American Soldiers Captive in Kosovo

By kate on April 2nd, 1999

CLINTON TO MILOSEVIC: FREE SOLDIERS

By LAURA MYERS Associated Press 	Thursday April 1 5:35 PM ET 

WASHINGTON (AP) - President Clinton pledged today that the United
States will do everything in its power to gain the return of three
Army soldiers captured near the Yugoslav-Macedonia border, and he
warned Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic that "the United
States takes care of its own."

"President Milosevic should make no mistake: We will hold him and
his government responsible for their safety and their well-being,"
Clinton said to emotional applause from service members gathered
in a hangar at Norfolk Naval Base in Virginia.

Shortly before Clinton spoke, Yugoslav state-controlled television
announced that the three soldiers would face criminal proceedings
before a military court on Friday.

"There was absolutely no basis for them to be taken," Clinton said.
"There is no basis for them to be held. There is certainly no basis
for them to be tried."

Every time I hear about these three captured soldiers on the radio, smoke starts pouring out of my ears. There is no basis for them to be held? Perhaps Clinton hasn’t really noticed that we are at WAR? Maybe it didn’t occur to him that in most countries, dropping bombs on someone could be considered a basis for not only capturing, but executing, enemy soldiers?

Honestly. What did everyone expect? We declared war on Yugoslavia. In a war situation, the capture of only three soldiers is really not very important. How many people have we killed with our bombs? How many people have the Serbs killed in their effort to rid their country of unwanted ethnicities? And our leaders and media are obsessing about three imprisoned soldiers as if they were innocent bystanders — these men signed up for the Army. That in itself is enough to make me feel less sympathetic. If you want to sign up to be in the military, that is one of the risks you take. What do you think boot camp is preparing them for?

What gets me is how everyone, from Clinton to all the international law pundits, expects Yugoslavia to treat our captured soldiers humanely. (Because of course in war, killing is allowed, but torturing is not.) They are expecting this of a man, Milosevic, who is engineering a systematic purging of ethnic Albanians from his entire country? Whose army kills, what, hundreds, maybe thousands, of civilians a day? Who doesn’t seem to really care much about terms like “humane?” Frankly, I’m surprised the soldiers are being put on trial instead of summarily executed.

Don’t misunderstand me; I am cautiously in support of the war effort in Yugoslavia. I see the merit in using force to stop something as grave as “ethnic cleansing.” However, to begin an offensive like we have, you must be aware of the nature of war. I have heard several “man-on-the-street” interviews in which the interviewee said something to the effect of, “I was in favor of the bombing, but now that bad things are happening to Americans, I’ve changed my mind.” You can’t jump into a full bombing campaign, then plead ignorant of the fact that our servicemen and women are being put into actual danger.

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My First Hike

By kate on February 12th, 1999

I chose the Tillamook Head trail in Ecola State Park, Oregon, because Sidewalk’s review promised “views of the roiling Pacific foaming over jagged, rocky headlands, with a pinch of salty breeze and a hint of history accompanying every step.” I’m always up for hints of history, but what I was really after were some dizzyingly high cliffs to gaze from.

I had heard of ten essentials that hikers should always carry, but didn’t know what they were. I guessed as well as I could (later I found out I had guessed all ten), and put everything in my backpack, along with my camera, inhaler, and Pete. Since I was only planning a three-hour hike or so, I felt kind of silly packing an almost-full backpack, but I told myself that I was going to play it by the rules.

I pulled up to the trailhead and noticed one other vehicle: an ancient orange-and-white pickup. As I was pulling my stuff out of the car, the owner of the truck returned from the trail. His boots were caked with mud, and across one of his shins, his jeans sported a huge muddy smear. He had obviously slipped on the trail and fallen into the mud. I thought to myself, well, even though I’ve never really hiked before, I’ll be a better hiker than he is if I can make it without getting mud on my jeans.

