Wake Me When Valentines Day Is Over

Note: I stumbled upon this post from 2006 recently, and thought it gave an interesting look at my viewpoint at the time--after my first marriage, but before my second. In other words, I'm much happier now.

 

What am I doing February 14th? Let’s see: I have a doctor’s appointment that day, and not with the “Love Doctor”. I’ll fit an early dinner in -- just me, with no chocolate for dessert in any form. Nor do I plan to buy myself, or anyone else, jewelry.

What do I have against Valentine’s Day? For starters, I was one of those Charlie Brown type kids who waited hopelessly by the mailbox for a Valentine that would never come. Eventually I got married – on Valentine’s Day. I’m no longer married. Get the picture? I could have just as easily gotten married on Christmas, and spent the rest of my life shooting at Santa’s sled with guided missiles.

 

I’m as romantic as the next person. Well, the next man. I’m up for hand holding, candlelit dinners, full body massages, and lingerie. Lingerie’s questionable, of course: Sexy female underwear is a gift for the giver, not the wearer. Personally, I love lingerie – but I’d never wear any. It’s uncomfortable (Okay, I assume), overpriced, and under covering, but it sure looks good on women …

Where was I?

The point is, I'm smart enough not to gift a microwave, or a new vacuum cleaner. Okay, once, but that was a joke, I swear, and the bruises healed.

Guys, it is not the thought that counts. It’s vital to understand that. It doesn’t matter how much you love that pair of season tickets to your favorite sportsball team. Also, you get no brownie points for recognizing that your lady needs a new mop. You can put on all the lovely wrapping and pretty bows you want, and she’s still going to wrap it around your neck.

After that it gets a bit more difficult. Candy is iffy, for instance. You might get the, “I’m trying to lose weight!” cry. “Don’t you care about me? How can you torture me like this?”

You could always give her a dozen eggs, but jewelry would be cheaper.

 

Just to clarify, I’m trying to lose weight, and yet would still gladly accept chocolate as a gift. In case anyone was wondering.

Cards are great, of course, but they don’t qualify as the gift – they go with the gift. Also, on this holiday funny cards are not funny. Go for something with poetry in it, and not poetry that starts with, “There once was a man from Nantucket”.

Flowers are generally safe, unless she’s allergic. Buying flowers goes against a man’s instinct: He doesn’t understand the point of something that doesn’t feed anyone, do anything, or provide entertainment, and soon becomes ugly and worthless. The parallels to your average politician are obvious.

Still, Valentine’s Day, like a wedding, is for women, not men. So going for the flowers seems like a good idea, until you consider the fact that certain flowers mean certain things. This flummoxes men. What do you men, yellow roses mean something different than pink roses? They’re flowers, man! Who made these rules? Who cares?

Yes, it's cheaper to pick something out of the yard, but tell me where you'll find this in mid-February.

 

Well, the women care, that’s who. Get on the internet, ask a florist. You’ll soon find that baby’s breath has nothing to do with projectile vomiting, and that presenting a lady with black roses may not bring the reaction you’d hoped for. You might even be startled to find there actually are flowers other than roses. Carnations are more than condensed milk, fellas.

If all else fails – and it will – there’s another choice: Jewelry.

Yes, it's expensive. Get over it. Many women like sparklies, and I’m not talking about the finish of your new fishing boat. Speaking of which, if you’ve bought any “boys toys” in the last year, she will inevitably compare the value of her gift with the value of the toy. She may think, “He loves his boat/gun/four wheeler/golf clubs more than me!” She’ll be right, but believe me, admitting that is not the answer.

So suck it up, and get her the jewelry. And if your own toy is a brand new bass boat, add in the flowers and a really nice card, the one with three digits in the price. Think of it as insurance – you want to avoid those sudden glares that seem to happen out of the blue, which can lead to raging battles when you admit not knowing why she’s mad. You’re guaranteeing a peaceful home life and a contented significant other.

At least, until her birthday. You’ve got that marked on the calendar -- right?

 

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https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
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book review: Decision In Normandy, by Carlo D'Este

 The invasion of Normandy, France, during World War II, was a Big Deal.

If you know anything about history, you were already aware of that. But the battle is also clouded in myth and legend, and author Carlo D'Este decided to wade in and find out the truth of the matter. How hard could it possibly be?

Judging by the pages of acknowledgements, appendixes, and listed sources, I'm thinking it wasn't easy.

