Ok, so yes - I have been away forever. If you're still checking my blog to see if I've added new entries...god bless you for your persistence!

So, my time over the last several months has been tied up with a new business venture. Now that the video rental empire is well in hand, I decided I needed to expand my business enterprises. I asked The Big Guy for some guidance, and lo and behold, he answered. He dropped an opportunity to own an old-fashioned soda shop in my lap. It was strange, but hey - when life hands you ice cream, make a hot fudge sundae, right? And thus began our adventures in ice cream.

The soda shop in question is a beautifully restored 1938 establishment that has been lovingly restored to the glory of its heyday. Black and white checkered floors, mirrored barback with glass shelves, pressed-tin ceiling with ceiling fans, and a wealth of historical and kitchy memorabilia on the walls. Floor to ceiling windows are shaded by striped awnings, giving lots of light but not a ton of heat. It even has this nifty luncheonette counter. I fell in love with the place in a heartbeat. BK was cool to it at first but when he saw how smitten I was, he backed me up 110%...a nice thing for him to do, even if he thought the idea might be a touch insane.

I had big plans for the place: bring in locally made ice cream, add a Wurlizter jukebox, hold a grand re-opening with a classic car show and live entertainment, cross promotions with the $2 movie theater down the street, etc. I even started redesigning the menu, and had named all of the dishes after people we know (my dear friend Lerasi advised me to create something with nuts for her, since she claims she's the nuttiest person I know, which really isn't the case. The nuttiest person I know would be yours truly, kthxbye).

All looked well as we started our ice cream dream. We worked for SIX weeks on securing funding, getting the menu redesigned, working with the current owner on transition plans, etc. We got a downpayment together, signed a sales agreement, and then called our new landlords to introduce ourselves to them and to work out the details of the lease agreement. And here's where things go south.

The landlords are...well, how does one describe people that are evil? When we first called to set up a meeting, I was told by the snippy receptionist that I had to go through an "interview" to determine if I'd be accepted as a tenant. Oh and by the way, what the hell did I know about running a food service establishment? I was rendered speechless after this phone call, which people who know me will tell you is something that is darn near impossible. I called the current owner who told me that the interview requirement was hooey and not to go in for it. So I call back, get voicemail, and leave a message indicating I'm not coming in.

An hour later, the landlord's receptionist calls back in a panic that I'm not coming in. I tell her that I want to talk to a number of people, including my accountant and my attorney, and she can sit 'n spin while she's waiting for me to find a time to come in to meet with them. This renders HER speechless and leaves me smiling as I hang up the phone. An hour after that, one of the landlords calls me. She's worries that we're getting off on the wrong foot (an understatement) and wants to get things straight. We have a more or less pleasant conversation, and I feel much better about things. Therefore, I agree to come in and meet with she and the husband to go over the lease and the transition from the old owner. We set the time and all is well once again.

BK and I go in for our meeting with the landlord...and it's a 180-reversal from the previous phone call. These people were barely civil to us, and did everything in their power to run us off. It turns out that we're caught in the middle of a nasty fight between the current owner and the landlords. They bad-mouthed the current owner, all of their other tenants, the health department, and basically everyone they mentioned during our conversation. They told us that we had to agree to open up another restaurant behind the soda shop (it would share a common kitchen with the soda shop) in order to continue prepping and serving food in the soda shop itself, they were going to charge us yearly rent increases (our video store landlord locked us in a 5 year lease with no increases), and they indicated that if the current owner owed them any money, they would come after US for it!

There's more detail I could go into here, but I won't - BK says we should take the high road in all of this, which is just like him. I'm much more hot-headed and would happily post every piece of the garbage we were subjected to during this meeting, but BK is right: we don't need to sink to their level.

Anyway, we left the meeting puzzled and angry. I mean, seriously - these people own a great deal of the real estate in the area that the soda shop is located in. If they wanted to own all of the downtown area, why didn't they just buy the current owner out and be done with it?! Why stick us in the middle of a dispute that isn't ours? Why play mindgames when it isn't necessary? And why, oh why would you badmouth your tenants when there's a better than average chance that the people you're talking to will turn around and share what you've said with the very people being backstabbed?

