Today, one of our interpreters came into my office and asked how I was.  I gave the stock answer: “I can’t complain.” 

The truth is that I am often seen mumbling under my breath about something that irks me. 

After he left, however, I thought about my statement, and some of the things that have happened here in Baghdad over the past few months, and how insignificant my troubles seem in comparison to the events that are affecting people like these:

-  One of custodial staff is a local Iraqi (there are about 10 total).  He’s a wonderful man…a father of four children who drags himself out of bed at 4 a.m. every morning (and I mean EVERY morning — he has no weekends off).  He traverses the red zone (where all the bombs explode) and makes his way to the Combined Press Information Center to spend his 10-hour work day providing grounds maintenance (in extreme heat) and cleaning up after we fortunate American Soldiers leave here in a few weeks.  Unfortunately, he will stay.   Thanks to a bomb that exploded in August, the car that brings him here to work is even less dependable than it was before.  And, how much do you think he makes for all his troubles?  Less for a full day’s work than most of our Soldiers make in one hour working entry-level jobs.

-  Another man I know asked the Americans if he could build a restaurant on one of our forward operating bases about a year ago.  We told him yes, so he spent, by his estimate, about $200,000 creating a very nice building.  Then, we changed the rules and told him he could not open the building.  We told him the food from the local economy is not safe to feed American Soldiers, even though this man has catered all the special events at the CPIC for Soldiers and our guests, and no one has ever become ill.   He is a gracious man who always smiles….maybe because he knows that a frown may ruin any chance he has of someone, anyone, changing the rules again and letting him open his restaurant.

-  A local Iraqi woman who has visited the CPIC wants nothing else but to be a journalist.  She wants to make this country live up to promises of freedom.  She wants to be able to tell the stories that need to be told, but she cannot.  She fears for her life if some of her stories are printed.  Whether or not the fear is real or imagined is not important.  The truth is that Iraq has been the most dangerous place for journalists for the past six years.  When we dedicated the Combined Press Information Center to all those who had died to guarantee the freedoms of the people of Iraq, the number included more than the 4,300 American sons and daughters…it also included the more than 250 media staff that have died here since 2003.

With all this conflict and pain, and the hundreds of other similiar stories I’ve encountered over the past 10 months, you would think that I would become jaded and disillusioned, but just the opposite is true.  I realize that there is pain and suffering everywhere….Iraq is no different than any other place…but there is something special here that keeps me from mumbling too loud when I get upset. 

But, more than the acts of our own Soldiers, I am humbled by the generosity and resiliency of those with even less to give.  Today, our custodial staff — including the man I mentioned at the beginning of this blog — dug into their pockets and, with cooking assistance from their wives, brought our staff a delicious meal of barbequed fish, freshvegetables, stuffed grape leaves, baked bread, and a local dish with rice, dates, and nuts.  As we lined up to take part in this feast, they stood on the side refusing to eat until all of us had our fill. 

As LTC Perez has stated to me on several occasions, our CPIC is an oasis in many ways.  It seems to me that all those who come here have found a way to peacefully coexist and support each other.  So, I really have no right or need to complain.  We might not be able to change the overall course of the nation of Iraq, but together we have all changed the course for many of those who have passed through our doors.  Although we are all ready to leave Iraq, I hope each of us can bring some of that back with us.  Now I ask you, how could I complain about that?

Donzens of individuals and groups -- most strangers -- have sent us boxes of treats to make our time pass by quickly.

SPC Gardner and SGT Lee put smiles on the faces of children at the refugee center.

1LT Larrew poses with some of the friends he has helped during his year in Iraq.

SGT Leech's special friend visits her for a midnight snack (she wants to tell everyone she NEVER touched the cat since that is against the rules and could transmit disease).

There’s a running joke in the Army, that every day is like the movie Groundhog Day.  We just keep re-living the same day again…and again…and again…

…except when we don’t.

Today, on the actual Groundhog Day, I realized how different our days have been so far.  From our sleepless arrival and the unending BaggageFest ‘09, to our transition into our CPIC jobs, to our move from the transient tents to trailers, every day has been a little bit different.  And a little bit historic, even.

