It’s raining in West Florida, a warm, soft but insistent rain that seems to lack awareness of its own mortality. I sit in my son’s truck in the parking lot before his apartment in the darkness with the heater on, the windshield fogged, watching the raindrops form their mosaic, the larger ones gaining mass, starting to move, swallowing their neighbors up whole before racing to the bottom of the glass where they disappear out of sight, anonymous, ephemeral.
Ensigns step outside in the darkness, on their way to classes or canceled flights, their smooth, unlined faces pinched against this inclement weather. They bustle towards their futures in khakis and flight suits, unaware how many doors lie open in every direction to them. Not yet hearing the soft thump as doors close behind them with each small effort, each academic test, each graded flight, each quirk of seemingly random fate. I look back at them through a long and narrow corridor unlit now by side exits and cannot help but envy them as they move bewildered in their grand amphitheater, a vast and echoing space whose contours and constraints they can only dimly sense.
My own ensign lies sleeping yet, I was up early, restless. A cup of coffee at the local McDonald’s, my vocal rhythms and cadences as I order subtly adjusting themselves to the local brogue – I have always had an ear for the languages and accents of the country, and having traveled much have always had a yearning to be home, somewhere. Lacking a place of my own, I have discovered how to blend in.
My young man is lying on a bed pad I bought yesterday at the local exchange, having spent an awkward night previously sleeping on the floor in blankets. His household goods shipment, such as it is, has not yet arrived and will not for a week or so. It’s hard to remember how unencumbered we are with material things at the beginning of our adventure. How very little we own, apart from the clothes on our backs. How few the things are that can plausibly lay a claim upon us.
We played golf yesterday, before going shopping at the local Navy Exchange for furniture. I talked the ensigns out of a regrettable leather and suede couch and love seat combination in chocolate and tan that would speak to future female guests of the daunting weight of inconsiderate bachelorhood in favor of something more comfortable and tastefully enduring. From there we went to the electronics section, and now the apartment is graced with not one, but three LCD HD television sets of various sizes and a wireless router for their internet connections. The furniture, for the next few days at least, consists of the packing crates these devices came in. These then are the necessities of today’s existence, necessities that had not yet been created when I lay on the floor of an apartment in Pensacola with my bride 26 years ago.
It was a punishing drive across country, a flogging pace that recognized for the most part only the need to refuel his heavily burdened vehicle and certain biological imperatives. I am but an indifferent passenger, and subtly fought for the wheel whenever I could. We chatted at length for times, fell into long, comfortable silences at others as the West Coast receded behind us and the way ahead unspooled before us. Saying the things that had to be said took less time than courage, and even then they served only as confirmations rather than revelations.
Arizona passed as a long series of dry plains like desert battlefields parted by the highway. On each side opposed battalions of tall cacti stood formation in endless ranks. Third world thin, backed by mountains in the distance. New Mexico at dawn an inexpressibly beautiful, alien landscape, with soaring escarpments casting the stern, implacable shadows of alien gods. We spoke of the courage those people had shown crossing this country from east to west on their horses and covered wagons little more than a hundred years or so ago, the unremitting waves of hostilities they had stolidly faced, sentient and otherwise. We didn’t speak aloud to wonder where it had gone, the kind of hardiness that had made this land. What was left of it, I sensed, sat beside me.
Las Cruces to Houston was a hard pull, 800 miles and 12 hours of driving time. A microcosm of the country itself, the arid west grudgingly giving way to hill country, greening by the mile until we reached the eastern flat lands well after dark, exhausted. Rested then, and once again on our way, a salt tang in the air, Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama giving us back some sense of forward movement after a day hurling ourselves repeatedly against Texas.
Florida, finally, and McGuire’s Irish Pub. For dinner. The moose my wife had kissed to the cheers of the crowd all those years ago. But you can never step in the same river twice, the waters move on and those times are far behind us, like the raindrops that gathered mass and then raced down the foggy windshield of my son’s car in the parking lot.
Time to go soon, and we’ll say awkward good-byes, promise to keep in touch, see you over the holidays. I’ll blame the rain for my fogged spectacles if that becomes necessary, as it most certainly will if I allow the moment to linger.
He to his work, I to mine.
Beautiful writing, Lex. But that comes as no surprise, of course.
“…they served only as confirmations rather than revelations.” Good.–Sounds like you raised him right. Again, not a surprise.
Best of luck to all of you as you adjust to these new paths.
