As I write this I’m getting ready for the Marine Corps birthday ball. The Battalion is celebrating tonight, although the actual Birth date is 10 November 1775. My old Dress Blues are set up in their splendor. On a hanger suspended from a hook on the back of my office door. Not a lot of medals for 18 years, a sign of a pretty easy career. Not that I had that in mind when I signed up. It just worked out that way despite my own efforts to get into the fight even early on when we were only fighting “Small” wars.
This is my last Ball with this unit.
Eighteen days from now I’ll be checked out and awaiting a trip to
But it is a little different this time. I let myself get attached to this place. Kind of odd I guess. Since it is here where I developed my Zen practice the most, a practice that eschews attachments.
Very human. Another thing I am not accustom to. Is that demon dead? Or just buried?
When is the last time I felt genuinely angry? Or at least held on to my anger and resentment?
Quiet now. Everyone is off deck to get their dates, and change over into their best.
My wife isn’t coming. She went to the first one with this unit. I suppose that was enough for her. Not much fun if you feel excluded. When I mentioned it this morning I think I saw a hint of regret at not going though. Maybe she’ll go to the next one with the next unit. But why speculate? I think she’s been adrift from the Marine Corps family for a while.
Enough of my blathering, time to get dressed.