Coming home

It's not easy to experience the confusing emotions of sacrifice, joy and relief in the same moment. But that's exactly what videos like this make me feel.

I go down a lot of rabbit holes on YouTube—Springsteen, Taylor Swift (yes I'm a Swiftie), standup comedians, German Shepherd videos, versions of Stand By Me and Tracks of My Tears—but the ones that affect me to the core are of soldiers returning from overseas, surprising their families and relatives.

These joyful, tearful reunions remind me of the sacrifice, real sacrifice, our soldiers and their families make everyday. Even during an awful period of time when a bone-spur addled, dementia-ridden, brainless, spineless, morally and financially bankrupt, rapist, convicted felon and overall cowardly piece of shit who thought of them (and still does) as "suckers" and "losers" was elected for reasons I'll never understand.

Anyway, the minute these families realize what's happening, you can see and practically feel the fear and uncertainty lift from them as they run to hug their loved ones who've done the one thing they hoped and prayed for: they came home.

They fight wars they didn't start. They're at the whims of politicians who have no idea what it means to sacrifice or defend honor. And they go back time and time again because it's their duty. It makes me realize I need to stop complaining about tough days at the office.

It doesn't matter what side of the aisle you're on, or what color your state is. If you have a beating heart, you can't help but be moved by videos like this.

God bless all our soldiers.

And just for the record, I'm not crying. You're crying.

A-maize-ing

Johnny Carson was born there. So was Ashton Kutcher. And The Duke himself, John Wayne. Herbert Hoover is from there. As are comedian Adam DeVine and actor Elijah Wood. TV Superman George Reeves hails not from Krypton, but from Woolstock, Iowa.

The point is a lot of famous things come out of Iowa. Not the least of which is corn.

I had my very first experience with Iowa this past weekend. Instead of going to one of the premier universities in the California system located virtually around the block from our house, my daughter had her heart set on a private college in Iowa, which we moved her into this past weekend.

Sure, it would've been nice to have her closer to home, but then we wouldn't get to pay out-of-state tuition, take two airplanes, drive two hours and travel 1,692 miles to see her. Apparently she doesn't know there's an east coast and it would've been even further from us. Maybe she'll learn about it in college.

Here's the thing about Iowa: cornfields everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean everywhere.

There's a certain beautiful monotony (Note to Rich Siegel: Beautiful Monotony, The Whiskey '06) to the rows of corn as you zip by them on the two-lane highways. And what it made me think about—besides how I was going to die when the driver of one of the eighteen-wheelers coming the other way fell asleep and slammed into me head on—was just how big a part cornfields have played in some of my favorite movies.

I know people don't like Signs because a) it stars Mel Gibson b) it's directed by M. Night Shyamalan and c) it's a story about faith lost and found, and not aliens (for the most part). But it does have Joacquin Phoenix, German Shepherds and cornfields, so that makes it a must see in my book.

The ultimate father-son film couldn't help but be corny. Field Of Dreams takes place almost entirely in an Iowa cornfield. One of the ball players in the movie asks Kevin Costner, "Is this heaven?" To which he responds, "No, it's Iowa." Boy is it.

The first film anyone mentions when I say cornfield is Children of the Corn. Not exactly quality motion picture faire, but a horror classic for it's kitschiness and that tall, ugly red-headed kid. That short kid is yelling and chewing scenery all throughout the movie. Good thing most of it's edible.

Lions and tigers and corn, oh my. Perennial favorite The Wizard Of Oz not only has a cornfield, but a talking, singing and dancing scarecrow right in the middle of it. Ironically, the song the scarecrow sings is the same one our fake president sings to himself every night.

The other thing Iowa (and South Dakota where I connected through) have plenty of are the nicest people I've ever met anywhere. It's startling how genuine they are. Glad to see you, ready to help, open and honest, it really is a refreshing change of pace.

Now if they could just truck that to the big cities the same way they do their corn.

Where she's from

No snarky commentary, pithy insights, agency-slamming editorials or self-indulgent rants today. Nope, just a poem written by the most beautiful, smartest, funniest, most caring, lovliest daughter who's obviously picked up her good looks from her proud dad.

It's times like this I have the feeling I may have done something right.

Where I'm from

I am from pink woobies and hot chocolate
Early morning volleyball tournaments
And late night concerts
I am from grandma and grandpa spoiling me
And my brother always fighting with me

I am from Wendy sharing her crazy stories
And her house that is full of loud animals
I am from beautiful German shepherds
And big Herman Leopards
And family that's always there for me

I am from friends who care
And leaders that share
I am from a tree with heart shaped leaves
And roses that never forget to bloom
I am from a vegetable garden that is full of color and some things as big as balloons

I am from "Go to your room!" and "Great job!"
Making monkey bread on special days
And having yummy challah bread on Hanukah in honor of my dad
I am from sleeping in too late and waking up with God's blessings
And keeping all my blankets close to me
And staying strong with my faith

I am from memories that I keep
The ones that are in a box under my bed
On scrapbook pages
And in my head
I am from memories I will never forget