Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

Friday, February 25, 2005

Dear Army Guys,

Just as I sat down to write to you, I got a very strange telephone call. It was the damnedest thing. It went exactly like this:

Phone: Ring! Ring!
Me: Hello?
Man on phone: Yeah, do you have a digital microscope camera?
Me: No. I have a digital camera, but not a microscope.
Man: Well this would be a device that can be hooked up to a computer so you can see the images on the screen.
Me: Oh. I haven’t got one of those. Are you looking to sell one of these things, or buy one?
Man: I want to buy one.
Me: So, are you just calling people up at random and asking if they’ve got one for sale?
Man: Yeah, that seems like about the only way I’ll find a used one! (heh heh heh)
Me: You’re really just going through the phone book and calling people?
Man: Yeah. I’m from Minonk, by the way.
Me: Well, maybe it would be easier just to go on ebay. Just get online and go to ebay and type in what you’re looking for.
Man: Well, that sounds like a good idea.
Me: Good luck then.
Man: Thanks. Goodbye.
Me: Goodbye.

What the heck was that? I find it very difficult to believe this man from Minonk is actually calling people at random hoping somebody will say, “Why yes, as a matter of fact I have an Apex 4250 I’m looking to unload!”

I figured he must have been answering an ad in the classified section of the Pantagraph and misdialed. But I just checked every relevant classified section and there is no ad for a digital microscope camera! I couldn’t resist doing that *69 thing with the phone to get his number.

I’m tempted to call him back and ask if he has a food dehydrator I can buy. (I really do want one of those.) Now I keep looking at the phone and wondering, “What the heck was that?”

Much Love,

--An Army Mom

February 11, 2005

Dear Rob,

I have somehow convinced Rudy to accompany me to a performance of “The Vagina Monologues” at Braden Auditorium this weekend. (He probably thinks sexy women in see-through panties are part of the show.) I’m not entirely sure what goes on in “The Vagina Monologues” but, it being a feminist thing, I doubt there’s any see-through underwear involved.

I told Rudy it will be lots of fun because he can pretend to be a metro-sexual male who is deeply concerned about women’s issues.
He said he’d have to buy a pair of Italian shoes to pull that off.

I told him I am planning to pose as a radical feminist who needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. He said I’d have to buy a pair of Birkenstock shoes to pull that off.

Perhaps Rudy’s feminine side will be awakened by “The Vagina Monologues.”
He will gain a new understanding of my peculiar emotions and deep-seated hysteria! He’ll learn to cook his own food and wash his own clothes to free me of the repressive shackles of our paternalistic society! He’ll recognize the chauvinistic exploitation running rampant in our culture and stand with women everywhere in our fight to rid the world of see-through underwear!

Nah, that’ll never happen. Men think they need women in see-through panties like Lance Armstrong needs a bicycle.

The good news is that in Rudy's version of a repressive paternalistic society I don't have to make my own car payments. I think I can live with that.

Much Love,

--Joe Mama

February 3, 2005

Dear Rob,

I’m so sorry you won’t be here to witness my debut as a member of the clergy this Sunday! It is finally my turn to serve as usher at 10:00 AM mass. I haven’t had any official training, but I’ve been carefully watching the ushers every Sunday, so I think I can handle the job.

In fact, I’m nearly certain I can increase the collection proceeds. I noticed that the January ushers were a bit hesitant in collecting the weekly offering. They barely skimmed the pews with those basket-on-a-pole collection devices, and there was certain reluctance about them, as if they didn’t want to appear to be conducting a Roman Catholic shakedown.

I have no such qualms. I believe it is my duty as an usher to ensure that each and every parishioner gives until it hurts. The way I see it, our parishioners obediently pay 40% of their incomes in taxes to the US government with nary a protest. If big spenders like that won’t cough up ten bucks a week for the Holy Roman Catholic Church, they need to re-think their priorities! Nobody gets out of church without dropping some cash into the offering basket. Not on MY watch, anyway.

I will bring a new dimension of fiscal accountability to our little parish this Sunday. My plan is to politely pause at any pew from which the donation envelopes are not rolling in. I will gently shake my basket-on-a-pole in the general direction of whomever I think is holding out on Jesus. If that doesn’t make them reach for their wallet, I will stare them down with a look of piteous contempt.

I will say nothing, of course. We ushers are a silent crew. Our task is to humbly collect, not to account or to judge.

But after I pass them by, I am nearly certain the deadbeats of the congregation will hear in their hearts a small, still voice whispering,
“You asshole. Don’t think the Prince of Peace hasn’t noticed what you pay every month for your precious cable TV service.”

I believe I can inspire such self-recrimination among my fellow Christians. I think it’s all a matter of maintaining a stern facial expression and a steely grip on the basket-on-a-pole collection device.

I hope I never have to serve as usher on a high holiday. I’m still a little bit pissed off about the 4:00 PM Christmas Eve mass, and I just don’t trust myself to maintain my Christian good will. The problem on Christmas was the “C&E Catholics.” These are the heathens who show up only twice a year, on Christmas and Easter, and act like that sort of postcard Catholicism will keep them from burning in hell for all eternity.
(And we won't even be able to give them a drink of water, or so I am told by my mother.)

