Today is Flag Day.

When I was a kid we rarely recited the Pledge of Allegiance in school, except for second grade, where Miss Gertrude Pennykamp required that we do it every day and sing patriotic songs. 

I remember nothing else of second grade except that my teacher wore a wig and there were lots of purple mountain majesties, occasionally broken up with Home On the Range.  I hated that year, and many of the students knew that forcing us to do the Pledge was wrong.

After all, the Berkeley City Council stopped reciting the Pledge during the Vietnam War and refused to recite it again for thirteen years.  When they did, it made national news.

I can’t say that the flag was revered in our house, though it wasn’t reviled either.  It was loved in our own special way — my dad had a very large flag that he used as a bedspread and later on an easy chair.  I  borrowed it for 4th of July picnics in San Francisco and for Toga Day at Berkeley High School.  I knew someone who knew the guy whose flag burning case went to the Supreme Court and while I never found an appropriate moment to burn one, I always felt that banning burning would make a mockery of the freedoms that the flag symbolizes.

Now things are a little different.  It was years before I knew that every day on base, they play the national anthem at 5pm.  Everybody within earshot stops what they are doing, wherever they are.  People stop jogging, stop pumping gas, and put down their cell phones for the duration.  It is an unnerving site for the uninitiated.

I once pointed out to Elysia that it didn’t seem particularly safe for people to just stop in the middle of the road while driving.  Her response:

It’s not about safety, it’s about respect.

I recently discovered that all of the kids at day care also stop whatever they are doing, if they are outside and can hear it.  Only instead of covering their heart with their hand, they all clutch their stomachs.  A little bit of Berkeley at Bolling Air Force base!

Miss Pennykamp died while I was in college and my mom sent me her obituary.  Just as we suspected:  Not From Berkeley.  She was a Lutheran from Kansas, which possibly explained why she told my mom in a parent-teacher conference that “Mitja is a good student despite having come from a broken home.”

But little did she know how patriotic my mom is:  She was born on Flag Day. 

I started volunteer work today for the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society.  They provide a variety of services to members of the Naval Services in need, such as interest free loans and other assistance to get through a hardship.  I was looking for something fulfilling to do as a volunteer and I think case work will be interesting. 

It is also appealing because they have 250 offices worldwide.  There is a lot to be said for having some continuity no matter where you might move.  I have found that the problem with civilian nonprofits is that by the time we become familiar with a community and find interesting organizations, a PCS (permanent change of station) move may very well be on the horizon.  And that’s the end of that relationship.

NMCRS was also very encouraging, which I think is the first requirement of an organization that wants volunteers.  When we lived in Seattle and I was unemployed for several months, I thought volunteering would be a good way to fill the time and meet people.  But I found that a tenant’s rights organization didn’t know what to do with me and a food bank never returned my calls.  It was ridiculous.  I couldn’t give my skills or time away!

In Washington DC I tried to volunteer my professional skills with some larger organizations and ran into the same problem.  Phone calls not returned or people who thought I was gunning for their job — they didn’t seem to understand that I was actually interested in the work on a personal level.

I am scheduled for one day per week so we will see how it goes.  Ideally I’ll meet some other people in the process.  There is something refreshing about being able to talk to people without translating everyday things into civilian terms.

Hey!  It’s another civilian father whose wife is a Navy officer deployed for 6 months.  Elysia saw this article today and thought William Kistner’s experience sounded very familiar. 

Especially the part about the overseas spouse doing yoga and partying with the guys (aka every other officer in her command) while diapers were exploding back home.

Today was the first day that Citrus was able to make a tube with her tongue, something that she has only dreamed of being able to do like her mom and dad. 

It was easier once we removed the piercing we gave her as an infant — and like we predicted, she did not remember the pain involved at the time.

Also in the area of firsts, she has successfully moved to panties (”big girl underwear”) but for the most part we have not photo-documented the transition.  Your lucky day.

