Veteran's Day....

Like many elementary schools across the Nation tomorrow, my school will be having a Veteran's Day program. A program to honor those who served our great Nation and gave all or some, and put their lives in harms way so that we can enjoy and celebrate, but remember not to take our freedoms for granted.

As part of our celebration, we were asked to bring photos of our loved ones who have served. Without hast, I proudly brought pictures of two of my best friends, my Papaw and my Dad. Both of whom served in the Navy and Air Force respectively. As I stood in front of that bulletin board with pride, a co-worker came up to me and made the comment about how young everyone looked. And in the blink of an eye, I was like I realized just how young they really were.

My Papaw often humbly told stories of his time in World War II (or W-W-2 as he  often referred it to).  However, the truth of the matter is that he was an 18 year old kid who had hardly ever been away from Paducah, KY and was about to seen things unforeseen. He would often make light of the fact that his draft notice opened up with "Greetings", as if it were some sort of party invitation. It that envelope and draft number that sealed his fate for years to come. As a child, he would often entertain the grand kids with stories of going off to the Navy Pier in Chicago and being told that he needed to dive for a swim test. After telling them that he didn't know how to swim, the pushed him off the board, and in his words, he learned that day. It wasn't long after that they he would be on a Naval carrier to participate in the island hopping campaign, fighting in the Battle of Tarawa, that took place from November 20-23, 1943. Often he would tell stories about being so nervous on the ship, that he and others would vomit out of fear, and of his friend Benny. Who was a total stranger until they bonded on that ship and leaned on one another for comfort, friendship, support, and courage.   It wasn't until I was a grown women, that I really and truly knew and understood what my Papaw did during his time in the Navy. He faced death, destruction, and possibly guilt and fear, so severe, that many of us will never fully comprehend it.

Then there is my dad, who in 1966, knew his draft number was coming sooner rather than later, so decided to enlist in the Air Force, because at least something would be on his terms. He was 18 going on 19 and had barely been away from home, when he found himself in basic training in San Antonio then off to Wetherfeild, England to serve in the 20th Tactical Fighter Wing. When you ask my dad about his time in the service, will will often share with you stories of drinking at pubs in London, eating fish and chips, and the friends he made along the way.  But what he doesn't realize is that he is so humble about what he did. In addition to enjoying his time across the pond, he also would take supplies and other materials for our troops to Benghazi, yes that Benghazi. Putting his life on the line with each trip in and out of that militarized zone, in order to make sure the war effort in Vietnam carried on.

These two men, and many other veterans out there, were still kids when they signed the papers to put their life on the line and step into a world of unknowns. At the age of 18 or 19, I can't imagine leaving my friends and family, not knowing when and if I would see them again.  So often, it seems that many veterans, are so  humble about their acts of courage. However, I don't know that words could ever really and truly tell their stories of bravery.

In my opinion, we could never really and truly give the thanks that these men and women deserve. We can also never pay it back, but we can always pay it forward. Rather it's a thank you, cup of coffee, nod of the hat, or a care package. Let them know.

Tomorrow, I will be walking into that assembly with my chest puffed out, proud that two of my best friends are on that wall.

I Too, Love & Miss You.... Always....

I recently came across a blog that took both my head and my heart on a trip down memory lane, and gave me the inspiration and the swift kick in the rear, that I needed, to get back into the blogging world. It was a wonderful piece by Charlotte Alexander Strode entitled I Miss Kentucky Always, that paid homage and tribute to the place I will forever call home. 

      Nearly two years have come and gone since I went back to the Commonwealth of Kentucky, and over two decades since it has stopped being my home. However, it has been less than a minute since I reflected on the memories that I took with me when I left. 

