On The Scene: USS Lincoln

Life On Ship Reminds Cynthia Bowers Of The Bigger Picture

(CBS)  Do you ever notice how easy it is to get into a rut in your everyday
relationships? It's not intentional. Many days I even plan ahead of time to,
say, bring more exuberance about life home with me at the end of the day.

But inevitably, once I walk in the door something happens and I become the easily irritated type A person I was at work, and at home the day before, etc.

Or I'll call my mom and think, "this time I'm not going to complain
about anything in my life, cause I have it damned good." But inevitably
within minutes, I'll find myself back in the old routine of whining about things that are really not even worth mentioning, let alone whining about.

I mention this because sometimes a new environment unleashes the freedom to escape the 'old me,' and allow a new, 'better me' to emerge.

Part of that comes from the fact that no one knows me here, so there are no preconceived notions. Ergo, I can act anyway or be anything I want. No one knows me, so no one knows to say, "What gives, Cyndee?" My Chicago producer, Charlie Brooks once said, "You've been delightful to work with the last few weeks." I think that's a clear indication I'm not always a delight.

Part of it is that on board this ship everything is about so much more than 'me, my day, my needs.' It's about life and death. It's about people who put their lives on the line every day and come back to the USS Lincoln only to rest for a few hours and do it again.

And it's about people who haven't seen their families, their friends, their children in 8 1/2 months. To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart's line from Casablanca here, it's obvious to me that "the troubles of 'one' little person 'don't matter a hill of beans in this crazy world."

I write this as I listen to the TV, the news is on the war, of course. For some reason, I find it hard to watch for long. It's a bit overwhelming for me to focus on the big picture; I keep up, but I'm not fixated. I'm trying to concentrate my efforts on seeing the war through the eyes of this carrier's crew.

Up on the flight deck it's a colorful crew. There, different colors shirts designate different jobs. Yellow shirts direct aircraft, white shirts handle safety and final inspection of aircraft, brown watch over individual planes, blue chock and chain planes into position and drive the tractors that pull aircraft, green shirts hook the planes to catapults -- a dangerous job -- and gather the arresting wire and pull it back into position for next plane. Purple shirts fuel planes, red shirts handle all the weapons and ammunition, and silver shirts handle air crashes and fires. The silver is actually made of fire retardant material. There are dozens of each color shirt on the flight deck at any one time and each squadron has its own complement of most of those folks to do the job just for them.

After two days of flying through sand, clouds, rain, lightning, and hail, the skies are beginning to clear a bit. You can see the sun from the deck. It's still very hazy though, sand is hanging in the air and seems to cling to everything-like a fine grit. And the visibility still isn't so great. Even inside the hangar there is a yellowish cast to the air and you can feel the dirt when you breathe. The planes are hard to clean, I'm told, because the grit can't be wiped off, it must be wet. And then it forms a muddy sludge that makes for lots of extra work for aircraft maintenance guys.

There's been a lot of likening this carrier to a city, but this is a city where everyone works. Everyone. True some more than others, but in that respect it's unlike any city where I've ever lived. And they work all hours of the night. Waxing the floors of passageways, (note I've now learned that hallway isn't the correct word, it's passageway or p-way) working on airplanes and helicopters, standing alongside the cool chilly deck with M-16s at the ready-just in case.

And it seems there's little time for rest -- many people work far longer than an eight-hour day. Between the three carriers, combat missions are now flown around the clock. It's like a hub, where the planes land, are refueled and sometimes loaded with fresh crew and are then off again.

I wonder if the pilots have a plane preference. I thought about that today as I stood on the flight deck watching take-offs and recovery. I drive my husband's car a lot, but it's not my car and it doesn't drive as well as mine, in my mind anyway, and since no two cars are exactly alike, I would assume no two planes are either.

Here in the Gulf, we seemed far removed from the death and destruction of war. That is largely due, I think, to the fact that so far no Navy planes have been lost. We were given a briefing last night by a Capt. Larry Burt, who told us that he never would have thought it possible that coalition air forces would have made it through the first night of war with no casualties.

That gave me pause. Obviously it's unrealistic to think that a war can be fought without losing American troops; but that doesn't mean we all weren't hoping it could be done -- or that things could have been settled without war.

Everyone on board is sickened by Iraqi assertions that U.S. warplanes are DELIBERATELY attacking civilians, including women, children, and old men. I would think that even the most hardened anti-war supporters would be hard pressed to believe that, but world opinion is affected by such commentary.

Last night or rather early this morning, I was invited up to the deck to look at the stars. My friend and I grabbed float coats -- which you must wear up top in case you fall overboard. They are not totally unlike the ones on commercial aircraft, only much sturdier, and they have dye in them to release so the folks looking for you can locate you in the water. (just remember, don't release the dye until daylight we were told, or it will dissipate while it's still dark and you may never be found)

We went outside to a sky filled with stars, far more than you can see from where I've lived lately. Atlanta, NYC, Dallas, and Chicago! It was windy and the Gulf was choppy. The sand was in the air and visibility near water level wasn't great. But it was one of those moments that you stop and think: I'm here -- Iran is just a short distance away to the east, Saudi Arabia to the west. I never thought I would see this part of the world.

I was tired, but went out because I know I may never pass this way again, and this is an adventure.

But it is when I am at home, that I hope I can remember that all of life is an adventure and as far as we know we only get one go around. This refers back to what I wrote at the top. It's so easy at home to get caught up in the humdrum and routine. In the way we interact with each other and the way we live our lives.

For example, I live several blocks from Lake Michigan and yet rarely walk over there. Every winter I think, "This coming summer I will
take my kids to the beach for picnics on some of those days of near midnight sun."

It's my fifth winter there and I have yet to take advantage of the
adventures close to home. Why? Because by the time I get home, I'm tired, stressed out, and not up to doing something out of the ordinary -- maladies I share, no doubt, with many Americans.

Yet I'm behaving differently here, why? Because I decided when I was given this assignment I was determined to get as much out of this as I can, both professionally and personally. I'm finding it's a learning process on both fronts. A lesson, I pray I can carry home.