I studied the map at the trailhead and noticed something I hadn’t realized before: the trail was one-way, meaning that its five-mile length ended somewhere else than where I was parked. No problem. I chose a viewpoint halfway down the trail as my destination, and started off.

As may be expected in winter, the trail was very muddy. I agilely hopped from side to side, from rock to log, and avoided the deep mud. It was slow going but easy; that other hiker must have been some kind of klutz. The trail wound up through the forest, and within fifteen minutes I arrived at a breathtaking viewpoint. Far below me, waves pounded black sand, leaving thin white streaks of foam. Directly to my right, a cliff dropped a couple hundred feet to the sea. To my left, big angular rocks jutted from the sea, occasionally decorated with white spray as waves smashed them from behind. In front of me, I could see the Tillamook Head lighthouse, abandoned today because of the fury with which storms batter it. There was a tree right at the edge of the viewpoint, smooth and curved like a reclined arm chair. I promised myself that when I came back this way at the end of my hike, I would sit on the tree, rest, and enjoy the view as my reward.

After taking some pictures, I set off again. The trail headed to the right toward the cliff, and I couldn’t wait to see the view from up there. But soon, I began to get tired. All my bad hiking memories began to hover in the back of my head as I tried to ignore them and have a good time. I kept walking, and finally realized that hiking is like all other forms of exercise: I get fairly tired right away, then work through it and reach a plateau where I am no longer tired. This may have been obvious, but I had been so focused on the idea that hiking makes me tired that I didn’t think it all the way through. What good news! I could be a real hiker after all.

I continued to pick my way around the mud puddles and duck under fallen branches. Puddle. Trail. Trees. The trail mostly ran through the forest, not along the coastline, and I began to get bored. My nose started to run. I was no longer exhausted, but I wanted to Get There. I quickened my pace a bit. Once or twice, I came upon a tree interesting enough to photograph, but it mostly just looked like a forest to me. Finally, I arrived at a “hikers’ camp,” which was comprised of a covered picnic table and an outhouse. The viewpoint was close!

The trail between the camp and the viewpoint, my destination, had turned into a small stream. I walked along the edge, steering clear of the mud and running water. The trees opened up and I saw a section of chain link fence. It was obviously put there to keep people from falling off, but also prevented me from stepping far enough out on the cliff to see much of a panorama. This reduced view was paltry compared to the last viewpoint, despite its greater height. I was disappointed, but didn’t lose heart – after all, if I stayed at the top a shorter time than I had planned, I could stay at the first viewpoint longer before it got dark.

I retraced the trail to the hikers’ camp and made use of the outhouse before continuing. Now that I had reached my goal, I felt light and happy. I was Super Hiker. It occurred to me that if I jogged down the flat parts of the trail, I would make better time, so I did, stopping anytime the trail became rough or muddy. I strolled (and sometimes jogged) along, enjoying the sensation of a brand new world opening up for me.

Then I came upon a fork. A fork I didn’t remember noticing on the way up. To the left was an unfamiliar, wider trail that looked like it went the wrong way. To the right was a narrow trail heading up an incline that seemed to go the right way. But I wasn’t really sure, and suddenly the mood of my hike changed. I realized that I was inside a really big forest, and that my way wasn’t as clear as I thought. I stood there in confusion and contemplated my alternatives, finally choosing the path to the right. I followed it up the incline and onward for about five minutes before the trail became vague. Was I on a trail at all? It looked like a trail up to this point, but now there were trees growing where I thought I should go, and I couldn’t pick a clear path ahead. I became uncertain and second-guessed myself, turned around, and decided to take the wide trail that was at least definitely a trail, no matter where it went.

I hurried back down the incline, and didn’t notice a patch of mud toward the bottom. In an instant, my knee was soaked and my jeans were marked for all to see. No more pride for me. I lost my self-image of Super Hiker and re-joined humanity. I laughed at how silly I had been, and took the other fork.

