Quiz

What do you get your intelligent, hottie, health conscious, kind, loveable, understanding, patient, technological gadget collecting, silly boyfriend for his, oh so close to 30th birthday?

A. An enormous ice cream slathered brownie with chocolate sauce.
B. A travel french press that color coordinates with his new urban man purse.
C. A couple's yoga session.
D. An ipod shuffle.

Why 0530 Isn't So Bad (Sometimes)

Memorial Bridge on a Sunday Morning

As much as I dislike getting up anytime before 0600 (and I do nearly every single day, you know the old Army saying, "We do more before 0900 than most people do all day", well it's true) I do enjoy watching the sun come up over the city as I make the commute to work each morning. At which point I wish I was out for the day to take awesome photos of historical Washington, DC at sunrise rather than on my way to endure a 12 hour day of work (especially on a Sunday). The only other reason I might enjoy 0530 is if I was fortunate enough to stay awake to see the sun rise slowly over the horizon drinking good beer in the company of great friends (as I approach 30 it seems to be less and less frequent, like once every three years).

Army, Love 'em and Leave 'em

Kersting has Mad Leadership Skills,
still workin' on the Snowboard Skills

And so it was another one of those moments where alligator tears well up in my eyes and in this case, I had to blink them back. I introduced my Soldier as a well-rounded individual who posesses and displays all the Army values and how proud I was to have served as his NCO. I take a seat in the back and watch him march into the conference room where the board is conveneing. He reports to the Sergeant Major as the board members scrutinize his uniform and posture. He is finally told to take a seat and begins to answer the barage of seemingly trivial Army related questions that will, in the end, determine if he is ready to become a Non-Commissioned Officer or not.

The first question fired... SILENCE... I'm holding my breath, knowing he knows the answer. Knowing this is a question I asked him just minutes before. Still, nothing. SILENCE... And then it's spoken, with confidence and ease. "Sergeant, the three types of courts-martial are Special, General and Summary". As each question is asked and answered with effortlessness and simplicity I have to hold back the tears. They are welling up and resting just inside the corner of my eye just waiting to burst forth, run down my cheek and destroy my military bearing. I sit quietly behind my Soldier and listen intently to the question and answer portion of the board. All the while trying not to vomit, cry or think about how I have to let this one go in just two days to embark on a new adventure in Japan. Not being able to have his energy and charisma to fill the work days with laughter and fun... My thoughts are interrupted by the SGM, "SPC Kersting is there anything you have for the board?" His reply, "Yes," he wants to go back to a question he missed. "Sergeant, a Field Grade Article 15 is an Article 15 imposed by an O-4 or above". Again, the right answer. He is then dismissed. SPC Kersting stands at a position of attention, salutes the President of the Board and moves out smartly. Finally, I can breathe. The SGM compliments me on my Soldier's accomplishment, although it happens to be all his own.

He is recommended for promotion. He will soon become a Noncommissioned Officer. He is already a leader of soldiers.

The Way I Was Made

My Grandpa James "Jim" Arthur

On the commute home I was singing out loud and dancing in the seat of the Baja to Griffin House:

"Well I was born and I was made; by the hands of marmalade.
I got legends in my blood, I got Indians in my veins.
And in the year of '44, Grandpa went away to war
Went to Hitler's house and kicked in the door.
There began the way I was made.
And in the year of '47, that rue girl came down from heaven.
And '48 a bride and groom, in love on their honeymoon
And they weren't doin' nothin' wrong
but it's how my mother came along
And here I am with words and song, singin' 'bout the way I was made.
Oooohhhhh, feels so good to have your blood in my veins.
Oooohhhhh, feels so good to have your blood in my veins....

....Legend says our family tree
grows black and white and Indian leaves
And if the history books are right none of us are really white
In fact I think that means that everybody's blood is just the same.

Whoooooohhhhhh, feels so good to have your blood in my veins...

And I was sitting on K Street with the evening sun reflecting off the windshield and alligator tears began to well up in my eyes. I was thinking about the previous day talking with my grandpa on the telephone. He always makes it a point to tell me he is proud of me. I have spent the last six years of my life serving in the United States Army. Every time I go home to Wyoming there are a group of "young at heart" individuals, my grandpa, gram, Floyd Fillin and Sarah who always let me know they are proud of what I do. Sometimes I don't feel like I deserve such compliments, for many of them have lived through and served in WWII. A War that had to be fought and a war where there was no confusion as to why they were fighting. My grandpa, Jim Arthur, spent 1946 and 47 in Germany. He spent the rest of the duration of the war plus 6 months. Grandpa reported his time spent in WWII was, "as it was winding down".

Grandpa was in the Army for 18 months. He began the 13 week Basic Training Course in October of 1945. Upon completion of Basic he was sent immediately over seas. As a green Private he was shipped to La Harve France and traveled to Germany where he arrived in January of 1946. His job was to guard supply trains in Bremerhaven and Bremen. The Germans were starving and cold. They wanted anything they could get their hands on off the trains. Not only for themselves and their families, but also to sell on the black market. The coal trains were especially targeted for robbery. These supplies were meant for our troops and the English and French. Grandpa talks about it so modestly and as if he was in no danger, just doing his job.

After Grandpa was separated from the Army he got promoted to Private First Class, which probably would have earned him a pay raise had he still been in the military (although not more than a dollar a month extra, I'm sure). I am currently waiting on promotion to Staff Sergeant myself. I could have been my grandpa's or great grandad's NCOIC (supervisor). A thought that truly escapes me as I have been blessed not to have seen war first hand. Their experiences as Private (great grandad shoed horses for the troops in WWI) and Private First Class definitely outrank my experiences as a Sergeant. I feel as though they had much more to offer the Army and their comrades during their time in the military than I have.

As I began writing this blog, I realized I didn't know where the Cherokee Indian in my blood came from, so I had to call Grandpa. He begins by saying, "Nobody really knows. Supposedly an Arthur come into Montana out of Canada with two boys and he had an Indian wife. One of the boys was Grandpa's grandad (James Arthur)... And from there I began chicken scratching our family tree, with Indian leaves, on a piece of paper. It seems I have another subject for another blog sometime in the near future.

And this is the beginning of a story about the way I was made. I am proud to have my ancestors blood running through my veins.