D'Este concentrates on the Allied ground commander in chief, General Sir Bernard Montgomery. (Ike Eisenhower had overall command of the entire operation--which maybe explains why he lost all his hair.) It was Montgomery who came up with the master plan for the invasion and its immediate aftermath. It was also Montgomery who tended to not only take credit whether due or not, but also continually insist everything went exactly according to that plan, often against all evidence.

This is a big picture book, concentrating on the various leaders on both sides. All the usual suspects are there, including Patton, Bradley, Rommel, and Churchill, along with a lot of other names that should be remembered more than they are. Often through their own words and writing, we follow their hopes, fears, and frustrations as the invasion threatens to bog down into the horrors of WWI trench warfare.

 D'Este has an advantage over earlier authors: Access to a mountain of related material that remained top secret and unavailable for years or even decades after the war. He clearly spent a huge amount of time going through it, as well as tracking down every interview he could find. As a result he had a clear picture, warts and all, of everything that went on from the moment the invasion was decided on (and sometimes earlier), to the Allied breakout weeks later.

It's an unflinching look, especially at Alexander. D'Este admires the General's abilities, but isn't afraid to get into the dark side of a leader who was vain, opinionated, and dead set against ever admitting his mistakes. We're left with the picture of a man who was better than some people think, and worse than others believe--in other words only human, just like all of us. The same treatment is given to everyone in the command chain above and below Alexander, and D'Este's conclusions are often surprising--but backed up by facts and witnesses.

Decision in Normandy is no light skimming of history, and as such I suppose it will mostly attract hard core history and war fans. (Maybe "war fans" is the wrong way to put it.) I found it fascinating, but it was certainly also dry in places, as D'Este shovels on facts, maps, and military units. It was also a revelation to me--I've studied WWII all my life, and this book revealed things I never knew--or knew wrong.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

Stressing Out Over PTSD

 One stressful thing about being a dispatcher is that when the phone rings it could be anything. Many of us play Dispatch Bingo. A UFO report? A herd of cattle blocking the roadway? Lunch, interrupted? A couple arguing over who gets custody of their dog? That's a row--bingo!

For some dispatchers this is one of the perks of the job: the challenge and variety. For others, not so much.

Years ago the business line rang and, in a calm voice, a man gave me his name and home address, so we could notify his family. Then he gave me the location where we could find his body. Then he hung up.

Often, when a suicidal person reaches out, it's a cry for help. Not this time. When our units arrived they could only confirm my certainty: Immediately after hanging up the phone, he shot himself. I was the last person he ever spoke to.

It messed me up.

Word got around, and my boss called to check on me. I told him I would be okay, which was true in the long run. I don't know if I told him that in the short run I wasn't okay at all, but my wife was with me, and I hung in there.

I've served in three branches of the emergency services: EMS, Fire, and 911 Dispatch. If anyone mentions PTSD or critical incident stress, I immediately flash back to one particular call in each of those three areas. But a lot of time has passed since those incidents, and although they still dwell in the dark corners of my brain, they don't control my life.

Usually.

Earlier this year we received a report of a person threatening to kill themself with a gun. I didn't take that call, but the moment I heard the details my body chilled, I could barely breath, and my mind went numb. That suicide from so long ago crashed out of the cage I'd trapped it in and rampaged through my head.

It turns out the person in this case did not have a gun, and the whole thing ended peacefully. Still, it was a wake up call. A jangling alarm that took about five years off my life ... and after three decades at this job, I've already lost enough. It's one of the reasons why I've been pushing my writing career: Not only because I have a lot of stories to tell, but because I'd like to spend my time writing them instead of screaming into a pillow after work every morning.

(This is one time in this blog when I exaggerate: No, I don't scream into a pillow after work. I kiss my wife, hug the dog, and hit the bed, where I usually get a good eight hours of sleep in between the weird dreams.)

I'm not writing this to get sympathy for me. I just wanted to remind everyone that the person you think is strong and "normal" may be battling monsters inside. In fact, they may be the most cheerful people you know, always with a smile and a joke. But the effects of stress are real, and the challenge of maintaining our mental health is a stigma that still remains, even today.

Look after yourself. Look after your friends. And if someone says they're having a problem with their emotions or their mental state, take them seriously. Sometimes we make it look way easier than it is.

Now, I'm off to write some humor ... we all have our ways to cope.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"