'Journey to Normal' Film Features Iowa Red Bulls

In its Iowa premiere, the 2017 documentary "Journey to Normal: Women of War Come Home" will be shown in an exclusive, one-time engagement on the Boone, Iowa campus of Des Moines Area Community College (DMACC) at 7 p.m., Thurs., March 22, 2018.

A Q&A session with producer and director JulieHera DeStefano will follow the 93-minute film.

Hundreds of women service members were interviewed for the film project, and plans call for their stories to be archived and made available to researchers via the non-profit Journey to Normal website, producers say.

"Since 2001, over 280,000 women have deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan," the documentary says. "Journey to Normal shares 8 of their stories so that we might reflect on the individual experiences of all who serve."

Two of the eight women featured in the film are originally from Iowa. Featured in the documentary are:

• Jessica Astorga Dayton, a U.S. Air Force nurse from Dayton, Ohio
• Abby Brookbank Allen, a U.S. Army National Guard combat medic from Ida Grove, Iowa
• Ivonne Daly, a U.S. Army Reserve surgeon from Pittsburgh, Pa.
• Jill Finken, a U.S. Army National Guard attorney from Souix City, Iowa
• Christine Mau, a U.S. Air Force F-15 pilot from Mountain Home, Idaho
• Judi Reeves, a U.S. Army Reserve surgical technician from Middletown, N.Y.
• Devon Reyes, a U.S. Army Military Intelligence officer from Fort Knox, Ky.
• Amy Sinkler, a U.S. Army truck driver from Chadbourn, N.C.

The event is the last installment in the inaugural "In Their Boots Film Festival," a three-month series of film presentations intended to foster conversations about military service, veterans issues, and social reintegration. The event is co-sponsored by the DMACC-Boone student group In My Boots 5k, and the Central Iowa non-profit Paws & Effect. The festival is made possible by a generous grant from Humanities Iowa.

"Because we train service dogs for veterans, we recognize that 'coming home' from a wartime deployment can be a journey, not a destination," says Nicole Shumate, executive director of Paws & Effect. "Reintegrating into our society and with our families doesn't just happen overnight, and it doesn't happen without hard work and continued support. We are extremely proud to celebrate the lives and stories of the veterans depicted in 'Journey to Normal'—and all who have walked these paths."

In 2010-2011, in what was described as the largest deployment of Iowa troops since World War II, the Iowa Army National Guard's 2nd Brigade Combat Team (B.C.T.), 34th Infantry "Red Bull" Division (2-34th BCT) sent more than 3,000 citizen-soldiers overseas as part of the "Afghan Surge." The 2-34th BCT is headquartered in Boone.

Randy Brown, a Central Iowa-based freelance writer and editor of "Reporting for Duty," a collection of U.S. Army public affairs reports from the Iowa brigade's deployment, says that "Journey to Normal" uniquely captures some of what it was like to deploy to Afghanistan—and what it is like to return to family, friends, school, and work following a wartime deployment. "All of these stories are important—individually and collectively," says Brown. "To most of us, this is a depiction of war far more 'real' and relevant than popular movies about snipers and drones."

Interviews with at least three "Red Bull" soldiers are featured in the documentary. Each appears multiple times on-camera, in settings both downrange and "back home." Abby Brookbank was a combat medic assigned to 1st Battalion, 168th Infantry Regiment (1-168th Inf.), and was based at Forward Operating Base ("FOB") Gardez. Jill Finken was an attorney assigned to the brigade headquarters, which was based at Bagram Airfield ("BAF") during the 2010-2011 deployment. Martha Kester, a chaplain with 334th Brigade Support Battalion, also makes a number of appearances throughout the film.

For more information about "Journey to Normal," visit here. A Facebook page is here.

To view an early (2011) trailer about the film, visit here.

There will be a freewill donation pasta dinner fund-raiser preceding the movie, starting 6 p.m. in the DMACC-Boone food court area. Proceeds will go to support the "In Our Boots 5k" run, walk, and ruck fund-raiser event April 14, 2018. The 93-minute movie "Journey to Normal" will be shown in the adjacent auditorium starting 7 p.m.

A Facebook page for the "In My Boots 5k" student group is here. A website is here.

A registration page for the April 14, 2018 5k run, walk, and ruck event is here.

OPSEC and the 'Dear-in-the-Headlights' Look

In terms of Operational Security (OPSEC), my kids' daycare leaks like a sieve. Back in November 2008--that's what, 18 months ago--then 4-year-old Lena and the Sherpa family were seated for Thanksgiving-themed lunch at her daycare. Other kids had brought their families. Since I was then on "temporary stateside active-duty," I was in Army uniform. So was the mother seated across from us. It turned out I worked with her husband--he was also a soldier--on my National Guard drill weekends.

She, herself, wore a different unit patch than I. Instead of being part of Iowa's "Red Bull" brigade, she worked with the state's National Guard medical clinic, the people who make sure that soldiers have all their shots (and hundreds of other medical benefits) prior to deployment.

