kind of fun to ponder the national associations you could form to deal with things that irritate you. For me, it could be a group like the “National Association of Wives Who Think Their Husbands Take the Wrong Driving Routes” (click here to see why) or the “National Association of Mothers Who Embarrass Their Children” (click here to see how).

But back to 2010. An Australian Broadcasting Company poll a few years ago found that 60 percent of people favored “two-thousand-ten” over “twenty-ten” and the author of the Cambridge Encyclopedia of the English Language recently predicted 2010 will be "two thousand ten," but 2011 will be “twenty eleven.” David Crystal says he thinks the rhythm of “two thousand and ten” sounds better than “twenty ten.” Others agree, contending “twenty-ten” sounds more like a police radio code than the beginning of a decade.

However, the “twenty-ten” forces have taken their fight to the Internet. The web site http://www.twentynot2000.com/ wants everyone to pronounce it “twenty ten" and there are at least two Facebook pages and three groups around the theme of “It's Twenty-ten, not Two-thousand and ten” that have attracted hundreds of members. Meanwhile, “Saying Twenty-ten instead of Two-thousand-Ten Because It Sounds Cooler” has almost 30,000 members.

I like to think I'm cool so it's Twenty-Ten for me. I think it works: Saying someone is twenty-twenty-ten sounds a whole lot cooler than saying they're 50, don't you think?

How are you going to say 2010?