I remember that trek from P’cola to Miramar well – long hours watching mountains approach and then fall away in the rear view mirror as another flat stretch of desert unfolded in front of me. Always wondered about the stories behind those roads I passed that went off to a solitary house about 30 miles from anywhere.
At one point in mid-Texas I couldn’t pick up a single radio station (AM or FM) and I was tired of what I had on tape. Made for some long hours of quiet reflection that, to be honest, I wouldn’t mind having a chance at again.
Safe travels home, Lex.
It is a thing larger than yourself that you do today Lex. Godspeed to SNO and may the burden you carry home not be too heavy.
And please – write the book, any book.
No kidding…it’s a waste of talent!
I third the motion!
Literary visceral connections to life, people and nature….incredible reading.
Well said…brought back fond/bitter sweet memories of my own Dad and our awkward good buys at the airport as I embarked on the first leg of my flight to RVN… well said indeed. Best
Touching, inspiring, and surprising close to my own thoughts these days. Thanks for brightening an otherwise drab Tuesday, Lex.
Best to you and SNO as you both turn the page.
It is too much to wish for and not a thing I dare presume to have earned the right at ask for, but these bittersweet reflections on that passage of time give me just the right pause as I consider my own unfinished journey.
There is so much left to do and, sadly, so very little to look back on without regrets.
You have earned the right to be so proud, of the job you have done serving your God, Family, and Nation and by extension the World.
Thanks for providing these windows into places I only wish I’d ever trod.
That last sentence hit me where I live. When we sent the Idaho Seaman off to Great Lakes earlier this year I suddenly realized she would never live with us again. Shouldn’t have snuck up on me, but it did. She’s doing fine. Made E3 last week. Me? Still adjusting.
I’ve made most of that same trip, drove by myself from Atwater CA. to Atlanta, GA. At least you had good company.
Thanks once again for the fine writing. We’re all looking forward to anything you can share about the Ensign as he progresses with his career.
And to thread jack slightly, I’m starting all over again, this time for the youngest son. Air Force Academy Summer Seminar Apps start December 1st and Naval Academy Summer Seminar opens February 1st. Applying for Nominations and ROTC comes right behind. Junior year is busy. Life goes on.
Blessed journey to SNO as he takes all that given him from birth and puts it into play, finding his own way now amongst those with whom he will forge new and lasting bonds.
SNO will make you grateful for all the years spent helping him craft his character. I’d be remiss not acknowledging that two are out the door now, having been shown the way to go. They’ll both make you and the Hobbit proud, each in their own way. One to go, and it sounds as if the Kat already has good beginnings herself.
I had the pleasure of seeing a picture last night of my old Sea Daddy, now semi-retired, bouncing a new generation on his knee. Dare I say there’ll come such a day for you?
“But you can never step in the same river twice, the waters move on and those times are far behind us, like the raindrops that gathered mass and then raced down the foggy windshield of my son’s car in the parking lot.”
That, to me, is as eloquent a piece of writing as anything Hemingway or Fitzgerald ever put to paper. I vote with Kris and Byron and countless others – it is time for THE BOOK!
Safe flight home. Oh, and if after 4 hrs flying you look out the window and see lots of water, don’t worry, the crew is just checking out next week’s flight sked with the OpsO.
I love the writing too, and sent a post about how much I liked this piece earlier (which somehow doesn’t appear, maybe the editor didn’t like it.} But Lex would be first to admit that “But you can never step in the same river twice, the waters move on ..” is from Heraclitus circa 500 BC. Credit where due.
Paul B, I decided not to comment on that point, after all a bit of creative plagiarism, we all sometimes do it, to further this important theme is no vice and besides I didn’t want puncture G-Man’s reverie by pissing in his Corn Flakes…I’m just that kind of a guy. Best, ICSFTH
PS, I didn’t know Lex wore spectacles…no matter…again a great and very well said read.
I take your point. Lex is damned good, but, not to put too fine a point on it, I only made the comment because of the comparison to Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Byron. Maybe I’m a little too sensitive to hyperbole and sometimes am a “piss in the cornflakes kind of guy.”
Agree, Boot licking sycophants ( they know who they are ) are just asking and deserve to have their Corn Flakes pissed in…its just that in this instance my warm and fuzzy bear side won out..I suspect it won’t happen again for many moons…never cease to continue the fight. Best
Snake – Pi$$ away! Won’t dampen me a bit – don’t eat Corn Flakes. Advice – turn downwind so you don’t wet trou.
I hear those flight boots echoing up the stairs at VT-10 & VT-86…
Tears in my eyes, Lex. You have such a way with words.
