Prologue (Once In A Blue Moon: One)

My war was yesterday. At least in my mind it was yesterday.

I'm on the phone with my 19 year old nephew, Zachary. Reliving the incredible 125 degree heat in Saudi Arabia, the earth shaking explosions, the fear of biological weapons from Sadam's SCUD missiles, and the smell of burning Kuwaiti oil fields. These are all crystal clear memories for me. So are the images of Saudi men in their long crisp white robes and the camels ambling across the endless light brown stretches of the northern Saudi desert. I remember the long nights with no sleep and eating dehydrated food for weeks on end.

And the loneliness. Wondering when letters from home would finally get to us. The excitement of finding a pay phone and calling home.

1990 is crystal clear to me. Never mind I can barely remember what happened last month.

The reason for the phone call is that my nephew, Zachary, is leaving for Afghanistan in just a few weeks. He seems so young to me. But war is a young person's profession. When you are young you are physically strong but more important, you still believe that you are invincible. You have trained for war and you are excited to have the experience of going to war.

"I know we won't be able to talk to you for quite a while and that will be hard but we will write weekly." I wonder to myself how long it takes for mail to be delivered to the troops in Afghanistan.

"Aunt Flory, It really isn't that big a deal. I am taking my laptop. We won't be able to use our cell phones but we will have access to a satellite phone in our compound." Zachary kindly explains to me. "Hey, will you download videos and music onto thumb drives to send to me?"

The feeling of deja vu settles on me. It is September of 1990. I am 24 years old. My father (Zachary's grandfather)is telling me about the day he arrived as a young soldier in Vietnam in 1966. He was leaving my mom and infant daughter (me) at home. He got mail once a month or less although my mom wrote him every day. He remembers the heat and incredible humidity. He remembers the bravery of the South Vietnamese soldiers in the losing battle with the North.

I listen to my father with the ear of someone who is hearing an historical account. A war that is before my memories begin. But for my father the account could have happened yesterday. The memories are vivid for him.

As I hang up the phone with Zachary, the obvious hits me. Zachary was born the week I came home from Saudi Arabia. The Gulf War, which seems like a recent event to me, is ancient history to my 19 year old nephew.

I call my dad. "I've officially joined the old warrior's club." He laughs with me during the recounting of my conversation with Zachary.

Then his tone becomes somber. "Have you written the story of your year in Saudi Arabia?" he pauses. "Your mother has a box of every letter you sent from the desert. Think they are even still full of sand."

That night I am sitting at my parent's home sifting through and dusting off the letters. I am now completely reliving the year that has shaped my adult life and the world around me.

It is easy to think of the Persian Gulf War, nearly 20 years ago, as a relatively short, clean but massive military operation. An intense air war followed by the 100 hour ground invasion to free the Kuwaiti people from the Iraqi occupation. The entire operation took less than a year.

But the Persian Gulf War was the first step to the conflicts that continue to rage today.

The Persian Gulf War changed the game and marked a shift in our geographic focus. No more talk of the cold war, the USSR and communism. Now the emphasis in US foreign policy moved rapidly to the Middle East and most critically oil.

Following the war there was an increase in Arab frustrations with the enormous US military presence and influence in Saudi Arabia. In steady succession we've watched the bombing of Khobar Towers, the attack on the Cole, 9/11, the US invasion of Iraq and now the ongoing war in Afghanistan. We struggle now as we did in 1990 to understand the Arab culture(s) and our dependency on foreign sources of oil.

But my story is not a commentary on politics or foreign policy. My story is a soldier's story. The story of war. The story of entering a foreign and seemingly exotic culture. The story of falling in love.

I was just seeking adventure. Like my father before me. And like my nephew today.