When we landed, the first thing I noticed were the trees.  I don’t know why that surprised me, but flying from the barren desert of Kuwait to the Fertile Crescent really drove home the fact that we were some place extraordinary.  For perhaps the first time, I realized why so many have been so frustrated by the history of violence and war in this country - a country rich with history; a country brimming with future potential.  A potential its citizens are currently embracing, as we witnessed first-hand during Iraq’s provincial council elections.  The peaceful transfer of power through a democratic process.

As most of the international media has been reporting, by all accounts, Election Day was a great success.  From the Iraqi High Electoral Commission to the National Police and the Iraqi Security Forces who kept the streets safe, I was deeply impressed by this country’s desire to move toward peace, prosperity, and independence.  Waiting for the final results, I can’t help but feel proud to have been here for this moment, just as I was proud in mid-January, when my parents spoke to me on the phone as they stood in the frigid Washington, D.C. chill to witness history unfold in America, letting me hear our new Commander-in-Chief’s address live via cell phone.

Every day, the landscape of Iraq changes, as Coalition forces continue handing over areas back to the Iraqis - the Palace, Camp Ramah, the Green Zone.  Every day, Iraq takes one step closer to achieving stability and security for its people.  And we take one step closer to coming home.

Every day, the world around us experiences monumental change, from Baghdad to Boston.

Actually, since we’ve been here, about the only thing that’s really been the same for us is how monumental every day seems to be!

Hmm.  Maybe we could use a few “normal” days, where everything stays the same…just for a change.

There’s something about our cots that make them creak and moan like a haunted pirate ship all night.  During the day, perfectly normal, functional cots.  But as soon as the sun dips below the horizon, the cots begin their late night chanting: “Wreeeeeeeeeeek.”  “Waaaaaaaaaaagh.”  “Wrrrrrreeeeeeek.”   My head resting on a desert camouflage travel pillow, propped up against my duffel bag for support, I drift off to sleep to the sounds of a 12th century sailing vessel…which is oddly comforting.

It’s amazing where you find comfort in the Army.

Preparing to ship off to war, I felt that looming sense that everything we knew was about to change.  Yet, as we loaded onto the 767 carrying rucks on our backs, M-9s strapped to our legs and M-4s slung over our shoulders, I found comfort in the strict adherence to FAA regulations:  we’re sitting on the plane cradling all our weapons, but we still have to turn over our blades, scissors, and nail clippers.  God Bless the USA and the FAA!  And thank you for providing the cool comfort of irony that only the US Army can provide!

When we hit the foreign, frosty desert air of Kuwait in the middle of the night, I took comfort in the familiarity of soldiers gathered around a weapons clearing barrel  - locking our bolts to the rear, checking the chamber, sliding the bolt forward, pulling the trigger, charging the handle, placing the weapon on safe…the comfortable routine monotony of soldiering.

As our ramshackle bus hurtled toward Camp Buehring, bumping and grinding along the way, my senses sharpened and my muscles tensed as I looked for IEDS (improvised explosive devices) in every abandoned car we passed.  Our driver didn’t believe in smooth braking as he slammed the bus to halt and then jerked it forward again every 10th of a mile.  He didn’t believe in headlights, either, which made the fact that he didn’t hit one passing camel or one oncoming car all the more impressive.  I chalk that up to either the driver having keen bat-like nighttime vision or some divine influence looking out for us.  Either way, there’s comfort there.

And here, in the dusty confines of Camp Buehring, I’ve found plenty of comfort.  Sure, we’re sleeping 15 men in a cramped GP Medium tent.  Sure, we’re covered in sand from the tops of our patrol caps to the soles of our boots.  Sure, we’re thousands of miles away from our homes, our families, loved ones.

But we’ve found comfort in each other.  We’ve found comfort in the love and support from back home.  We’ve found comfort in the MWR-provided amenities such as DSN phone calls home, the volunteer-run USO, internet access, video games, movies, pool, ping pong, card games, aerobics, the gym facilities, the BX shopping center, the multiple dining facilities (DFACs)…they even have KFC, Burger King, and other food court trailers.

Yes.  Burger King.  Chinese Food.  Pizza.  Steak.  Here.  In the desert.  The taste of democracy.