We did indeed return to the current owner and gave him the scoop on our meeting with the landlord. The current owner, by the way, is someone I happen to adore. He's a delightful person - down to earth, friendly, Christian, and a good ol' fashioned Southern redneck boy. We've got a ton in common, right down to the music we like (he's a Jimmy Buffet fan, as I am. Parrotheads forever!) and our love of powerboats, go figure. When we told him what the landlords had said, he about blew a gasket. I can't blame him, as the spew from the landlords was pretty inflammatory. He immediately agreed to let us out of the sale, refund our downpayment, and was very sorry about the whole ordeal. He understood how badly this hurt me, as it really was something I've been dreaming about for a long time. I mean, c'mon - how cool would it be to own your own 50's style soda shop and ice cream parlor?

So, that's the end of the ice cream dream. The sale is off, our money should be back by next Monday, and in all likelihood, the landlords and the owner of the soda shop will square off in court. I'm definitely happy to testify against the landlords, as they're conniving, underhanded people in my most humble opinion. Greed and the lust for power...when combined, they're a deadly mix. I thank The Big Guy for giving us the chance to chase the dream for a little bit, and I thank Him too, for showing us when to give up the dream. Things could've turned out so much worse than they did, that I can't help but think He meant this as some sort of lesson for BK and I. I haven't quite figured out what it is that He was trying to teach us, but I'm sure I'll get it someday. On the upside, we've got other plans and ideas that we're looking to...maybe one of those is what we're supposed to be doing instead of fudging around with ice cream (sorry, couldn't help myself).

Change of subject: we've got a trip to Vegas planned for November, woot woot!

The cost of two round-trip tickets to Vegas: $450 (much <3 for Orbitz)

The price for a one-week stay in a luxury timeshare that BK and I own: $35 (HGVC's booking fee).

Getting together with four of your best friends in the world to wreak havoc in Sin City: PRICELESS (or the cost of our bail fees).

Now, I just gotta go find me a J-O-B so I can gamble all my money away.

Ok, I'm out...I gotta go work on maintaining my video rental empire. Thanks for coming back even when I don't post anything for a long time.

Mea culpa,

Siren

Dear readers (all 2 of you):

The tagboard has been disabled for this blog due to tagspam. Sorry if this impinges on your right to free speech or something, but I'd like to have meaningful tags only.

Also, inappropriate or self-promotion comments (i.e. - visit my blog at www.blah.com) will be deleted, so don't post 'em.

Ta!

Siren

I started to write about how pissed off I am about immigration, but I think that’s not what I really meant to write about. I think I meant to write about hope.

Every generation hopes that their children will be a little better off than they were. They hope that their lives will be easier, happier, more fulfilling. They hope that their kids will be able to buy houses, have a job, raise a family…be part of the middle-class. I hope dearly for these things for my children.

My fear is that these hopes are in vain. I’m watching the Million Mexican March going on across the nation today, and I am resentful. I watch our government giving benefits to those who enter our country illegally, while those of us who are US citizens go wanting. I worry that my kids will never find a job because greedy US corporations are outsourcing to China, India, and Mexico. I am afraid my children will have to wear oxygen and full-body UV-coated armor to go outside in 20 years, when the ozone layer is gone.

I look at my children, my sweet girls with their big eyes and a great fear leaps up inside of me. How will they survive? I am going to encourage them to be doctors or plumbers because when all of the other jobs have been given away to cheap labor overseas, they will still be employed. I plan on buying as much life insurance as I can afford, in the hopes that when I go to whatever place awaits me after this life, they will have enough to live on.

I live with the hope that someday, someone will have the guts to lead our nation back to the proud standing it once held. Man, woman, black, white, brown, yellow, red…I don’t care who does it, I just know we need someone, anyone to take us off of this path we’re on. If we don’t take care of tomorrow for the generation we’re raising today, our children will be the ones who suffer. Our neglect in the here and now will resonate in the generations to come; I hope we come to realize that fact sooner rather than later.

