Sunday I watched on television the dignified and sad transfer of the thirteen U.S. troops killed in the bombing at Abbey Gate on the edge of the Kabul, Afghanistan airport. President Biden had met with the families of the soldiers earlier and were in attendance for the transfer of each individual casket from the airplane to ground transportation. Attendees stood with hand over heart for the transfer.

Earlier presidents Obama and Trump had also, during their presidential terms, attended similar transfers to honor the troops. The sacrifice of the thirteen was, nevertheless, a heavy cost to pay even if it helped rescue over 120,000 people.

The news from Afghanistan had been tragic for quite some time. The evacuation of U.S. citizens and Afghans who had worked for the U.S. had been proceeding in record numbers using airlifts by both the U.S. and a number of other nations to meet the deadline of August 31.

When I watched the news stories about the evacuees, my sadness was increased thinking about the mass of individuals and families as they were moved across the airfield to waiting airplanes. Most of the evacuees had no luggage. I wondered if they even had a sandwich or a bottle of water tucked away some place.

The planes themselves were sparse of seats and amenities so Imagining even the hardship of a few hours flight was difficult to think about, let alone what the evacuees would do in the future.

jtr

How fortunate I have been in my life here in the United States. Part of that is not just my physical being, but all of the many things that I have or had. Some might say that, “You are owned by your possessions.”

Early in life, my parents saved things that I still have and as I grew older and left home, I began carrying those things with me as I moved around the country. Probably the oldest thing I have is the Baby Book that was put together for me from birth to a couple of years later. Being the third child, my Baby Book is no where near as complete as my older siblings’ Books, but I do still have it, including a hand print and a foot print and a snatch of blonde hair before my first haircut.

Just recently I pulled out some of the silver dollars I had received as a child. I have original envelopes that have some of the silver dollars, the earliest one is marked, “Teddy, 1941” and was written by an aunt and uncle when the envelope was secreted on the Christmas tree that year for me to find. Of course my siblings got their silver dollars, too. But I still have mine – clearly that possession “owns” a bit of me.

jtr

My earliest moves were accomplished using one of my early vehicles, a Ford Station wagon — clearly I was not in the hip generation to drive that old persons’ vehicle. That soon grew to be too small so I went from that to a U-Haul trailer. That got me to Maine, then Connecticut, then back to Ohio, then on to Nebraska and Missouri.

My final move was to get from Missouri to Minnesota. When I took the position here, I said to myself that this would be my last big move and it has been now for fifty years even though I have moved to different homes in each of those states.

Moving from Missouri, the U-Haul was filled as full as I could get it and I was pulling it using my Dodge Dynasty, a four door sedan — again, an old fogey vehicle, I suppose. It was a bit of a harrowing experience to begin. I pulled onto Interstate 70 in Missouri and came to the first downhill stretch. I wondered if I was going to make it as the trailer was weaving back and forth and threatened to pull me off the highway. I made it to the bottom and stopped roadside, essentially emptying the entire trailer and repacking it so that more of the weight was forward to stop the fishtailing problem. That delayed me about two hours in getting from the middle of Missouri up to Marshall. I rather swore that I would not attempt another move by U-Haul.

The move to Minnesota actually took two trips. When I was married, I sold my house and moved into my new wife’s home. That did not require a U-Haul. It did require a bunch of friends who came to my house and picked up the furniture and walked it around the corner and down a block to my wife’s home. The only cost there was a few beers. A later move while here required the services of a moving company.

For a while, my parents let me keep things at their home, but as I went out on my own, the pressure was there to take what was mine.

After many years, I began to understand their desire to pass things along and I am now at a point where I only want to be in charge of my possessions and not have to lug around possessions of the next generation. In fact, I need to get rid of lots of those possessions that own me.

I’m working on it. Wish me luck.

Until next time: Oh, Fiddlesticks!