I don’t visit the Walter Reed blog enough. It’s one veteran’s chronicle of life at the hospital as a "warrior in transition." In a recent entry, he talks about how painful it was, post-surgery, to walk even a short distance across the campus. He writes that he was on his way to get a bite when he ran into another veteran, this one in a wheelchair:

As he pulled up beside me he commented, "I really like those shoes you got, I used to wear them all the time." The only thing that I could think of at the time was, "Yeah, they are nice, but they are wearing out after only two years." In the flattest of tones he replied, "Yeah, I used to go through pairs of them at [a] time, until I lost my legs."

What can you say after that?
I couldn't and didn't say a thing.

I just made my way back to my room. And was grateful that I had been the one left speechless.
And ashamed.

To those who have given much and suffered much: Thank you. I’m grateful. And ashamed.

An Army Ranger. A Marine. Both 22, both killed in Iraq doing what they wanted to do.

Tonight, I bring you the news of two more deaths -- Cpl. Benjamin C. Dillon, 22, of Rootstown, Ohio and Lance Cpl. Jeremy W. Burris, 22, of Tacoma, Wash. – that are being mourned by their families, friends, units and communities. Please join me in honoring their service and remembering their lives.

"I want my son back."

Those are the words of one grieving mother, who recently got the news that her only son had been killed halfway across the world.

Tonight, it’s my sad duty to pay tribute to three service members -- Gunnery Sgt. Herman J. Murkerson Jr., 35, of Adger, Ala.; Sgt. Randell Olguin, 24, of Ralls, Texas; and Sgt. Chirasak Vidhyarkorn, 32, of Queens, N.Y. -- who died recently in Iraq.

May their friends and family find comfort as they remember their loved ones with the family stories that the rest of us will never hear; may the rest of us pause for a moment and honor their memories.

These diaries never get easier. Night after night, we see the faces of the fallen: decked out in uniform, posed against an American flag; in family pictures, cradling babies; on myspace.com pages, hanging out with friends and sweethearts.

Tonight, I bring you  a short video of Sgt.1st Class Matthew Blaskowski, in better days – in a hospital bed, recovering from wounds he sustained in Afghanistan in 2005. Here’s part of what he had to say:

"...About two months, they said, I’ll be better and hopefully I can get back down there and get back with my soldiers. Somebody has to do it, I guess, you know. I don’t see it as a sacrifice, you know, for me. I just want to get back down there and do my job. I’m okay, you know. I could be worse."

On Sunday, Blaskowski, of Levering, Mich. was killed in Asadabad, Afghanistan, dying "of wounds suffered when insurgents attacked his unit using small arms fire during combat operations," according to the Department of Defense.

Please join me below the fold in honoring his memory.

Do you look at the label when you buy something?

Bill Allayaud does. A Sierra Club director, Allayaud used to think that "people who checked labels on clothing or toys to make sure they were "Made in the U.S.A." were everything he was not: flag-waving, protectionist, even a little xenophobic," according to Alex Williams’ recent New York Times article,  "Love It? Check the Label."

Evidently, liberals are just now catching up to the "buy American" movement — "long popular among blue-collar union workers and lunch-pail conservatives" – and NPR listeners are finally coming around to there place where Rush Limbaugh listeners have been for decades.

And what are our lame reasons for changing our minds, writes Williams? We’re worried about lead paint, working conditions in foreign factories, and environmental damage. But the biggest reason? Because the "Made in the USA" label has nouveau snob appeal!

Hey, Alex, wanna come over and see my Shop-Vacs from Bradford, Pa.? We can play Maid in America!

More growling about the parallels between xenophobic capitalism and doing the right thing follow – come on in and bitch.

"Why does it have to be my son?"

Tonight, I am thinking of all the parents who have asked this terrible question, of their grief, of their desperate need for an answer.

Tonight, their ranks have grown with the deaths of Sgt. Alexander U. Gagalac, 28, of Wahiawa, Hawaii; Lance Cpl. Lance M. Clark, 21, of Cookeville, Tenn.; Pfc. Sammie E. Phillips, 19, of Cecilia, Ky.; Cpl. Javier G. Paredes, 24, of San Antonio, Texas; and Cpl. Travis M. Woods, 21, of Redding, Calif.

For each parent who has had to bury a son or daughter killed in these wars: I wish you peace. I wish you strength. I wish you an answer to your question.

We remember five more fallen sons, below.