"I was hired to help out with the brigade's deployment," she says, while introducing herself to my spouse.

It is November 2008. At the time, my unit had just been "nominated" for deployment, the first of many steps down the road of calling a National Guard unit to federal service. At the time, there wasn't even an "alert." I hadn't even told Household-6 about the possibility of a deployment--such notifications are practically routine, and very subject to change. Why worry the family?

It was a quiet drive home after lunch.

Since then, my unit hasn't apparently dropped off the nomination list. In fact, there's a more-official-but-still-not-the-real-deal "alert," telling us to get ready for a possible deployment in late summer 2010. Not too many details there.

The Army takes OPSEC seriously, so I take OPSEC seriously. Remember those World War II "Loose Lips Sink Ships" posters that hung on the wall of your high-school history teacher's room? The more things change, the more things stay the same.

Since my family's first experience with security breaches at daycare, we've encountered any number of similar circumstances. Household-6 first heard about the alert from the uniformed father--he's a buddy--of one of Lena's classmates. "Is your husband ready to go?" she was asked.

At Lena's fifth birthday party, another father with a short haircut starts talking about various personnel comings and goings in my unit. He tells me my unit's deployment date. I ask what outfit he's with. "Oh, I'm not in the military," he says. "I just like military stuff."

It's all very well-intended, I'm sure--and definitely NOT in keeping with good OPSEC practice.

Friends and family and people on the street don't get why citizen-soldiers like me--who have had it beaten into them that you don't give out details about the who, what, when, where, and why of military missions--sometimes get the deer-in-the-headlights (at home, I guess that would be "DEAR-in-the-headlights"?) when they're just trying to be friendly.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently. Last week, when I was repeatedly stuck in airports and hotels while wearing my Army uniform, I found myself reacting more positively to some strangers' questions than others. Apparently, my internal fight-or-flight instincts are less likely to be engaged by questions such as "where are you from" and "how are you doing," rather than "what do you do in the Army" and "where are all you soldiers headed?" The latter just automatically puts me on the defensive, even when I don't want to be. It's not you, it's me. It's OPSEC.

This past week, the Israeli military had to cancel an operation after one of its soldiers posted details via Facebook. The soldier revealed the time and place of a raid on a Palestinian village. This AFTER the Israeli military had launched a "Facebook isn't necessarily your friend" awareness campaign:

In military bases, posters show a mock Facebook page with images of Iranian President Mahmud Ahmadinejad, Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and the Lebanese Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah.

Below their pictures and a Facebook friend request, the slogan reads, "You think that everyone is your friend?"

I need one of those for my kids' daycare ...

I'd put it right next to the "Don't Talk to Strangers" poster.

Back on the Net

Sorry about that. Fell off the writing wagon for a few days. Apparently, the intellectual obstacle course that I'd been on for about 14 days had taken more of a toll that I'd thought. When I finally got home to Iowa, after two-extra-days-and-a-wake-up getting connections out of Pennsylvania, I proceeded to celebrate a late President's Day holiday by sleeping about 14 hours straight.

That's not normal. Gotta recharge the old batteries.

I haven't had a good and true weekend for about a month. I haven't even gotten around to a handful of posts started following last drill weekend, and it's already time for another one. The type of orders I'm on now--Active Duty for Operational Support (ADOS, pronounced "ay-doss")--requires that I work Monday through Friday, plus the regular monthly drill weekends, plus any other time necessary to complete the mission. In short, Uncle Sam owns me and my little brain 24 hours, 7 days a week.

Household-6 tells me the cabinets that I've been trying to get right for about a year have been delivered to the local Home Depot. I need to find time to get that done, along with countless other little things.

I've got a lot to tell you about. Things like practicing how to rollover in a Humvee, and the nifty Army computer stuff I learned in Pennsylvania, and how it's a toss-up what presents a threat to my unit's Operational Security (OPSEC)--Facebook or daycare. I also want to continue my musings on the Red Bull Film Festival project, and to tell you about finishing the book "Three Cups of Tea." I'm play-testing some new "camping" equipment, too.

All in good time, of course.

Pennsylvania State of Mind

Those readers who also monitor this blog's "Facebook net" already know that I spent most of the weekend attempting to get on a plane that would take me home to Iowa. I was stuck in Harrisburg, Penn., starting Friday afternoon. I was booked and rebooked five times, was bumped into tomorrow twice, and achieved first-name relations with any number of friendly faces at the airport, and the hotel, and the Transportation Security Agency (TSA) security desk, and the hotel shuttle service, and so on.

Of course, I was in uniform, and that helped break the ice. No matter your brand of camouflage, there's no hiding when you're dressed like a digital tree in the middle of the airport. I normally try to avoid traveling in uniform for that reason alone. That, and I'm always self-conscious about wearing the flag on my right shoulder. You wear the uniform, you represent your country. That means putting on a happy and professional face at all times. And post-September-11 airline travel makes me feel anything but happy and professional.