I hope.

So, I was going through some moving boxes (I still have millions of them to unpack) and found a bunch of goofy photos of friends of mine from high school and college. So, I succumb to the pop-up advertising and I head over to classmates.com. I register with the site and start looking for my old friends. While I'm at it, I discover a couple of non-commercial alumni sites, and I post there looking for these old friends, as well.

Well, this morning I decide to get online to check my messages. Lo and behold, I find three of my old friends. I get a phone call from one, and emails from the other two, and I'm ecstatic. Then, I log into one of the non-commercial sites to see if there's any action there, and what do I see? In the "In Memoriam" section is the name of my best friend from high school.

The guy in question was one of the best human beings I've ever met. He was born with cerebral palsy (CP) and walked with a shuffle-limp. One of his legs was somewhat deformed but it never slowed him down for a second. He was a gold-medallist in the Special Olympics for show jumping (horses) and he'd have been on the real US Olympic team, if it hadn't been for his leg and his health. He was hired by the McDonalds Corporation as a manager at age 17, not bad for a high schooler. He also had the best, most optimistic outlook on life that I've ever come across.

We were never romantically involved - just best friends. I know that we could have been more; he wrote me a love letter telling me so. However, he also noted in the letter that he didn't want to mess up what he (and I, too) considered the most perfect friendship he had ever experienced.

I graduated from high school a year ahead of him and moved onto college and a career in politics. He climbed higher in the McDonald's management chain, becoming a corporate district manager by the time he was 19 or so. Despite the CP he had a bright career future ahead of him - he was intelligent, hardworking, and willing to meet any challenge. We drifted apart a bit, mostly because I was focused on becoming the next Young Senator...until I met my now ex-husband. He met the woman who would eventually become his wife about the same time I started bopping around the country because of my new job in thea video game industry. We occasionally lost track of one another, but we did manage to hook up here and there, whenever our paths happened to cross.

The last time I saw him was shortly after I had my first child in 2001. We said we'd definitely keep in closer touch with one another - we promised to call, to send email, to write letter to one another. I always meant to get back in touch with him but somehow, I never found the time. It was always "I'll try to find him next week/next month/next year", but I never did.

After finding the note on the alumni board about his death, I finally tracked down his brother and left him a mesasge asking him to contact me immediately. It turns out that my friend died FOUR years ago, and he and his family have been trying to find me ever since. Everyone at the funeral apparently kept asking whether they'd been able to find me, even one of my old high school rivals who hated me. His mother, who has some mental illness issues, calls his brother's girlfriend by my name. It turns out that his brother posted the message on the alumni boards just so I would see it and hopefully get in touch with him.

It seems that my friend choked to death. His wife was supposedly upstairs taking care of their two children when he decided to grab the last bite of steak that was on his dinner plate. He swallowed wrong and it lodged in his throat. His wife never heard a thing and by the time she came back downstairs, he was blue. He was pronounced dead at the hospital some time later.

The surviving members of his family aren't entirely convinced that his death was an accident. Neither am I. Normally, I don't subscribe to conspiracy theories or enjoy soap operas. That being said, I think they might have something here. His wife hated me from the moment she found out I was alive. He was convinced that I was out to steal her husband, despite the fact that I'd always tried to be friendly to both of them as a couple, rather than he as an individual. There's talk in the family that she cheated on him, and I personally know that they fought often. I know his children meant the world to him, which is why I'm guessing he didn't want to go through a divorce. He was loyal to her the entire time they were married, as far as I know.

My friend carried an insurance policy worth $150,000. The circumstances of his death were strange, at best: his wife found him on the floor, blue from lack of oxygen, and instead of calling 911, she tries to resuscitate him herself. Failing to clear his airway and bring him back to consciousness, she ran to the neighbor’s house for help. They returned with her and tried to resuscitate him, as well but again, had no luck. The wife finally called 911 for assistance, some 15 minutes later. Instead of sending the local fire department which was no more than a few minutes away, the fire department in the neighboring city responded...which coincidentally, is where her brother works. By the time they got him to the hospital, it was far too late.