Tonight, three more families – those of Sgt. Kevin A. Gilbertson, 24, of Cedar Rapids, Iowa; Spc. Christopher G. Patton, 21, of Lawrenceville, Ga.; and Master Sgt. Patrick D. Magnani, 38, of Martinez, Calif. -- will weep over their loved ones.

With these deaths, more parents, spouses, siblings, children, friends will wake in the night, in tears, remembering, mourning. As one airman’s mother said: "My God, I've lost my heart."

May they have the strength to bear their losses, and to remember better times, even amid the tears. Join me below the fold, and hear three more stories from the war.

It’s been a busy week here in Lake Erewhon, my hometown. The days are warm enough to redden the last of the tomatoes, and cool enough to think about picking them – not from necessity, at this point, as DH and I have canned every tomato product known to mankind, but from a general sense of not wanting perfectly good food to go to waste. They hang there like rubies in the jungle, plump red fruit that falls into your hand almost as soon as you touch the plant. And even though I say I am sick of them, I hear the siren call of homemade soup on a chilly winter’s day. A steaming pot-full of my grandmother’s best (okay, so she didn’t cook much):

Gram’s Best Alphabet Soup
1 quart tomato base
1 chicken bullion cube, dissolved in a cup of water
1/3 cup alphabet pasta
Salt and (white) pepper to taste

Cook pasta per box directions. Meanwhile, combine bullion and tomato base; heat to simmering. Add alphabet pasta and heat for a minute or two more. Add salt and pepper as needed. Enjoy.

For more reflections on life, death and soup, join me below the fold.

No matter how many "I Got the News Today" diaries I write, I’m not sure that I will ever get over the feeling that there is something unjust about these deaths. The "why" of them is not mine to answer, nor is it mine to struggle through sleepless nights of memory or family events where there will always be an empty chair.

I try to mark each death. But I don’t understand.

Tonight, there’s news of six more casualties in Afghanistan -- Sgt. 1st Class Rocky H. Herrera, 43, of Salt Lake City; Sgt. Cory L. Clark, 25, of Plant City, Fla.; Sgt. Bryce D. Howard, 24, of Vancouver, Wash.; Maj. Henry S. Ofeciar, 37, of Agana, Guam; Master Sgt. Scott R. Ball, 38, of Mount Holly Springs, Penn.; and Sgt. Jan M. Argonish, 26, of Peckville, Penn. -- six soldiers who leave behind families and friends to mourn their untimely deaths.

For those who are reading here tonight, thank you for remembering these men and for bearing witness with me.

This week, the pilots and crew who fly our fallen to Dover Air Force Base have, and have had, the sad duty of escorting five of their own -- Chief Warrant Officer Christopher C. Johnson, 31, of Grandville, Michigan; Chief Warrant Officer Jackie L. McFarlane Jr, 30, Virginia Beach, Va.; Staff Sgt. Sean P. Fisher, 29, of Santee, Calif.; Staff Sgt. Stanley B. Reynolds, 37, of Rock, W. Va.; and Spc. Steven R. Jewell, 26, of Bridgeton, N.C. -- home to the U.S.

The aviators, members of Task Force Dragon, were conducting a routine post-maintenance test flight of their CH-47 Chinook helicopter when it crashed outside Fallujah, about 30 miles west of Baghdad, on Tuesday.

Now these men who dreamed of the skies are taking their final flights home. Please join me in remembering them tonight.

Look at this face. When I look at Pfc. Jaron Holliday, I see some mother’s son, and what he might have looked like through years of pictures taken at Christmas and birthday parties. A paratrooper, yes, but also a brother and a friend:

(Alec Atchison) got the news of Holliday’s death in an e-mail over the weekend. And ever since he says, snippets of memories of mission trips with the church have been popping into his mind, a conversation here or a practical joke there.

(snip)

"I'm sure the biggest way he'd want to be remembered, first and foremost as far as the type of person he was, is how much he cared about his family and loved his family. He was really great with his little brothers and sister," Atchison said.

For those who weep tonight for the fallen -- Tech. Sgt. Joey D. Link; Lance Cpl. Cristian Vasquez; Sgt. Dustin S. Wakeman; Cpl. Jason K. Lafleur; and Pfc. Jaron D. Holliday – may there be some measure of healing and peace, soon. May they see the memories of their loved ones clearly through their tears. May we all remember.

Tonight, the families of four more service members -- Staff Sgt. Wilberto Suliveras, 38, of Humacao, P.R.; Cpl. Sean A. Stokes, 24, of Auburn, Calif.; Spc. Camy Florexil, 20, of Philadelphia; and 1st Lt. Benjamin J. Hall, 24, of Fredericksburg,Virginia -– are dealing with the aftermath of the knock at the door.

