Tommy and I spend more than our share of time at the VA. It has been such a blessing in our lives and on one occasion literally saved Tommy's life.
Each time we enter the revolving doors, something new is going on. The hospital is in perpetual expansion and repair both inside and outside.
When we were there this week, the hospital was hosting the "2016 Fine Arts, Applied Arts and Crafts Competition". Beautiful pieces of artwork were arranged on tables waiting to be judged.
Brochures explained the qualifications to enter the contest. A written letter of no more than 225 words would describe "the physical and/or mental challenges the Veteran overcame in order to accomplish the creation of his art.
The Veteran must have experienced combat duty during World War ll, Korean War, Vietnam, Gulf War, or current combat operations. The artwork must relate to the Veteran's personal experience in the war or conflict."
I spent most of my time in the lobby looking at the artwork, reading the notes that accompanied the different forms of art while listening to a flute played by a courageous lady who served in the Navy. Next to rain on a tin roof, the sounds of the ocean touching the shore, and soft whispers of a baby, I think her music was the most soothing sound I have heard in a long time.
On other tables were paintings in watercolor and pastel. Some of the paintings had an oriental focus or memory of Southeast Asia. It took a long time to study the artwork. They held unwritten stories in colors of war.
The ship to the left is a miniature creation of the USS Missouri. Never in a hundred years would I be able to hold my hand steady enough to accomplish putting this together.
I walked around the tables three times. Each trip I found my way back to one special piece of art. It was a homemade scrapbook. Each page painted in shades of red, rust, brown, dark brown and black. Once again the colors of war to me. In my mind, the creator was stationed either in Vietnam or Southeast Asia. A few pages make me think of the Middle East. I believe the artist is a woman. I do not think for a minute the war is ever far from her mind.
I would have paid a hundred dollars for the book however, I doubt if it was for sale. The book is a collage created with scraps of words, pictures, and square holes connecting one page to the next with quotes and heart felt emotion. At times the pages resemble a ruined home in the Middle East. It is someone's memories someone's stories. Perhaps the stories are hard to remember yet impossible to forget. It would be a hard place for the mind of anyone to live for any length of time. Joy held court in another book but had no place in this one.
I took photos of the book and I intended to post them, however I changed my mind. It is not my book to share. I feel it is alright to describe the cover of the book from my perspective. It was made from cardboard that had been painted black multiple times. Written in slightly hard to read words was the title of the book, "Ghosts of the Shadow of War". Something gold is painted on the left side and runs halfway up and over the top of the book cover. At times it looks like a dragon, other times a snake with a spider web near the top of the book.
.
Written in the midst of the golden dragon looking figure are the words, "The Not So Enchanted World". In the midst of all this was drawn a black knight and a small blond girl...both riding a lighter shade of black horse.
I don't know what it really means. I have many ideas but I doubt if any are right. To me it seems the young woman went to war to help people in need, perhaps as a nurse. There is one photo of three young women running away from a helicopter. The camera captured the panic look on their faces. They are all wearing dusty green fatigues and black boots. Perhaps the young woman was full of life and promise then something happened; she saw war up close and personal. War and fighting appeared to rip a hole in her soul. Seeing that at such a young age, changed how she saw the world, perhaps forever.
War is never normal unless you were born in a war zone. Even then there is no normal anything. It is more of a wait and see what happens next kind of life. After war, perhaps a normal life would feel uneasy, fragile and war would be the 'normal' nightmare. Awkward. Scary. Peace would be a reprieve but hard to get used to. I think some veterans would be looking into an empty space...uneasy, perhaps reliving the same scenes over and over in there minds at odd times of the day or night. I hope I am wrong.
To most Americans I have talked to who have been to war, it is hard to come back and live a normal life soon after seeing war up close and personal. It takes awhile to adjust to peace. People change. I think it would take a long time to remember 'normal'. It might have to be redefined again.