Beautiful and elegiac piece of writing, Lex. My husband muttered, “a masterpiece,” and after a lifetime of writing and editing, he is usually measured in his praise.
I’m with Kris and G-Man and all the others above who were moved by your essay. Please write the book — Any Book!
Marianne
I will add my appreciation also for some fine writing. The scene just unfolds in your mind, which is what great writing can do.
But on another note…. I gotta ask…… an apartment?? As a bachelor? An Apartment!!! Humpph!Arr..humph! Why, back in my day….. (Actually, you could get an apartment but not the housing allowance. So, there were those with apartments and those who were cheapskates. I was (and still am) the latter.)
And, best of good wishes and good fortunes to your son. I’m sure we all look forward to hearing about his exploits.
George V.
simply wonderful !!!
Simply wonderful writing. And everyone is right. The book. The book. The book. And the book. But my gut feeling is that it should not be an organic whole. To do so would mean bending too many disparate stories–wonderfully told in themselves–to some over-broad theme just for the sake of making a somewhat artificial whole, and which perforce would in the nature of editing so as to make it more “cohesive” prune many wonderful tid-bits that stand in their own right but do not fit the “theme” (however formulated.)
No, Lex, I feel that you should publish a series of vignettes, much as retiring newspaper columnists publish compilations of “best of” columns from their lifetime of work, each standing on its own merits with its own story to tell–to be savored whole for its own-self, to be contemplated and rolled around in ones mind for its own delicious merits, rather than be subsumed and overshadowed by a larger meta narrative which may have only a nodding, tangential acquaintance with the vignette one is savoring at that particular moment.
So that’s my take, Lex, a series of disparate, stand on their own vignettes (with Rhythms as perhaps a core, “long” vignette, but a stand-alone nonetheless) linked only by dint of having taken place in the Navy, much as Mike Roykos’ wonderful columns–individually distinct as they all were–had as a back-drop and were inextricably linked with the pulse of Chicago, which drenched each column with an overall unifying but subtle gloss much as life in the Navy might serve as the unifying backdrop for each of your vignettes.
Speechifying over. Again, wonderful, heartfelt writing. Thanks.
One mans “Speechifying” is “perforce” another mans example of unsolicited flatulence. Best
I knew this was coming, gee whiz if you fly as good as you write…..
My oldest son is only ten and you’ve got my waterworks going already….
Best Wishes to you both, he is a lucky man and so are you!
Poetry, Lex.
Pure poetry.
Thank you.
Transistions are always better when done ‘Into’ the green parts of the world. I still remember the shock in 1974 of NAS Memphis, to NAS Lemoore. My wife commented that the fabled “Edge of the Earth” was about two miles west of the main gate at NASL.
Good Luck Lex. I’d like to join you in the situation where young Men go off from their families to find their own path without needing us for aught but advice.
Alas, I’m not there yet.
More’s the pity some days. Less so, on others.
Press on, Young Man and Younger Man. God bless.
Subsunk
May he always have calm seas and fair skies.
And don’t let him forget that Admiral Heinlein expects his name to shine!
First time commenter, long time reader. Moving. Touching. Beautiful.
Thanks
Seems like yesterday.
Arriving in Pensacola for AOCS on a Satuday afternoon.
Being told to check in on Sunday morning.
No friends, no knowledge, nowhere to go.
Spent the night sleeping in the Walmart parking lot out the front gate.
Not really sleeping.
Anxious, exited,,,, scared…
24 years ago and it feels like last nite.
PS,
After what I saw go in that moose’s mouth one time, late at night after a winging.
I know I wouldn’t kiss it!!
I don’t understand the push for “any book.” I’m more than happy to receive these little gems on a regular basis. Part of their glory comes from the fact that they’re pieces Lex’s heart and soul stemming from his passion of the moment. If you want a book, just gather his essays over the past year or so and enjoy, and then look forward to tomorrow.
I let my little boy go in ’96 when he left for Fort Sill and BCT. The burden was heavy, and took many years for it to become tolerably light.
He was activated for two GWOT tours, one in the sand box with the 82nd AB. Thankfully, he’s back in one piece, out and in Graduate School in MO. The void is still there, but it doesn’t hurt.
May God bring yours home safe. We know the risks, and didn’t mind taking them on ourselves. That’s the way of a man. Sending our sons off to the same, well, that’s a different kettle of fish.
Paul, we ask Lex to write “The Book” because he is so damn good. Every time Lex writes something like this it just moves you so damn much you want to share that feeling. Lex has served our nation well and honorably for many years, and in those years is a helluva story.
