LEARNING OF GEOGRAPHY THE SADDAM HARD WAY

A leisurely visit recently with my two sisters brought on wide ranging discussions.

The war, of course, took up much of our talking time. We stated our positions. All three agreed with the United States stance. Then, in an attempt to prove that we hadn't been propagandized into our positions, we struggled to give what we thought were our original reasons.

I'm sure we didn't put forward anything that had not been offered by the leading thinkers. We kept coming back to the domino theory, first Kuwait, then Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Syria, Jordan, Israel, etc. etc. We recalled history book pictures of the Alexandrian Empire that stretched from India to Macedonia and agreed that Saddam's Empire wouldn't look good on such a picture even if it described it.

"Hussein isn't Alexander," Lillian stated, with a forbidding look in her eyes and a mouth set in a hard line. Being a former school teacher, she said, "Saddam must be made to wear a dunce cap and stand in a hot, humid, stinking corner forever."

My other sister, more pragmatic, with flashing eyes and grim expression, spoke darkly of guillotines and the rack. Trying to sound literary, I suggested a sword of Damocles be suspended over his head while he stood in the stinking corner.

Then, fearing we were getting sadistic, our conversation turned to other February things old February things such as how we used to have to gather eggs from the hen house three or four times a day to get them in before they froze and cracked. We spoke of the cold days when we accompanied Dad or Grandpa up and down the river bank inspecting trap lines and being taught which were the `coon tracks, the rabbit's, muskrat's, 'possums, or any other furry animal who traipsed thereabout.

Then, inevitably, we'd swing back to the war, trying to pick out some little tidbits of good. "It sure teaches geography," school teacher sister offered. The three of us remembered this century's wars from WWI on up. First there were unfamiliar place names like Verdun, Argonne, Chateau Thierry, Saint Mehiel, Zuider Zee. We jumped on that Zuider Zee when it reached our young ears. It was a name to chew on, fill our mouths. We didn't know many words that started with a Z.

Next we learned to pronounce and find on the map Lampedusa, Ardennes, Remagen, Bataan, Corregidor, Guadalcanal, Okinawa, Hiroshima, and still later, Pusan, Pingyang, Seoul. We often put pins in our maps locating such places and saying sadly, "There's where David was," or Tom or Marvin.

Hanoi, Haiphong, Hue, Danang, Saigon, Phnom Penh came vividly into our lives. Many pins there, close together. And now we come to Kuwait, Oman, Basrah, Bahrain, Riyadh, Jiddah. Back and forth, back and forth we've ranged across the globe.

"Terrible way to learn geography," I offered, so we returned again to old February things as if to put slave on sore memories and new wounds.

"Have you sold any seeds lately?" Lou asked, jokingly, sending us off on discussions of when we went house to house (and the houses were far apart) selling seeds in February Kentucky wonder beans, black seeded Simpson lettuce, Fordhook muskmelons, Beefsteak tomatoes, zinnias, marigold, sweet peas all five cents a packet. Those names rolled off our tongues pleasantly as if an antidote to the geographical names learned by war.

But, as iron shavings gather around a magnet, something else would be said about the war. "I wonder if there'll be any gardens in old Babylonia this spring?" someone asked. We hate the name Iraq. It grates on our ears. Sounds like cracking shells or skulls. So we reverted to Babylonia which sounds better, although there were some unpleasant things associated with Babylon too.

To scatter the iron shavings again I announced that I was going to have a hanging garden this year. They got the connection and didn't bat an eye at my abrupt departure from Babylon.

"Neb's garden didn't really hang," school teacher sister said. "They were a series of terraces."

"Well, mine is going to hang, right from the porch ceiling. I'm going to put lettuce in one pot, chives in another. Maybe a bush of beans ..."

"It's six o'clock. Let's see what the news is," the guillotine-rack sister interrupted.

Thus we are drawn back to the war, but the little oases of peace in between the reports of the wart hogs' and wild weasels' attacks keep us on a fairly steady course.

REJOICE