However, she does appear to be a little confused with the concept.  Here she is just sitting unposed on the couch, a toddler panty model in the making as soon as I grabbed the camera.  Thoughtful.  Poised.  Playful.  The red velvet series.  Or, perhaps in the spirit of what’s on her head:  The Red Velvet Elmo Series.

Hopefully she won’t wind up in a Chief Judge’s folders.

We have hit the jackpot!  The same weekend we are going to Virginia Beach is the annual Viva Elvis spectacular.  Somehow we managed to miss it in the two years we lived there.

There will be an “Are You Smarter than an Elvis?” contest as well as a crowd favorite, the Skydiving Kings.  It being a major military town, they will of course descend from the sky carrying a giant American flag.  When Elysia was in Bahrain she participated in a hospital bed race charity event with other Navy and Marine officers on a Formula One racetrack.  If we could fit furniture in our car, I think she’d have the winning edge in the Elvis recliner race.

Eat our wake, Ypsilanti — this is the 14th year.

It’s been a few days since my last post, and I have been baking up a storm.  Coincidentally on the hottest days we have had.  Click on the picture for a larger version.

On Thursday we had a going-away party for Steve Ma, who left AARP to launch Live Green a new non-profit in Washington DC.  The launch party is Wednesday, June 16th in DC.  That’s the logo on the first cake. 

Live Green is going to make green living easy by helping people navigate to the better eco-friendly resources in their community.  A few years ago Steve did a 1500-mile one-man walk for campaign finance reform in New Jersey and visited all 40 legislative districts, so when he’s passionate about something he really throws everything into it. 

On Saturday we went to a double birthday party for two 3-year-olds.  One wanted farm animals and the other wanted trucks.  I had a Food Network reality show moment when, one hour before the party, something fell out of the kitchen cabinet and grazed the pasture.  Fortunately the damage was reparable and the toddlers were forgiving.

 
Years ago David Sedaris wrote that there is nothing more sad than seeing a man standing on a street corner dressed as a taco.  And now, someone has decided that we can do better.

The new National Museum of Crime & Punishment opened a few days ago just around the corner from my job.  The museum staff have to wear bright orange prison jumpsuits.  I was on my way to CVS during lunch and there was someone from Abu Ghraib come to life, just crossing the street.  It is nearly summer so I guess the hood was optional.

I suppose it was only time before a prison economy had its own gift shop and I couldn’t resist going in. Sadly, the “Cop Shop” had a mundane assortment of mousepads, shot glasses, prison art, episodes of COPS, books by John Walsh. No Taser keychains, no Nixon placemats.

It is bizarre that despite being halfway between the White House and the Capitol, the website seems to avoid mentioning political crimes or scandals.  Think Dillinger’s getaway car, a signed clown photo of John Wayne Gacy, but not Senator Larry Craig’s restroom stall.  You still have to go to Minnesota for that. 

Note to self: Email the museum and recommend that staff ought to do Thriller performances to draw in a lunchtime crowd or add something special to a private party.  After all, the Geneva Conventions don’t apply!

I had to check their book selection because I had a college professor who told me to read Discipline and Punish.  He also suggested smoking a joint first to enjoy it more, and that I could write anything about the book because no one really knew what it said.  But no Foucault, no fake drug souvenirs for my desk, and no Dostoyevsky either.  However, the museum does include white collar crime:  Is it me or does the sign outside look very similar to this? 

Something tells me there is not much of a defense section alongside the CSI exhibits. It is interesting that they bother to include criminal investigations at all.  That is so old school! They could have just skipped to the punishment.  

At the museum you can see a gas chamber and electric chair for $18 and the kids get in free!

For now the only place in town you can see orange jumpsuits and waterboarding demonstrations is in front of the White House.  It’s kind of like a Washington DC version of Sea World. And like the Smithsonian, the anti-Bush demonstrators do not charge admission!