The wider trail was wide enough for a vehicle, and tire ruts were visible most of the way. After following the trail a few minutes, I was certain it was not the trail I had taken before. I began to worry that the trail would deposit me somewhere other than where my car was, but comforted myself with the knowledge that I was on a definite trail, that it must go somewhere, and wouldn’t peter out into nothing like the other one had.

Before I knew it, I found myself back at the trailhead! I had stumbled upon the “kids and seniors” trail, which was much shorter, and bypassed most of the hilly parts. My relief at not being lost was tempered by the realization that I would have to start the original trail again to reach my favorite viewpoint. As I stood deciding whether to hike back up, a couple got out of their car to take in the view from the parking lot. As they glanced at me, I could just hear their thoughts. “Look at that mud on her pants! She must be some kind of klutz.”

I decided the view was worth the extra hike, so I started the trail again. This time, what had taken fifteen minutes before seemed like an eternity with sunset lurking just around the corner. Finally, I arrived and collected my reward: twenty minutes relaxing in the nook of the tree, drinking in the view as well as some water.

Then, as day turned to dusk, I sauntered back to the trailhead, arriving just as it became dark. I contemplated my success: beautiful views, no blisters, no exhaustion, and I didn’t get lost (mostly). As a symbol of my new life as a real hiker, I proudly bore the muddy badge on my knee as I left the park.

Why was this my first hike? I have mild, exercise-induced asthma that wasn’t diagnosed until mid-college. So, up through high school, I just always thought I was out of shape. My family did the occasional Mt. Rainier day hike, and I always ended up huffing and puffing, which eventually made me stop thinking of hiking as worthwhile or fun. And I hadn’t gone since.

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Night Driving

By kate on February 11th, 1999

This February, I drove down from Washington to Oregon. I did most of my driving in the dark, since I filled the precious winter daylight with outdoor activities. I figured the darkness and driving were two lag times I could overlap, and didn’t realize in advance that driving in darkness on Highway 101 becomes anything but dull. Sixty miles an hour, on a road where at any moment a car can pass in the opposite direction only feet away; which means that with regard to other vehicles, you are traveling over 120 miles an hour. The flash of a yellow reflective surface is your only warning of which way the road will curve next, and nothing but a vague glow to indicate an oncoming car.

Most of the time, however, you are alone in the darkness. Trees and other side-of-the-road things spring suddenly into existence as your high beams illuminate them, fading again into blackness in your rear view mirror. More intimidating than the short-lived appearance of nearby trees is the absolute mystery of the stretches without trees. The stretches where all your headlights manage to create are faded yellow lines and a strip of pavement, where the inkdark blackness stretches as far to the side as you can see. And the darkness is so dark that the impossible lack of even a single light dances in your peripheral vision. You know that you could be driving past farmland, or maybe the ocean, and wonder which of those surfaces your car will hit if one of the splitsecond curves catches you by surprise and you plunge off the road into the dark.

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Cancer

By kate on February 11th, 1999

I don’t really know how to warm up to this, so I’ll just say it: I have always believed I will get cancer. I think this comes from my belief in balance. The clearest of my (generally unformed) spiritual beliefs is that the universe values balance. I think good and bad things balance out, even if we can’t always point to a good thing and say, “this is what makes up for that assault last week.” I don’t want to get too much into my general belief, but let me say I prefer to use it as a view of smaller events instead of on a global scale.

Smaller events, like my life. I have always been lucky. By this I mean not only have I been materially comfortable and well-taken-care-of (I have), but I’ve been really and truly lucky. I mean, I have lost count of the rare coincidences that have shaped my life. So many that I have come to believe that everything that happens to me happens for a reason, and I usually find the reason. I won’t get into examples here, just trust me that over and over, I have been lucky. Not in a winning-the-lotto kind of way, just in a getting-a-job kind of way, or a meeting-a-person kind of way.