We cannot know their hearts, or how much strength is required of them to get through the next hour, but we join them in mourning what has been lost – sons, brothers, uncles; holidays together; love and friendship and the building of memories. As you read about the fallen tonight, please reflect on the pain of those left behind as they endure the hour of lead.

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
-- From Emily Dickinson’s "After Great Pain, A Formal Feeling Comes"

Every day, I go down to the garden to look at my tomato jungle. The plants are taller than I am; on picking days, I go into one end of the row with a small machete and emerge at the other end with a basket of Romas. When I’m finished, I look at my baskets and think, "Oh. My. God. What am I going to do with all these damn tomatoes?

Answer: Can them.

Canning sounds difficult, like some traditional skill lost with our grandmothers, but it is more relevant than ever. When you grow and can your own, you know where your food comes from, how it was tended and harvested, and how safely it was prepared; also, the transportation cost and impact are minimal (depending how far and how often you need to drive to buy supplies). The waste can be composted; the end-products can be given as gifts. What’s not to like?

Tonight we mourn the loss of three more soldiers -- Sgt. Nathan S. Barnes, Pfc. Ron J. Joshua Jr., and Pfc. Brandon K. Bobb -- killed in Iraq.

One had, an hour before his death, sent home a cheerful email. One found his heroes in the Sandbox. One learned to be "a real soldier" in Iraq.

The grief in the wake of their deaths is a measure of how much they were loved, whether the sadness comes in the form of a children’s memorial parade or anguished outpourings on myspace. They were loved. They are missed.

Their stories follow.

Remember the Energy Task Force? The one that Cheney went all the way to the Supreme Court over because he wanted to keep its participants a secret?

Today's Washington Post online includes This article -- "Papers Detail Industry's Role in Cheney's Energy Report". A snippet of interest, followed by a (partial) list of the players, below:

A confidential list prepared by the Bush administration shows that Cheney and his aides had already (ed. by April 4, 2001) held at least 40 meetings with interest groups, most of them from energy-producing industries. By the time of the meeting with environmental groups, according to a former White House official who provided the list to The Washington Post, the initial draft of the task force was substantially complete and President Bush had been briefed on its progress. (My bold.)

So, who leaked?

And where are the meeting participants now?

(I will delete if this has already been diaried.)

Two more soldiers have died while serving in Iraq. Tonight, we remember Sgt. Courtney T. Johnson and 1st Sgt. Jeffrey R. McKinney; they came from different states and different units, but both are mourned tonight by the many people who knew and loved them.

Godspeed, soldiers. We salute you.

Summer’s here -- and the time is right for county fairs.

If you’ve been to a county fair, you might remember the pavilions full of pieced quilts, jarred jellies, and the blue and red ribbons hanging from platters full of potatoes, tomatoes, and other garden vegetables. You might have walked into the barns full of cows and watched 4-H teenagers shoveling cow manure from the stalls, or shearing their sheep, or napping in a camp chair beneath a string heavy with ribbons. Maybe you bought a deep-fried Oreo, or shared a fresh-made chocolate shake that the local dairyman sold you. Or maybe you remember strolling up and down the midway and got on one of the neon-covered rides, even though you knew it would make you sick.

If you haven’t, now’s the time to try it.

Pull up an Adirondack chair and talk about the fairs, fair food, and other summer traditions that have been important to you over the years. Right this way...

One of first concert-going experiences was a treat from my then-boyfriend: two tickets to see Billy Joel. The crowd was huge, the venue was huge, and the show had all of the energy and flash you might expect.

But what moved me most – what shook me, and what I remember many years later – were the sounds of helicopter blades that shook the building, the powerful introduction to Joel’s ballad about Vietnam, "Goodnight, Saigon." The hall went dark; the choppers roared; the piano played; and Joel sang: "We met as soul mates/On Parris Island..."

When the chorus came around, it was sung by a Joel and a group of men dressed in fatigues. It went:

"And we would all go down together
We said we'd all go down together
Yes we would all go down together"

Tonight, we mourn three sailors -- Petty Officer First Class Jason Dale Lewis, Petty Officer First Class Robert Richard McRill, and Petty Officer First Class Steven Phillip Daugherty – killed together when an IED detonated near their Humvee.

Brothers in arms. Families united in sorrow. Their stories follow.