My packages to Christian have been taking forever to reach him. Poor kid is going to think I don’t love him. That is the last thing he needs. Afghanistan is no picnic, and it’s been hard for him.
Yesterday I drove all the way to Kelly, the furthest local base from me, to mail him some much needed moleskin for his torn-apart feet. And toothbrushes. Apparently toothbrushes are in high demand to clean the sand out of radios & weapons. Who knew?
I went to Kelly because our mail services have been drastically cut, and it was the only post office open. I really wanted to get Christian his much-needed supplies as soon as possible. I must’ve said something to the mailguy, I don’t remember what, because he took a look at me, leafed through some forms, and then said;
“I got an idea.” His idea turned out to be to bypass the guys in Moron, Spain (real place!) and send Christian’s packages directly to Kandahar. Because. Standing right next to him was a big, old, white bag tagged “Kandahar”. Now, he made no promises as to what will happen after the mailbag got into Kandahar. It might not get on the next plane, or truck, or camel out to Christian but Kandahar is a lot closer than Spain. I’ll take it! That guy is my new favorite guy.
On the way back home we got caught up in a stau (traffic jam), umleitung (detour) and a massive downpour. It made a long drive already longer. Dane started getting a little restless, so Cole tried to amuse him. I only listened with half-an-ear, my thoughts were filled with Christian and my concentration was on the road, but it seems that Cole was having Dane polish his gold hairs. Kids.
Later, I found Dane in the bathroom brushing his hair, a big grin on his face:
“I have the most gold hair of anyone! I bet it’s worth $100!”
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