Because of the suspicious nature of his death, the ME held the body for an inquest for two weeks to try and confirm whether foul play was involved. Unfortunately, it could never be proven that his death was anything other than an accident, so the wife got the $150K payout from the insurance. She took the money and moved to Hawaii with the kids, where she has family. His family now neither gets to see the children, nor do they get any information on their well-being.

So in the end, my dear friend who had amazingly survived well into his 30's with CP, was one of the strongest people I knew, and had the best attitude on life that I've ever seen (even though he had every right to be angry about the hand life had dealt him), died from choking on a piece of meat. I can't even begin to express how pissed I am that he's dead and that I wasn't there for the funeral. I feel like a total shit for having lost contact with him, and that it took a stupid message board for me to find out that he died.

Fate can bite my left nut (if I had a left nut to bite, that is).

I’m completely tapped out of creativity today, given that I’m writing a monsterously large report on online public relations and why it should be done. My brain feels like mush after digging through Google for more info on such exciting topics as the good, the bad, and the ugly of CEOs who have blogs, the difference between TCP/IP and NNTP protocols, and the Google Effect and why you REALLY want to be within Google’s Golden Triangle.

So then, here is today’s blog entry. It’s about as filling and as tasty as a meal at Golden Corral, so my apologies in advance.

Six things I hate:

• Rude people who walk up the middle of the lane in parking lots, making it impossible for you to drive around them. I wish I had one of those cow-catcher thingies on the front of my car so I could simply scoop ‘em all up and then drop them onto the I-40 from the nearest overpass
• Men who insist on wearing speedos and thongs at the beach and pool. My god, is it really necessary to have your fat, hairy beer belly or gluteus maximus hanging out? If I want to see something round and hairy, I’ll go buy a coconut, thanks. For the love of God, if you’re not built like an Olympic swimmer, DON’T DO IT.
• Anyone who doesn’t understand what the passing lane is for. If you’re not going faster than everyone else behind you, get the hell out of the passing lane so we can PASS you! If you’re doing it just to teach us speed demons a lesson, your car is a perfect target for me to throw my milkshake at as I’m passing you on the right. You have been warned.
• Parents who let their children run wild in upscale restaurants. The next time I see a screaming kid running past my table while I’m trying to have a nice dinner, I’m going to accidentally knock my water glass over onto his head or stick my foot out and then laugh as he falls over onto the carpet. I have three little hellions and I will not allow them to ruin other people’s dinners, so don’t you do it either. If you can’t control your kids, take them to McDonalds.
• Parents who let their children run wild in grocery stores. I have no problem running your precious little offspring over with my cart if they’re going run directly in front of me as I’m walking along. I will aim for them specifically if they’re doing something obnoxious, like knocking over cereal boxes or standing in my way deliberately so that I can’t move forward.
• The itsy-bitsy plastic forks you see in take-out Chinese restaurants. I can fit exactly three pieces of rice on one of these things or risk it collapsing onto my lap. If you’re gonna put out plasticware, can you please spend the extra $.07 per box and get the good stuff?

Six things I love:

• People who hold open doors for the person coming through after them. It’s small, gallant gesture that takes an extra .0002 seconds out of your day but it’ll leave a smile on the person’s face. Small kindnesses add up over time and they ain’t bad for your karma, either
• A child’s laughter. Does anything sound as joyous as this? I don’t think so.
• A good Jimmy Buffett song. Whether you’re mellow, merry, or melancholy, he’s pretty much got you covered. Plus, it’s easy to imagine yourself on the beach in a pair of cutoffs and flip-flops (and holding a Bahama Mama or a Margarita) if you close your eyes while listening to him.
• Easter eggs. Easter is right around the corner and I dunno about you, but I think that colored boiled eggs taste better than plain boiled eggs (purple ones taste the best, by the way).
• A good, rollicking thunderstorm. Bring on the lightning, howling winds, and monsoon rain – it’s all good. The hot sizzle and dangerous crack of lightning, followed by the angry bass beat of a thunderclap…woohoo, make my hair stand on end, whydoncha? Plus, the air smells great after a good, cleansing thundershower.
• Getting new shoes. I love the way a new shoe smells, crisp and ready to be broken in. I love the way they caress my feet the first time I slide my tootsie in and wiggle them around. I love the clickety-clacking sound the heels make against the floor as I take them for a stroll. Nothin’ better, I tell you!