A flood of memories filled facebook, newspapers, talk shows,radio and magazines as the news media reported the death of Pat Conroy, Nancy Reagan, and last week the passing of Glenn Frey. These people wandered in and out of my mind all week. I will miss them. Pat Conroy and Glenn Frey had a big impact on my life. They shaped parts of how I saw the world through their words and music. They each have their own key to a room of memories in my past.
When I miss the South of my youth, Pat Conroy is one of my authors I read. "Beach Music" was my favorite book he wrote. "The Prince of Tides" and every other book he wrote came in a close second. He always came back to South Carolina. He knew both sides of the South. The one people saw and the one people lived.
He wrote of love, beauty and hot humid evenings on the coast. He also wrote of homes filled with abuse,and mental illness. He wrote of a life he did not want in a military school,not just any school, the Citadel. He also loved South Carolina. His words painted vivid pictures of the low country. He could make me laugh and cry in the same sentence.
When I read he died, I was shocked. Lisa, my oldest daughter, sent me a message from Florida, to tell me of his passing. She loves his work as much as I do. Pat Conroy understood that not every man should be a father; and that not every family member is sane or normal. He knew 'normal' could be a matter of opinion decided by the few while speaking for the many. He wrote of forgiveness and second chances and of getting even. He wrote of broken families and people who can be fixed eventually, however the cost is often more than most people desire to pay. He wrote of the high price of forgiveness. He applied what he learned.
Glenn Frey, my secret mental lover, died earlier than Lou or Pat Conroy. I mourned him too. The Eagles came on the scene about the time Tommy and I married. We loved them immediately. We have a memory to go with every song they sang. I regret not going to any of their concerts...although I do have the T Shirt. We were young and broke. We always thought we would catch them the next time.
Ronald Reagan's First Lady, Nancy, died last week too. She probably loved her husband as much as any woman has ever loved a man. I hope they are together tonight.
My friend, Lou Kirby Conner died Friday. That is so hard to believe. We grew up together and then went our separate ways. However, the connection was never broken. After years of no contact we would see each other and pick right up where we had left off. That is how it is with good friends and family.
My first memories of Lou and me were as little girls walking to school together. We would laugh and talk and always stop at the dime store. One day Lou told me her version of the facts of life. I was all ears. I don't know who told her that version but man did she have it wrong. We didn't know it until years later. Then we had a big laugh at how gullible little seven year old girls can be.
Not to be outdone, I would tell Lou the Saturday night adventures at the jailhouse. Mama and I lived with Mamamae and Granddaddy in the little house across from the jail. When the weather was pretty we had a front row seat to the Saturday night rowdiness.
On Monday morning, I had a new story about blood and guts, fighting and weapons drawn by the police to calm down the drunks. That is unless it rained and then everyone went to jail or bed because it was too wet to sit outside. I may have exaggerated a little...I may have exaggerated a LOT... just to keep the story interesting. That was fine with Lou.
Lou was the first one in our group to get a transistor radio. Transistor radios were all the rage for several years. It would be like getting an IPhone today. I had to wait until Christmas to get mine. It was about four inches wide and maybe six inches long. We could take it to school with us or put it under our pillow and go to sleep listening to WLS Chicago. Dick Biondi was the 'coolest'D.J. He was always one step away from getting fired for pushing his slightly off color jokes. We loved him. He was our 'bad boy'. I was listening the night he played the first Beatles record. It was awesome.
If memory serves me right, Lou was the first in our group to get married. Mama and I went to her wedding. She was a beautiful bride. It was a Fall candlelight wedding for Richard Conner and Lou Kirby. They made a beautiful couple.
Thirty or forty years later, Lou and I spent a lot of time together the summer Daddy was admitted to ICF. It would be a month before his room was ready and I stayed with him until it was fixed. I was at her apartment two or three times a week. It was good to catch up on each others lives. We laughed a lot at silly things we remembered when we were kids. Lou was a good friend. The years and miles did not change that fact. I will always miss her.
The ship to the left is a miniature creation of the USS Missouri. Never in a hundred years would I be able to hold my hand steady enough to accomplish putting this together.
