#photographylovere

Good morning. 🌻🌻🌻

16 September 2026

I get up, come in here, and stare blankly at my computer screen. Same old story every morning. Surely I must remember something worth mentioning. Maybe it’s just that the things I remember don’t seem worthy to me.

In January of 1972, I shipped overseas with nothing but the uniform on my back. It was the first time my gear had ever gone missing. A day or two earlier, when I arrived at the Greyhound station in San Clemente, California—just outside Camp Pendleton—I discovered my seabag hadn’t arrived with me. So there I was, about to ship out with absolutely nothing.

A friend handed me a utility uniform and an old, beat‑up pair of boots that were missing one heel. There’s no way I walked without a limp wearing those things. Everyone must’ve thought I was some kind of pirate—Pegleg Pete reporting for duty. That’s how I flew overseas.

It took months before I had enough uniforms to function. I had to replace everything myself, and as a private, my paycheck didn’t stretch far. It might have gone farther if I’d had the slightest idea how to manage money, which I didn’t. My sergeant eventually took me to the clothing sales store. I don’t remember the details, but I’m pretty sure I signed some form that let them take money straight out of my pay. Let’s just say I wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. Plenty of potential, sure—but it would take a few more years before any of it turned into something useful. I was nineteen, and not a mature nineteen. I probably looked more like sixteen.

On quiet mornings, when I’m sitting alone with my thoughts, I still wonder what became of that seabag full of uniforms.

“The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” — Nelson Mandela

“The human capacity for burden is like bamboo — far more flexible than you'd ever believe at first glance.” — Jodi Picoult

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