Personally, I think Tales of the Sea Service should be required reading for all prospective Naval Aviators…and that is NOT a joke. Nothing in the world could prepare them better for life as a Naval Aviator better than the story Lex weaves. Now, should Lex decide to keep the story private, that is his right and we all should and will honor it. And for me, those guys Punk and Jake ain’t got nothing on Lex
“From there we went to the electronics section, and now the apartment is graced with not one, but three LCD HD television sets of various sizes”
Aviators.
But in seriousness, the best of luck to ENS SNO.
It’s so odd. I have virtually no memory of my first arrival at Pensacola. I don’t know if I went straight to Saufley or poked around the air station for awhile. All I know for sure is that my dad didn’t accompany me to the gate. There was no furniture, no golf, no words of wisdom and no befogged glasses.
I do remember a cute dental hygienist.
I remember my first day at NAS Jax. That’s where the P-3 RAG was after AW “A” school. I had ridden down to Jax from NAS Millington with 3 other AW’s, pulling a small U-haul with all our stuff.
We went into the duty office, turned in our orders, got barracks assignments, etc. The others were headed out to the club, but I declined. I had other plans.
Walking over to VP-30′s hanger, I walked in and there she was: The first P-3 I had seen up close. Lord, she was beautiful, and she was HUGE.
But it was love at first sight, a love that has never left my heart and is as close to the love I feel for my kids as any machine could ever be.
There are many blanks in my memory of the times at VP-30, and at Jax, but that first day is as vivid as the day when the first child came home with her mother from the hospital.
And like others, too, there was a lot more emotion than I ever expected when I watched my son head out to Benning’s School for Boys. We’ve both taken different paths now. My pace is a little slower than his, and he’s pulled ahead to see what’s over the next rise, around the bend up ahead. I miss him a lot, but he’s got to live his life now, as it should be.
Sorry to run on, but Lex’s writing just rings so true to every one of us.
God Bless them all…
Wordsmith
Superb, Lex! I seem to hear a small, sad melody reading this, though. Part of it is from you, but probably part from sending my own boy off long ago. All my best to both of you.
Lex, not sure where I should start this. You are so wonderfully adept at painting a picture with your words. And your words brought back so many pleasant memories. Times in Pensacola, although I never kissed the moose, driving from Corpus to Whidbey after receiving my wings, all of my belongings packed in my Healy 3000. Numerous trips home to New Orleans – NUW -LAX – MSY via I-5 and I-10 to avoid the snow.
I shared your thoughts on this tonight with the wife, who is somewhat of a writer. After the first paragraph, she immediately intoned that you sould write. Not necessarily a book, but something that both shows and shares your love of the English language. Having read VX’s eloquent comment, I agree that perhaps a book of vignettes would be appropriate. I keep thinking that we are very lucky to have you, and to have each other here, even those who disagree with us. I hope they stick around.
BOSS/
An Austin-Healy 3000? Boy you really know how to rough it!
ALL your belongings? Let’s see: You could shoehorn in a speedo, your jockstrap, a tennis racquet (wooden Jack Kramer signature model no less) a pair of converse low cuts, one Nikon X SLR and 6 sets of underwear, 3 flt suits, boots and one shirt , a pair of slacks and a toothbrush–maybe. Right? 
PS: Did you make those trips wearing asbestos boots? That firewall always staying so cool and all…… Pictures…must have pictures..
Most of the space was taken up by uniforms/flight suits. I didn’t own much then – no TV and certainly not a Nikon. I’m sure I had a cheap camera but, over the years, have lost any pics I took.
Most of the trips from NUW to MSY were in a 68 Porsche 911 that I bought after returning from my first Nam deployment. Drive 800 miles or so, 2/3 hour nap at a rest stop, another 500 miles and a good night’s sleep. Repeat as necessary until destination is reached. I still do the 900 miles between here and NO in one day. Wife hates it.LOL.
I’m with Paul on this. I am not sure I want Lex to write a book. Then we’d have to share him…it’s bad enough we have to share him with each other (can you tell I was raised as an only child?).
So very well written, Lex. Thank you for letting us have just a small glimpse into your life.
I’m OK with sharing him via a book. Cuz those outside of this community that purchase his book can never lay claim to being around when it all got started.
I wish I had known you were in town. I would have gladly bought you a pint of the good stuff had I known. Would have been nice to shake your hand and all.
Offer stands until I PCS. A few years still.