Time for me to go back to pushing pixels, bleh. If anyone wants to know about TCP/IP protocols, I’ll be in my cubicle.

Cheers,

Siren

OMG, I’m crying here...they actually made a movie called “Snakes on a Plane”. With Samuel L. Jackson in the lead, for Chrissake. I'd heard about this awhile back but like lots of other folks, I dismissed it as a joke. Guess what - it appears to be no joke.

Snakes on a Plane has become a weird internet phenomenon, thanks to the blog of Josh Friedman, who was (I think) signed to do the rewrite on the script. His post about Snakes on a Plane has been posted extensively throughout the blogosphere, and has now found its way here to my little corner of the universe. It’s a hilarious read; take five minutes just to scan through it – you won’t be sorry.

People have been thinking of this movie as a joke, but I kid you not – there’s a damn trailer that’s floating around on the ‘net (may be fake but looks damn good if it is). It has Sam Jackson battling a boatload (oops, planeload) of vipers, lots of screaming passengers, and a cat that becomes snake sushi. It’s all good, I say!

My thought is this: if they can get Snakes on a Plane made, dammit, I should be able to write and sell a screenplay. If nothing else, Snakes on a Plane gives me hope (as well as sides that are aching from laughter). I will definitely be seeing this in a theater when it comes out.

S-S-Siren

What is it about my husband that makes chicks flock to him like a half-off shoe sale at Kohls?! Yes, he’s tall, dark, and handsome, and kind of looks like Vin Diesel if you squint a bit. But he’s also got on a wedding ring. I doubt that he is trying to flirt with other women; I trust him implicitly. However, it drives me NUTS that other females seem to find him irresistible.

With his crazy 3^rd shift schedule, he’s barely conscious when he’s awake during the daylight hours. This does not seem to deter anyone, however. Just the other day, he was in Wal-Mart looking for a microphone for his computer. He had just gotten up after sleeping most of the day away and was still groggy. He’d been in the electronics section for no more than five minutes when lo and behold, a Pretty Young Thing walks up to him and starts chattering away. He managed to hold a semi-coherent conversation with her before extricating himself from her clutches and running out the door.

Before the PYT in Wal-Mart, it was a female Sheriff’s deputy. She was at one of those roving DUI traffic stops that North Carolina conducts now and again. She checked him out…and then checked him out. She even suggested he might try to get a job working as a guard at the local prison (the Sheriff’s department is housed next door, BTW). And before that, it was another PYT at the same Wal-Mart! This one was a college student who insisted on following him around for awhile, despite the fact that his grocery cart had Capri Sun juice boxes in it. I mean, c’mon – if a guy is buying juice boxes, it’s a good bet he’s somebody’s dad.

Now, before you think I’m a paranoid, jealous wife (ok, maybe just a little of both), I swear to you – this happens sometimes when I am WITH him. We’ll be out at a restaurant, and the next thing I know, the waitress is flirting with him. Seriously, what the hell is that all about?! Excuuuuuse me, the man’s wife is sitting next to him; does this not count for something?

So, what is it about a married man that makes him so irresistible to other women? Is it the fact that he’s unattainable and therefore, poses a greater challenge? Does the fact that he’s married give the impression that he’d be a good provider (aka sugar daddy)? Do these women want no-strings fun with a married man?

I swear to God above, I’m about to tattoo “I am married” across BK’s forehead before I let him out in public alone. Or maybe I should do “Property of Siren…hands off!” across his butt (that might be more effective). Better yet, I think I’ll get a proximity alarm and attach it to one of those electronic anklets they issue house-arrest prisoners. If any woman not directly related to him gets too close, it could set off a warning siren followed by this audio message: “Please step away from the married man!” Hrm…maybe I’ll patent that idea.