Most importantly to me, they have coffee readily available.  There are several Green Beans trailers set up around the camp for our convenience, but there rests a jewel in this desert crown.  Like a diamond in the rough…gleaming amongst the sand-covered tents and trailers… sits Starbucks.  An actual Starbucks.  Neon signs and all.  With wood-paneled insides, gourmet coffee posters, and genuine barristas working the iconic counter.  They even have the little shaker of cinnamon I like to sprinkle on my morning cup of joe.  The only thing missing are NYC hipsters huddled over Iphones and grad students furtively tapping away on a laptop at the corner tables, which kind of makes the Starbucks experience all the more comforting.

So, as we prepare to jet off to Baghdad in the coming days, I take comfort in knowing that someone’s looking out for our comfort.  That we can always make the most uncomfortable of experiences comfortable.  And that, Yes.  Even here.  In the middle of Camp Buehring.  In the middle of the desert.  In the middle of the Middle East.   There’s a Starbucks.

I love the smell of freedom in the morning!

What do you do if your unit’s scheduled flight overseas gets bumped back a few days and you find yourself stuck at Ft. Dix for the New Year? If you’re Sergeant Major Falardeau, you organize an impromptu trip to New York City, complete with some sight-seeing and a Broadway show!

Daily Show co-creator Lizz Winstead gives me a combat hug.

As anyone familiar with the blog can tell you, the whirlwind trip picked our spirits up and reminded us that if things don’t always go according to plan, we can always adapt and overcome, making the best out of a not-so-great situation. For me, however, the trip was a particularly special treat as I got to say goodbye to my second home, the city that never sleeps, the Big Apple, good old New York.

While Massachusetts will always be my home – my deep-rooted love of the Boston Red Sox will never let me forget it! – the place where I have worked, gone to school and lived for the past 5 years has been New York City. Despite the heartfelt send-off my friends gave me way back in September, my departure from the big city felt rather abrupt. A truck packed with boxes, hugs on the curb, a quick bite at the deli, a few tolls and the long stretch of the Merritt Cross parkway and suddenly I’m back in Massachusetts waiting to get on a plane to Alabama.

Over the last few months, I’ve had ample opportunity to say good-bye to ol’ Beantown, but somehow, I never got to properly say a fond farewell to NYC.

Until last week.

http://blogsoverbaghdad.com/soldiers/2008/12/new-york-city-loves-military

http://blogsoverbaghdad.com/soldiers/2009/01/nyc-baby/

http://blogsoverbaghdad.com/soldiers/2009/01/thank-you-sergeant-major/

All I can add to that is my personal enjoyment of being able to share “my” city with the rest of this Alabama unit, a unit that has so graciously taken me in (and all the cross-leveled soldiers) and shown me true Southern hospitality. From this Yankee Northerner, it was an honor to be able to reciprocate, even a little bit.

As we somberly assembled at the site of the WTC, I recalled how eight years ago, in late October of 2001, my father and I pulled guard duty, working with the NYPD and NYFD as they worked tirelessly to recover bodies from the site. I can still hear the strains of TAPS from my father’s bugle as they pulled the remains of firefighters from the ground…

We trudged through my old stomping grounds in lower TriBeCa, overlooked the city from atop the Empire State Building, and we even managed to sneak in a genuine celebrity photo op with Clay Aiken after taking in Spam-a-Lot!

The best part for me, however, was one more chance to see some family and friends in the city. From my sister who drove down from Kingston to my Adam who I haven’t seen in months to all my friends and coworkers on Shoot the Messenger’s Wake Up World (the show I work in NYC), I could not have felt more loved and appreciated. Lizz Winstead and the whole STM crew were even nice enough to ship me off with beautiful memento – a 12 month Wake Up World calendar to help me remember the cast and crew of the show while I’m gone. The calendar will proudly hang on my wall for the length of the deployment and by the time I get to December, I know it’ll be time to come home to get an all-new one!

Thanks once again to the Sergeant Major for making the trip possible and thanks again to that great city – the city so nice they named it twice – NYC for reminding me what a fantastic city it is. I have a lot to look forward to when I return.

And maybe long good-byes aren’t so bad.