Capt. Thank You..oh the memories..took a similar one with my SNO..26 short years ago..He just retired….life goes on..
Household goods? Like the Navy had to move him? Congratulate the Squire on his vast holdings!
Me? Everything I owned with room for a friend could fit in my Jetta until I was a LT!
Well written, good stuff.
Thanks for lending you first born to the cause. God bless him and watch over him – we need more like him.
Nose
Great writing, Lex. About 3 years ago I flew to Tampa, FL to ferry a vehicle to the Puget Sound area, driving I-10 the opposite direction. We had a great time, saw many sites, ate at local specialty houses and stopped at many Harley stores along the way.
I sure wish I could have recorded the trip as well as you have! Enjoyed the read.
OT, but it looks as though I will be in San Diego (staying in the Gaslight Quarter) for a week. Am hoping that I will have one free day to see SD.
Due to Coast-to-Coast, time constraints and other issues, it will probably be my last time there.
Suggestions on the best two, three, four things that I should see/experience in a one day whirlwind tour?
Thanks,
Ron,
It’s hard to say with San Diego and you cannot begin to experience it or see it in a day.
The zoo really is the best one I’ve ever been to. But you won’t want to walk around alone.
The USS Midway Museum is awesome. I highly recommend it.
Walking around is good. Head up to La Jolla, park at the cove, walk around up the hill on the teeny tiny strip of La Jolla. You could do the same in Del Mar if you want to experience a CA coastal town.
If you like real Mexican SOCAL fast food, the best is Robertos in Sorrento Valley although the Solana Beach branch is also pretty good.
We both really enjoyed the SEAL tour that departs from Sea Port Village, drives up to Shelter Island via Harbor Drive and then launches itself into the sea and motors up the the sub base at Ballast Point (me and my 6 year old). Lots of dolphins, seals, sealions and of course the waterfront.
Beaches. Coronado ocean beaches particularly off NASNI, 3 palms up at Del Mar by the Powerhouse, and the Cove at La Jolla. The cove is an underwater watchamacallit and alive with sealife.
I’ve heard there’s neat stuff east of I-5 other than the zoo. Never saw it other than the Wild Animal Park up in Escondido.
Thanks Curtis,
Think I will try the Midway if time permits.
Got time for golf on your return trip? Just outside of New Orleans, super course, love to host you. rexbob
ps got plenty of room at the rexbob inn, on the 15th hole overlooking our lake.
Sorry rexbob – I flew home!
will catch you on one of my trips to diego, will host you at san diego country club. rexbob
The “Rhythms” of life carry on, from one to the next.
If the son is anything like the father, then these stories will continue for another generation, only the next time, the ENS will be able to sprinkle those poetic words of wisdom that Lex shared with him in private, in his tales of the sea.
Great writing Lex, I vote for both “The Book” as well as these pearls that you drop so eloquently upon us. People don’t talk like this anymore, but we sure do think like this. It is refreshing to know one so well versed and talented.
Here I sit in Medieval History 101 class, totally unable to hear, and my glasses too are fogged up. I am old. I reminisce myself. But this essay. This one, cuts to the heart.
Fair winds and following seas, Captain Lex. And Godspeed to SNO. May he fill his father’s shoes.
BZ Lex. You’ve done well in passing the baton. Slapped firmly into the runner’s hand. Confirmation that it’s in his grasp and now SNO is accelerating into his leg of the race.
Thanks for that Lex! Something for all of us in that. So fast it goes by.
b2
Beautiful… and thanks. I relate to that sort of drive in more than one way, seeing as how two of my sons and I have made the same sort of trip, but not to the same destination. Still and even: it resonates.
Thanks again.
Nice piece of work, Lex. Pulled some heartstrings during the read. Freshly separated from Dash One, I drove myself from SD to Knife and Fork school in PNCLA. Dad had made a trip to Tampa and we made the drive back west together (home to Phoenix for him, North Island for first LDO ENS gig for me). He and I had let time, distance and poor choices get between us and it was an interesting ride out. We worked to heal some wounds, letting the Texas miles work their magic on us. Can only imagine similar father/son rides a hundred or so years ago on horseback. The Texas air must surely be full of the unspoken thoughts of those who cross her expanse. Will never forget the feeling of looking over at Pops, asleep against the passenger door, as I completed my leg of the night drive with the sun rising behind me, coming up in the rear view mirror. Darkness still ahead, a new dawn behind, and me thinking about precious time wasted on the petty resentments of immaturity.
Thanks.