Damn, I knew I should’ve married an ugly guy instead of a handsome one.

Disgruntled,

Siren

As promised, here are some of the organizations out there that will help you adopt a person or even a whole platoon. CAVEAT EMPTOR: I cannot vouch for these organizations - I've been reviewing sites since I got home, but I have no idea whether these are legit organizations (other than the USO, of course).

The ones I have listed seem to be truly legit, but I've only had about an hour or two to research them. My suggestion is that if you want to help, you go check these groups out yourself and decide if you feel comfortable with it. Many of these do hold charitable organization status from the IRS, if that means anything, and a number require you to be approved before they'll give you the name of a soldier to send stuff to.

USO

Soldiers Angels

AnySoldier.com

Adoptaplatoon

Operation Military Pride

Cheers,

Siren

EDIT:

I've decided I'm going to go with Soldiers Angels, since I know the local organizer here in NC. She's actually one of my video store customers, go figure. Kathi Lee Gifford is also an official celebrity sponsor (although given her rep, that may hurt 'em more than help 'em) and they have been in business since 2003. It looks like a decent outfit, and I'm happy that we'll be helping. Also, don't forget: there are lots of women in the armed forces these days. Just think about what it must be like to be a woman in such a harsh environment!

Woof, what a week it has been. Sorry to anyone out there who has been breathlessly awaiting my next post (doubtful that there’s anybody fitting this description, but hey – it could happen); I’ve just been swamped. My mom was sick, BK was sick, his car IS sick, I had a job interview, blah, blah, blah.

I was listening to the John Boy and Billy radio show yesterday, and they had an active-duty soldier who is home on leave as one of their guests; they also had a retired Army officer (I can’t remember what his rank was). At one point during the program, Johnboy said how hot he got over people who don’t support our troops, and that he wished this country still had the level of patriotism it did the day following 9/11. The officer then said something that gave me pause: he said he was glad the country didn’t have that level of patriotism. Yes, glad.

The reason he was happy that the country wasn’t showing the same level of patriotism as it did on September 12^th is that patriotism isn’t a $3.00 American flag that you wave around for a couple of months then take down and put away in a closet. Patriotism is a true, deep-seated love and respect for the country in which you live. It’s a desire to protect and defend, to your last breath, a nation that allows you to live free. Patriotism is disliking what your President has to say, but defending his right to say it, even if it pains you to the core.

There are a lot of things wrong with our country, I won’t deny it. But that being said, there are so many more things that are right about it. The US defends those who can’t defend themselves, we give opportunity to people who have nothing more but the will to succeed, and we allow people to set their own destiny. You’re born into America or you come here, both legally and illegally, and it’s up to you to make of your life what you will. How many other countries in the world can say those same things? America doesn’t tell its population how many children of a specific gender they may have (China) and it doesn’t require women to dress in a certain manner on pain of death (the Middle East).

Now, all of that being said, I will be the first to tell you that I’m not thrilled with Dubya. In fact, I think there’s a village in Texas somewhere that is missing its idiot. I don’t like what’s happening in Iraq or the way things are going with Israel. I don’t like that we still have troops suffering and dying in Afghanistan. I hate the way that our freedoms are slowly being impinged upon in the name of “security”.

But you know what? I take comfort in the fact that we, the American public, have the means to change the course of our nation. It’s called a ballot. We have the tool necessary to make our voices heard…it’s just a matter of whether we actually get off of our lazy asses to use that power or not. I for one, stood (ok, so I sat) in a TWO hour line, just so I could cast a vote in the last presidential election. I even had my damn kids with me, a fact that drove pretty much everyone around me crazy. But, I did it.