     There is something about Kentucky that I love, always. Ask anyone who has had the fortune of living there, they will say the same. (It's hard to deny considering I have yet to go to a place in this country where I haven't come into contact with at least one member of the Big Blue Nation). I think that sometimes it's easy for people to become narcissistic about their home state, but it's easy to do. It's not only the place where you entered the universe, but often the creator of minutes and moments that make you the person who you are today. For me, it did many things. Things like thinking chili should always be served with noodles,  knowing what real BBQ is, choosing March Madness over the BCS any day, and savoring that last bottle of Ale-8-One, because  you don't know when another six pack will come your way.  And sometimes, when you leave this place, you realize that your time spent there making memories was unselfishly taken for granted, until you no longer have the chance to make those memories again. 

     I often find myself missing the scenery. I miss looking at the beauty of the foothills of the mountains turning into rolling hills of Bluegrass, that will metaphorically always hold my footprints. I miss the elegance of a freshly bloomed Dogwood Tree and the wonder of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers coming together in one big and beautiful magnificent stream. 

     There is also the privilege of four seasons and watching nature evolve over the course of time. I miss seeing the leaves on the trees fade into the fall, only to appear again in the spring. Simple reminders that there is always the possibility of a new beginning. I miss the cool summer nights, highlighted with the glow of fireflies and echoed with the sounds of the Ohio River, just as much as I miss the look of untouched snow on a cold winter day. 

    Making the memories and the time that I unselfishly took for granted may be what I miss most of all. I miss the feeling of the concrete under my heels as I ran along the banks of the river and the sound of a crackling fire at my grandparents at Christmas. I miss the fall festivals, picking fresh apples at the orchard, hay rides, chili cook offs, and the sound of "My Old Kentucky Home", from a group of people who really mean it. 

    Memories are often endearing and get us through life. I love the memories of Kentucky that I carry with me. I love the way they make me feel  and the smile that they put on my face. Most of all, I love that they remind me that time is often a juxtaposition. Sometimes moving too fast. At other times, appearing not to move at all. Over time, these memories have given me moments of symmetry in an otherwise chaotic universe. 

What It's Like to Love Kentucky Basketball.....

The month of March has come and gone, but the madness was unreal this year for the Big Blue Nation. After what many would consider to be a mediocre season, the Wildcats have made an incredible journey through the brackets, taking down K-State, Wichita State, U of L, Michigan, and Wisconsin. Only to find themselves playing in the finals for the hopes of bringing back #9 to the Bluegrass State.

Doing the John Wall on Mike the Tiger 

Loving Kentucky basketball is really something that can't be explained, only experienced. It's screaming at a TV at a bar, calling your family long distance to get through those last 2 agonizing minutes of a thriller, telling other sports fan the stats that make Kentucky the greatest, hating Duke because the 22 year old Laettner wound still feels fresh, seeing old friends and family when you have all shown up from various locals to the Final Four, and proudly wearing your boldest Kentucky shirt with pride.

My journey through the Big Blue Nation, like most Kentucky natives, began at birth. I have lived and breathed through Eddie Sutton, Pitino, Tubby, Billy G, and Coach Cal. I have been to countless games, SEC tournaments, first round action, 2 Final Fours, and even was a witness to Gr8tness in 2012.

2011 Final Four

I will never forget how my heart sank in 1995 when my family left the Bluegrass and landed in the Big Easy. However, I did get the comforts of home when my family would gather in the living room to cheer on our Cats and celebrating the Championships together in 1996 and 1998. Then my fate of leaving the place I still call home brought me to the Final Four in 2011 and 2012.

The Return to Gr8tness

Being a part of the Big Blue Nation means so much more to me than being a member of the greatest fan base in college basketball. It means never being far away from home. No matter if the soles of my feet never touch the soft Kentucky Bluegrass again, I still get the same rush of exhilaration when I watch my boys play. I get a chuckle inside of me when a passerby yells "Go Tigers" when they see my Kentucky sticker and I get a rush in my heart when a fellow Kentucky fan throws some 3 goggles my way in traffic. No matter how far away I am, watching Kentucky play gives me a feeling of joy that I can't explain. But most of all, it means never really being that far away from home.

This journey through the tournament has been an epic one to say the least. Win, lose, or draw, thank you boys for always reminding my why I'm proud to bleed blue.