These C&E Catholics are sneaky enough to arrive early and take up all the seats, not to mention parking spaces, leaving those of us who show up each and every week to stand in the back like WE’RE the visitors. Do these people really think we don’t realize we’ve never seen them before? Do they think Father O’Neal is unaware that they fail to drag their sinful souls to mass on any other Catholic days of holy obligation?

Well, they don’t care. There are hundreds of them and they all have the colossal nerve to grace us with their presence only on Christmas Eve and Easter and HOG ALL THE PEWS. (Did I mention the parking spaces?)

I suspect the C&Es believe we’re all just thrilled to see them, and we’re just itching to kill the fatted calf and welcome them home like prodigal sons. I would very much like to tell them the story of the prodigal son who cried alleluia every Christmas and Easter for 20 years until somebody in an SUV ran over his car in the church parking lot.

Some of these C&Es even tried to sing along with the Christmas Eve choir! Trust me when I tell you that full-throated public singing in a Catholic church is almost heretical. You’re supposed to mouth the words, keep your head down, and fake it like everyone else. Everybody knows Catholic congregations can’t sing!

We of the Roman faith have fully-funded monasteries and nunneries devoted to producing Glorias and Alleluias in pitch-perfect Gregorian Latin. We don’t need any American Idol wannabees trying to pull off an impromptu “Ave Maria” from the cheap seats.

If you want to “get down” with the choir, go hang out with the Protestants.
They’ll let you sing your fool heart out no matter how untalented you happen to be.

None of these C&E interlopers had prepared donation envelopes. Most of them tried to look innocently unaware as the ushers went around collecting the cash that runs the church they’d just hijacked in their sudden fit of seasonal religiosity. The more scrupulous C&Es panicked at the sight of the collection baskets and made an effort to scrounge around in pockets and purses to come up with some small change or travelers checks. But most of them just looked away as the collection basket passed by because they never go to church and they simply forgot about the collection until it was too late. I think that’s a financial opportunity we can leverage next year.

I think our church should advertise a special holiday mass for those who only go to mass on Christmas and Easter. We could call it, “Mass for Tourists” and charge a $10 admission fee at the door. I really can’t imagine they’d refuse to pay. After all, they’re feeling all warm and fuzzy, what with being prodigal sons and all. Maybe we could offer a Prodigal Son’s Special that includes a post-mass dinner of fatted calf, mashed potatoes, and three bean salad at $10.00 a person. ($4.00 for the “ Prodigal Kids” hot dog and potato salad meal.)

I see no reason this would not work to the benefit of all mankind.

Much love,

--Your Sainted Mother, Usher of Historic St. Patrick’s Church
(You can just call me "Mom")

January 21, 2005

Dear Rob & Buddies,

Yesterday my friendly neighborhood maven, Ann, informed me that Ramen noodles were on sale at Ghetto Kroger at $2.00 a case. That’s .083 cents per package! I bought two cases for you & your guys. I’ll include them in your care packages. I certainly hope you have access to boiling hot water! I’m fairly certain Ramen noodles are not something you’d want to eat straight from the package, although I’ve never tried it myself.

While I was buying Ramen noodles at Ghetto Kroger, it became apparent to me the reason Ghetto Kroger is called Ghetto Kroger. The couple ahead of me in the check-out lane were having an argument with the cashier about Coco Puffs. Seems there are strict rules about what kind of cereal can be purchased using food stamps. You can buy Kix, Raisin Bran, or Wheaties, among others. You cannot buy Coco Puffs no matter how many vitamins and minerals they claim to contain. The cashier explained this to the Coco Puff couple in no uncertain terms.

Mrs. Coco Puff insisted (quite loudly) that she has used food stamps to buy Coco Puffs on several previous occasions. Mr. Coco Puff, a skinny man wearing long johns, added that they had purchased Coco Puffs just last week. The cashier, obviously a stickler for the rules, would not back down. She said, “Look folks, I don’t care if you’ve bought Coco Puffs a hundred times. They are NOT ON THE LIST!”
Then she waved the list around in a flurry of officious rule enforcement.

Mr. & Mrs. Coco Puff showed no sign of giving up the fight, and I was in kind of a hurry. (I had to pee pretty badly.) I cheerfully suggested that I would be happy to pay for the Coco Puffs with my order and solve the whole problem. The cashier seemed grateful, but Mr. & Mrs. Puff just sneered at me. Mrs. Puff turned aside and tossed the box of cereal onto a stack of rock salt bags near the check-out in a hostile gesture that seemed to say, “We don’t take no charity from rich folks!”

(Oh, yeah, Mrs. Coco Puff? Where do you think food stamps come from?)

I was tempted to make a big production of retrieving the discarded Coco Puffs for my own breakfast enjoyment. But I don’t really like Coco Puffs, so I just stood there trying to look incredulous. Ever try looking incredulous when you have to pee pretty badly? No easy task.
I may have come off as moderately desperate instead.

As I was racing toward home & bathroom, the guy on the radio said something about “class warfare.” I thought to myself, “Ah, yes, the food stamp Coco Puff effect.”

Much Love,

--An Army Mom