I cast my vote with millions of other Americans, however, the total number of votes cast represented only a miniscule fraction of US residents who are eligible to vote. Why on God’s green earth would you NOT vote? Do you really want a handful of Americans (I use “handful” relatively here; millions of citizens in a nation with a population in the hundreds of millions counts as a handful) determining who your next leader will be, without you having a say in it? You’re talking about someone who will shape the country’s direction and future over the next four years. Someone who could get us in (or out) of wars. Someone who could suddenly declare martial law. Do you REALLY want to sit by and let a person like my next door neighbor, Bubba, who has three teeth, three hound dogs, and a pick-up with the Confederate flag painted on the side (and a horn that plays “Dixie”) direct who is gonna be your next president?! Think about it.

Ok, enough of my “Rock the Vote” speech, as I’m digressing. I think I really had wanted to write about the men and women who are serving in Iraq. When I was listening to the show, I got tears in my eyes. The soldier who was on described the pain of loneliness that so many of the troops face on a day-to-day basis. He said he couldn’t truly describe how happy they were whenever they received a letter or box from home, or a USO care package. Our soldiers face hardships every day that they’re on the ground in Iraq, from boredom to terror to loneliness to depression. They’re away from their families for extended periods of time, they’re facing enemies who want to blow them to bits, and they’re living in an environment that’s hostile – it’s boiling hot in the day, freezing at night, with sandstorms that can scrape the paint off of a jeep. How does one survive with sanity intact, after living like that for months on end? I don’t think I could.

The radio station is planning on helping the USO to assemble more care packages to send to the troops. I’m not planning on waiting that long; I know there are some organizations out there that will help you to “adopt” a soldier or a unit, enabling you to send them letters and care packages. There are some strict rules about what can and cannot be sent for security reasons, so it’s best to go through one of the officially recognized organizations. I’ll dig up information about them and post what I find here, so that if anyone else is interested, they can join my family and I in showing our soldiers that people back home do remember them, and do care.

Things that soldiers at war can use:

• Candy and snacks. Send candy and snacks that are individually wrapped, such as hard candies, and that won’t melt or go bad in 2 month’s time. Don’t send anything that has even the slightest chance of going bad (i.e. – sending a Hickory Farms sausage log is probably a bad idea, both in terms of cholesterol and its ability to stay edible by the time it reaches the destination). Be aware that your package may be searched by military authorities – don’t send anything that could land you or the recipient in the brig (pot brownies are a definite no-no). Soldiers often have to buy snacks from their meager pay, so anything that you can send from home is good. It’s even better if it’s something to remind them of home, a favorite type of regional BBQ sauce, for example.
• Books, comic books, movies, and CDs. Time can be endless when you’re far away from home in a foreign land, with nothing to distract you. Books are a great item to send, because they can be shared and traded with other people in the company. Comic books are quick, easy reads that can bring a smile. Movies can be shared with the company as a whole, but be sure to include something that both men and women will enjoy, if possible. CDs are a good idea, since many people take a CD player with them for company. I’d be cautious when sending magazines, especially news magazines that may focus on the anti-war sentiment in the country. I’d hate to have our soldiers thinking that their country doesn’t support what they’re doing.
• Personal hygiene items. Baby wipes are a fantastic item to send. Soldiers who spend days out in the field with limited opportunities to get cleaned up will welcome these. Kleenex, lip balm, and sunscreen are also welcomed, I’m told. Don’t send anything that may get stopped by the authorities, such as nail clippers or razors – you’ll be wasting your money.
• Playing cards and crossword puzzle books. Nice, inexpensive time-killers that the troops will appreciate. You can easily pick these up for next to nothing at your local dollar store, and it will mean a whole lot more to the troops than the few dollars it cost you to buy ‘em.
• Personal notes of thanks. There’s nothing better for boosting morale than a note explaining how much their sacrifice means to you. They go where you and I won’t; let them know that it means something to you. It lets them know that the pain and suffering they’re going through is worthwhile, and the people that are back at home haven’t forgotten them.

Our soldiers do so much for so little reward…a sticker on the back of your car saying you support the troops isn’t enough. I’m going to practice what I’m preaching – I plan to find a way to get a care package or three to the men and women overseas. I hope those of you reading this blog, will too.

Salute! 

Siren