Pre-Ramble:  After a delay of several hours due to pilot availability and then electrical problems with the plane, we finally touched down at Minneapolis/St. Paul Airport. It was 3:15 a.m. … a long, long day. 

Well, so we weary passengers were trudging up the jetway into the now vacant gate area, when there on the floor, off to one side, alone, sat a young army private.

He was wearing what looked to be standard issue combat fatigues and was accompanied by a backpack and some other light gear. He looked tired, but no more tired than we were. He didn’t look sad or injured or angry or forlorn. He looked calm and “waiting.” … Waiting for something to happen or someone to come.

In that moment, I noticed him only as an aside. We swept past and made our way up the long empty hallway to the baggage claim – the last stop before we would be in the car and finally on the way home.  Half listening to the hum of the wheels on my trailing bag, my thoughts went to the waiting soldier.

I wondered where he had been and what he had seen. I wondered if he was on his way in, or on his way out. I wondered if he was waiting to see what was in store, or whether this was his last stop before he would finally be on the way home as well.  And where was home?  Did he need a ride?  Who was his family, and would they be waiting there, anxiously anticipating his return?  If he had already served a tour of duty, or two, or three, I wondered whether he had been scared, or empowered … Whether he had suffered injuries or had injured someone else … Was he challenged to “be all that he could be” … ?  Or, hardened at too young an age to the realities of war and life.

The Take-Away:  But mostly, I wished that in that moment, as I was coming out of the jetway, that I had gone over to that young man and looked into his eyes and shaken his hand and told him how grateful and thankful I was that he was wearing that uniform and that he had made the decision to step up and serve our country.

Pre-Ramble: I was all set to write a little Memorial Day blog about war heroes, and explore the sentiment around the military from the perspective of one of my daughter’s friends who will be headed off to West Point in the fall.  As I went to hang our stars and stripes from the hooks on the front porch for inspiration however, I realized that, patriotic or not, all that flag flapping would probably scare Mother Chipping Sparrow as she bided her ol’ time on the nest. (I’m sure she’s already annoyed with the paparazzi.)

As you can probably tell by the title and photo, when I looked out at the nest Sunday morning, the four little blue eggs had begun to hatch into baby Chipping Sparrows (the “Chiplets”) … little pink faces that only a mother could love.

As you can also probably tell from the photo, the strong winds that tore through the neighborhood earlier in the weekend knocked ALL of the needles off of the branches surrounding the nest. Suddenly, the prime, secluded nest location is stripped bare — like a bedroom with no drapes.

The Take-Away:  There is probably a profound parallel to be made between the hatching of the eggs and going off to a prestigious military academy, but I haven’t had enough coffee yet this morning to put that together.  Instead, I’ll just hope that the Chiplet’s favorite food is fresh mosquito larva and bid you to stay tuned…