I'm old enough to remember when flying was fun, regardless of your age. Flying was romantic, almost an escape. There were peanuts. There were little meals, fit for hungry astronauts. There were even planes available, when and where the airline scheduled planes to be available.

By comparison, this past weekend was potentially a grudging, trudging, uncomfortable affair--an exercise as much in futility as potential family practice for the upcoming deployment. Lena, 5, and Rain, 3, are having trouble understanding why Daddy keeps promising that he's coming home, and then doesn't deliver the goods. Household-6 is re-learning that the Army's "hurry up and wait" includes frustrations akin to "naming the dog 'Stay.'" ("C'mere, Stay, c'mere!") She was counting on me being home Friday, so that I could take care of the kids during a few social and church obligations. She had to adapt, improvise, and overcome, and lived to tell about it.

On my end, I was generally tired of people after two weeks of intellectually intense Army training. I was wearing a 4-day-old uniform, hadn't had much more than 4 hours of sleep when I showed up to the airport the first time. I hadn't changed into civilian clothes, because the uniform was the cleanest and warmest thing that I had available. In short, I was on the edge of feeling pretty grumpy and lonely, but ... Pennsylvanians wouldn't have any of that. Instead, wthout my asking, Pennsylvanians brought out their best on my behalf. In doing so, they brought out the best in me.

I can't tell you how many small kindnesses were committed on my behalf during my unplanned 48-hour-stay in Harrisburg, Penn. Delta Airlines gate agent Stephanie had me automatically rebooked at the first cancellation Friday night. "I always look out for Iowans," she told me. (A day or so later, while booking attempt No. 5, she let me know that she was originally from Spirit Lake, Iowa.) Later, she would ask whether I was heading home or heading downrange. ("If you're heading home," she said. "We try even harder--that's your family's time.")

Ticket and gate agent Steve troubleshot his way through an arcane mix of airline codes and military travel-agent nonsense, "transferring" and "associating" and "opening" my ticket three or four times over.

I literally saw Stephanie physically toss the rulebook aside. One delta employee, who identified himself only as "a vet," then ran from one airline desk to another, trying to find me a seat on any other carrier. He came back empty-handed, but, by then, that didn't matter--I was surprised, grateful, and impressed.

Pat, the woman driving the Courtyard Marriott shuttle, greeted me warmly on my first bag-drag back to the hotel, and not only told me which restaurants were within walking distance to the hotel, but which ones were worth the walk. She greeted me with sympathy when she saw me waiting at her stop the second day.

There was the nameless blue-shirted TSA employee, who advised me that I didn't need to unlace and remove my boots every time I went through security screening. Service members are apparently exempt, as long as their footgear doesn't contain metal. (Like the old jungle boots did--or the steel-toed desert boots.)

Eric, the front desk at the hotel, tried to book me right back into the room I'd had my first night in town. When it wasn't available, he booked me on the first floor--right next to guest laundry. Then he gave me some laundry detergent, so I could arrive at home later-but-cleaner than originally planned.

The countless airport employees and fellow passengers who said "thanks for your service." I get choked up just thinking about all of it.

I briefly visited the 28th Infantry Division Memorial on Fort Indiantown Gap during my recent training there. The oldest divisional organization in the U.S. Army, the Pennsylvania Army National Guard's 28th Infantry Division is the "Keystone Division," and they wear a bright-red patch that's nicknamed the "bloody bucket." The division's motto since World War II is "roll on."

The celebrated last words heard from the passengers of United Airlines Flight 93 on Sept. 11, 2001, before it crashed into Stoneycreek Township, Penn., were "Let's Roll."

So, where am I headed with all this, other than home? A handful of Pennsylvanians earned my ever-living gratitude for their kindness, hospitality, and quiet patriotism. They're in it to win, and they don't make a big deal of it. That's just how they roll.

Jumping TOC to FIG

I'm either on my way or already present for duty at an Army school designed to sharpen my mad information-collection and -dissemination skilz. The two-week class is taking place at Fort Indiantown Gap, aka "The Gap" aka "Fig," at least to some people. I've never been there, but it's apparently up the road a piece from Harrisburg, Penn. I hear there's snow. And I understand that the National Guard post might have it's own unique character ...

"You goin' to FIG?!" one of my officers asked me last week. "I got a speeding ticket on that post once. I was driving a 1-1-3! In the training area! Crazy."

I have no idea what I'm in for, training-wise. Tactical Operations Centers (TOC, and pronounced "talk) have always been the nerve-centers for Army units, but I'm just an old radio guy. Today's TOC are probably more like "Guitar Hero" than "Classic Rock."

Ah, well, after I'm sufficiently trained, I guess I'll finally be able to ... wait for it ... "talk the TOC"?

Thank you! Thank you! I'm here all week! (And next.)