Thanks again Bro


'Twas The Night Before Christmas, He Lived All Alone,
In a One Bedroom House Made Of Plaster And Stone.
I Had Come Down The Chimney With Presents To Give, And
Just Who In This Home Did Live.

I Looked All About,
A Strange Sight I Did See, No Tinsel, No Presents,
Not Even A Tree.

No Stocking By Mantle,
Just Boots Filled With Sand, On The Wall Hung Pictures
Of Far Distant Lands.

With Medals And Badges, Awards Of All Kinds, A Sober
Thought Came Through My Mind.

For This House Was Different, It Was Dark And Dreary, I
Found The Home Of A Soldier, Once I Could See Clearly.

The Soldier Lay Sleeping, Silent, Alone, Curled Up On
The Floor In This One Bedroom Home.

The Face Was So Gentle, The Room In Such Disorder, Not
How I Pictured A United States Soldier.

Was This The Hero
Of Whom I'd Just Read?
Curled Up On A Poncho,
The Floor For A Bed?

I Realized The Families That I Saw This Night,
Owed Their Lives To These Soldiers Who Were Willing To Fight.

Soon Round The World,
The Children Would Play, And Grownups Would Celebrate
A Bright Christmas Day.

They All Enjoyed Freedom Each Month Of The Year,
Because Of The Soldiers, Like The One Lying Here.

I Couldn't Help Wonder
How Many Lay Alone,
On a Cold Christmas Eve In A Land Far From Home.

The Very Thought
Brought A Tear To My Eye,
I Dropped To My Knees
And Started To Cry.

The Soldier Awakened
And I Heard A Rough Voice,
"Santa Don't Cry,
This Life Is My Choice;

I Fight For Freedom,
I Don't Ask For More,
My Life is My God
My Country, My Corps."

The Soldier Rolled Over
And Drifted To Sleep,
I Couldn't Control It,
I Continued To Weep.

I Kept Watch For Hours,
So Silent And Still
And We Both Shivered
From The Cold Night's Chill.
I Didn't Want To Leave On
That Cold, Dark, Night,
This Guardian Of Honor
So Willing To Fight.

Then The Soldier Rolled Over,
With A Voice Soft And Pure,
Whispered, "Carry On Santa,
It's Christmas Day, All Is Secure."

One Look At My Watch,
And I Knew He Was Right.
"Merry Christmas My Friend,
And To All A Good Night."

 

Very cool

 

Very cool Rob, but what Santa forgot to mention was the empty bottle of Jim Beam that was on the floor next to him

 

A briefing on your arrival and first few days is in order sir.

You know, for somebody trained in communications you sure arent communicating very well with the family back here.


LOL JK I cant keep typing this tripe. I hope it is not too bad on you over there.

type out a list of care package items you want for yourself and some stuff you know is good for trade fodder and i will try to get some boxes together for you

 

How strict are the package inspections? I know when my cousin was in Kuwait a few years ago I would send him water bottles full of vodka and nobody said a word.

 

LOL sorry Rob, it's the nature of the job here. This is what I can say.

I arrived (classified)
I'm at (classified)
I work with (classified)

As far as the weather and living conditions, I can't get into those because bits and pieces of information can be put together to figure out the location. So as you can see I really can't say crap. Kinda sucks, especially when talking to Elaine, but she's gotten used to it and knows what I can and can't talk about. All I really can say is that it's rather boring, and between watching movies and playing video games I do manage to get a little bit of work done

As far as packages, they are pretty strict...but I have sourses and ways around it

 

Yes they are,
Brian you are a very smart man. Just takes an hour or two to find what you are looking for.
As for the water bottles, you are just taking the chance of getting someone in trouble. It sucks. If you are Brit, Pole or what ever they get the hooch in. USA just has high standards and will enforce them.

Bri, you know how to look me up if you need anything.

 

Another good one:


by Michael Marks

I had no Christmas spirit when I breathed a weary sigh,
And looked across the table where the bills were piled too high.

The laundry wasn't finished and the car I had to fix,
My stocks were down another point, the Chargers lost by six.

And so with only minutes till my son got home from school
I gave up on the drudgery and grabbed a wooden stool.
The burdens that I carried were about all I could take,
And so I flipped the TV on to catch a little break.

I came upon a desert scene in shades of tan and rust,
No snowflakes hung upon the wind, just clouds of swirling dust.

And where the reindeer should have stood before a laden sleigh,
Eight Humvees ran a column right behind an M1A.

A group of boys walked past the tank, not one was past his teens
Their eyes were hard as polished flint, their faces drawn and lean.

They walked the street in armor with their rifles shouldered tight,
Their dearest wish for Christmas, just to have a silent night.

Other soldiers gathered, hunkered down against the wind,
To share a scrap of mail and dreams of going home again .
There wasn't much at all to put their lonely hearts at ease,
They had no Christmas turkey, just a pack of MREs.

They didn't have a garland or a stocking I could see,
They didn't need an ornament--they lacked a Christmas tree.

They didn't have a present even though it was tradition,
The only boxes I could see were labeled "ammunition."

I felt a little tug and found my son now by my side,
He asked me what it was I feared, and why it was I cried.
I swept him up into my arms and held him oh so near And kissed him on
the
forehead as I whispered in his ear.

"There's nothing wrong, my little son, for safe we sleep tonight
Our heroes stand on foreign land to give us all the right,

To worry on the things in life that mean nothing at all,
Instead of wondering if we will be the next to fall."

He looked at me as children do and said, "It's always right,
To thank the ones who help us and perhaps that we should write."

And so we pushed aside the bills and sat to draft a note,
To thank the many far from home and this is what we wrote:

"God bless you all and keep you safe and speed your way back home.
Remember that we love you so, and that you're not alone.

The gift you give you share with all, a present every day,
You give the gift of liberty and that we can't repay."



Michael Marks: "I freely submit this poem for reprint without
reservation--this is an open and grateful tribute to the men and women
who serve every day to keep our nation safe.

 

Very moving poems...