Yay to us.  We met in 1995, started dating in 1999, and moved together to Seattle in 2000 for Elysia’s first duty station at Bremerton.  We were married six years ago today in Central Park.

I proposed during a quick vacation and visit to Elysia’s family in Queens.  It is one of the few times I have succeeded in surprising her and I managed to give her family a head’s up without them blowing the secret.  Only it did not go the way I intended.

Being confident, I asked Elysia’s father for permission. At the time, I had been looking for work in Seattle for several months. Her dad was very polite and, smiling, told me that perhaps it would be good if I had a job. I couldn’t agree more!  I’d had several good interviews, but nothing had come through yet.  He again very politely suggested that starting a marriage would be easier once I had a job. I agreed, was glad we agreed, and then Elysia and I went to Central Park where I proposed.

That night at the dinner table, I waited for Elysia’s family to react to the news.  Her grandmother only speaks Chinese and everyone speaks it at home, so I just sat there happily munching away and waiting for a tone of excitement in the conversation.  It didn’t happen.  They were all relatively quiet.

About halfway through dinner I nudged Elysia and asked her to tell them.  They already knew.  I didn’t know what to make of it and was somewhat disappointed that it was not a big deal.  Elysia shrugged it off.

THREE YEARS LATER:  I am having a conversation with my brother in law who, thinking back and laughing, casually says “Boy, you sure had a lot of balls to go ahead and propose after her father said No!”

It was incredibly nice weather today, so we took the Metro to downtown Washington DC to hear the US Navy Band and Sea Chanters (chorus) at the Navy Memorial.  Pictures here.

There was a wreath laying, words to honor and remember veterans, and a rendition of Taps.  The band played everything you would expect a military band to play, and they played very well.

And then they launched into several numbers from . . .  South Pacific.  The musical is big on Broadway right now so there we were, watching a Musician First Class playing an ensign singing about her Honeybun.  Honeybun was also in uniform and wearing his obligatory grass skirt. They apparently drew the line at the coconut shell bra.

We thought that was pretty surreal until they launched into a medley of songs from the ’60s.  It is hard to capture how it feels to see the US Navy singing the more vapid songs of the counterculture, particularly when they remind you of Berkeley.  Picture listening to a military band playing Age of Aquarius, Windy, and then a crowd of veterans, uniformed servicemembers, families and onlookers waving their hands back and forth for a rousing Let the Sun Shine In. 

Elysia and I both wondered what some of the older veterans thought of it, given that there are still deep wounds over Vietnam and that era.  In any case, there was something for everyone and we had a good time.

For a few months I was having a hard time figuring out what those little blue decals were showing up on many of the cars on military bases. 

I decided — incorrectly — that they were some sort of smug shorthand code for supporting the Global War On Terrorism, similar to the Human Rights Campaign’s yellow equal sign for gay, lesbian and transgender rights. 

 
Finding a car with both stickers would be like discovering a lucky clover, or at least a Log Cabin Republican (equally rare).  

You generally do not expect to see some things cross paths, like gunfire this weekend at the Northwest Folklife Festival in Seattle:

The fight occured during a relatively peaceful afternoon at the festival next to a drum circle . . . One man got into the suspect’s face, screaming, “This is a peaceful event!”

Last week I bought tickets to the Rock The Bells tour, after debating whether or not we would get stepped on too much in the general admission area near the stage. But now I can say that it is definitely going to be safer than a folk festival!

As a kid in Berkeley, there was always a Sunday drum circle on the lower level of Cal’s Sproul Plaza, mainly a bunch of weatherbeaten guys and the occasional dancing hippie chick. Today drum circles are some sort of audio acid test. Driving on base? Show your ID. Going to a demonstration of some sort?  Please reveal yourself in bongo. So many codes to keep track of.

Still, back in Seattle, what is going through the mind of the green chicken thing guy as the suspect is being led away?

photo by Joshua Trujillo, Seattle Post-Intelligencer