I swore to do no more public literary reviews or reviews of the arts. I even was at Krause Gallery again in Manhattan this summer with Herr Rochibauld Sachse-Heutelier and Doctor Otsego, but I wrote no review.
One of my favorite memories of Bosnia is driving alone through the cool air, headed towards Sarajevo past Velez mountain playing my Weather Report™ CD.
My favorite tune was ‘Birdland’, but I’m now partial to Jaco’s rendering of Pee Wee Ellis’ ‘The Chicken’.
What a classic funky jazz piece.
It’s right up there with Herbie Hancock’s amazing ‘Chameleon’.
At any rate, driving alone windows down, feeling the cool air, packing my useless 9mm Beretta it was a good feeling.
Imagine spending 22 years waiting to do something and never getting to do it?
What if you ran for 22 years but were never allowed to enter a race?
What if you went to Law School or Med School or Engineering School and you never tried a case, treated a patient or built a bridge?
You get the picture.
So there I was, after hanging out in Luxembourg, Germany, France, Belgium, England, Ft. Riley, Ft. Sill, Ft. Drum, Ft. Benning, etc., but never did a damn thing in the operational environment.
Sure, I ended up in Iraq well after Bosnia, but what a feeling! To be there! To be doing it! Missions! Minefields! Confrontations! Idiots shooting at each other, but not at me. Dubrovnik! The old walled city! The Adriatic.
So there I was listening to the funky base of Jaco. And I remember.
I did pass my APFT and my two mile run on the trail recently cleared of landmines on Mostar Base, but that’s another story.
Peace be the Botendaddy