Having such a charmed life, and at the same time believing in balance, makes me believe deep down that the other shoe is going to drop eventually. Something “should” happen to me that is bad enough to counterbalance all my luck, and for some reason I have always thought it would be cancer.

Why cancer? Simply getting hit by a bus and suddenly killed would not be bad enough. I have no major regrets, really, and I would hardly feel anything, except a brief moment of terror perhaps. People who know me would be sad, but I wouldn’t have to experience it or prepare for it.

With cancer, I’d have to break the news of my death myself. I’d be faced with the colossal task of “putting my affairs in order.” I’d have no excuse to leave any loose ends. I’d be forced to evaluate my life, decide what is lacking, and try to cram it into my reduced life expectancy. My family and friends would be put through the emotional and time-consuming ordeal of supporting me and coping. It would be painful.

I’m already a little bit of a hypochondriac, and this doesn’t help. Now everytime something mysterious is wrong with me, I think, “well, this’ll be the cancer.” It’s not as if I’m being particularly morbid. I’m not hoping for this or dwelling on it much (except for right now). It’s just always there in the back of my mind, reminding me to live my life well, so I don’t have a lot to fix when the diagnosis finally comes.

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Bitter Complaints About My Lot in Life

By kate on July 29th, 1998

Somehow I have been cursed in my life, somehow I have been doomed to always be The Person Who Organizes Things. When there is some group activity, I always end up being the person who drives the planning. Let me make perfectly clear that I don’t choose to do this. It’s just that if I didn’t do it, nobody would, and nothing would ever happen. I planned every dance I went to in highschool, including my prom. Not once did my date or any of my friends make an effort to organize, so I picked up the slack.

I don’t really mind doing the dirty work once in a while. Everyone should have to. But it’s gotten to the point where I find myself picking up everyone’s slack, again, and I get resentful.

At work recently, I organized a skydiving trip. It was fun, we got group rates, I got a group organizer discount. Everyone thought I was cool for putting it together. Great. But you know that from now on they’re all going to look to me to organize the next event. It wouldn’t occur to anyone to say, “Hey, Kate, that was a great skydiving trip. I think I’ll see if anyone wants to go bungee jumping. Are you interested in signing up?” Of course not.

This even happens a lot with my friends. We get stuck in the “What do you want to do?” “I don’t know, do you have any ideas?” morass, until I am forced to make suggestions so we don’t sit on our asses the whole time. Why? Why does it always have to be me that blinks in that staring contest?

Just once, I would like someone to call me up and tell me, hey, what are you doing tomorrow? I thought it would be nice if we did (specific thing), then (specific thing), and maybe (specific thing) afterwards, what do you think? I would be too busy drifting around in Happy Land (to borrow a phrase from my friend Derek) to raise any objections. Even better, what if someone called me up and said, “Are you free tomorrow? Because I’m going to take you out. Where? It’s a surprise.” And they had a whole night or day planned out, reservations and preparations and all and I didn’t have one thing to do with it. Or, what if someone other than me organized a cool group thing without my help? Any of those would make my year.

It isn’t very likely, I know, but I can hope. It helps to dispel the resentment at what seems to be my irrevocable lot in life.

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Eye Surgery: Entry One

By kate on June 15th, 1998

I have a habit.

Twice a day, I go into a bathroom behind closed doors, wash my hands, roll up my sleeves and attend to my habit. I perform the same set of specific hand and arm motions every time. I put a transparent foreign substance into my body in a manner that the average person would probably shy away from.

My habit costs me a substantial amount of money and some extra effort, but I prefer that to living without. It improves my perspective and makes me feel better about myself. When I have to go without it, I feel much less confident and have a lower self-image.

Often, I carry my paraphernalia around with me during the day, just in case. I can only go a certain number of hours before having to return to the bathroom again. If I let it go too long, the inevitable result is discomfort, pain, and distraction. Eventually, the only thing I can think about is taking care of my habit.

So, what is my habit? Am I a drug addict? No…

..I wear contact lenses.