Geranium thoughts.

Flannery O'Connor fans, are you out there?

Even if you aren't or have no idea who Ms. O'Connor was, know this, she was a writer of that which most people can relate. Even if it's not on point, there's probably something in one of her stories that will ring true for you.

The Geranium is one such story for me. I can relate on a couple of different levels. I've had my roots up in the air, specifically when I first arrived in the black hole that was Jacksonville, NC. Mind you, after some time my views changed, but at first, I felt completely out of my element. My first unit was at Camp Johnson, if you can even call it that was a MAT platoon. What did we do? We waited, day in and day out to commence MOS classes. I wanted to be dropped to class so badly just to avoid the ridiculousness they had us doing. We field day-ed. Incessantly. Everyday. Oh, and then we scrubbed and brasso-ed the crap out everything some more. I won't even go into my assessment of the city outside the base gates. Just know that it was not beautiful. Good times. Good times.

So, you see, the changes that were happening in my life were less than desirable. I envisioned MOS school would be vastly different. Alas, it was merely an extension of boot camp games, with only slightly more freedom.

Going back to The Geranium, I can also relate to the issue of discrimination, although slightly varied from O'Connor's description. I did not experience this as much in the fleet (okay a little bit) as I did in recruit training. Just like O'Connr's character, Old Dudley, I found myself in a foreign setting (and you thought boot camp was a country club-hah). Upon settling-in at boot camp, as I became familiar with my fellow recruits, I quickly learned that I was a minority. Aside from delving into the issues that were ever-present, I will say that from this experience I gained a different perspective on discrimination and prejudice and learned that some folks will remain ignorant even if you slap them in the face with truth. Still, others will wake up.

As a military spouse, I never have personally experienced discrimination. Of course, maybe I have been the target of it, and haven't even noticed. LOL

So, back to the issues of roots. For you military spouses do you ever feel as though your roots are in the air? Or, do you firmly replant yourself in your new location?

Addiction to Education

I have a myriad of addictions. Some healthy, some not so much (think: Coca Cola and chocolate). I am addicted to books. I collect them. Although, they often rest on my shelves beckoning me; begging for my time. However, my insatiable literary appetite is often trumped by insatiably hungry children beckoning me to come hither for a brawl over dolls or something of that nature. So, it takes months (usually) for me to get through a book. Other addictions I have include writing (shocker, isn't it?); WWII era music (to listen, sing or dance to); purchasing colorful and uniquely designed scrapping paper (of which I have less time for than reading); and last, but certainly not least, higher education.

While most people are content with a diploma or GED, I was not. After lopping off my hair and running off to Parris Island, I still intended on obtaining a college degree. I wasn’t the best student at the point because sadly I was either too busy with work to make it to class each night and/or I had other plans. Yes, I was a slacker and foolishly did not take full advantage of my military tuition assistance. Nonetheless, upon leaving the service, I set my sights firmly on completing my Bachelors. It took me about 6 years of night school/weekend classes and online courses, but I did it. I started and then stopped for about a year, then started again and stopped because of my ridiculous billable hours requirement at the firm, and then started again (for the last time) right before I gave birth to one of my kids.

Yes, I was 8 ½ months pregnant when I resumed classes for the last time in undergrad. By the time I graduated with my BA, I had two beautiful children who I am proud to say were present at my college graduation. All in all, it was a tumultous and very long road, but the end reward was so sweet. I graduated magna cum laude and as a member of the Alpha Chi Honor Society. Woot, Woot! What made this all so special, aside from how long it took? Well, during this period, not only was I giving birth and raising babies, but my husband was deployed for almost the whole time. Oh, and I was periodically working too. It was insane! I spent many a nights rocking/nursing babies while analyzing research and dissecting literary metaphors.

Phew. That was a mouthful.

Anyway, my loving, sweet, devoted husband breathed a sigh of relief when I graduated. He was elated (I’m sure for a number of reasons). The primary cause for his happiness was that when he was home from deployments, my nose would no longer be stuck in a book. Au contraire mon mari. Within a year, I had applied to graduate school and a fellowship program. Unfortunately, I wasn't accepted for the fellowship, but I a fabulous grad school accepted me and promptly started billing me too. ;)

At this point, I was pregnant AGAIN (I know, I know, fertile Myrtle over here). I had two little ones and a baby on the way and I was starting a new job. Boy, did everyone think I was crazy! I did too. Nevertheless, in amazement I graduated with my Masters and my husband again breathed a big, ginormous sigh. (Yes, ginormous is a word--look it up.) Of course, some will say that with an English degree almost anything is possible. Maybe I SHOULD start making up new words.

Following the latest commencement, with a Masters under my belt, I began to contemplate PhD programs. My husband scowled and refused to entertain the thought. So, I researched and conversed with myself about it. Fortunately for him, I didn’t find one (yet) that appealed to me or was within my reach. He, not the quintessential student, doesn’t understand my passion for school. I imagine that he thinks I'm a bit loopy. Personally, I think he’s quite a lucky man. After all, I could be sitting around doing nothing with no plan for a lucrative career or a way to contribute to retirement or children’s education funds. Hey, someone’s has to plan for the future, and I’m that gal!

At any rate, that fellowship I applied for in the past, well I applied again and was accepted this year! It’s a fantastic program and one that actually ties in with something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time and correlates to some of my previous training. So, yay! I got the fellowship and am awaiting classes to commence in the fall. I think my husband has given up and has resigned himself to the fact that while I mean well in my housewife duties, it’s more of a hobby. I squeeze it in between assignments and juggle childrearing at the same time.

As an aside, I will say that you'll will probably agree that I'm off my rocker. When my oldest was a baby, I used to read my assignments aloud while she lay on my lap, cooing and gurgling. It would soothe her to sleep (likely boring her when I studied Freud) and would give us some time together while I did school work. To this day, she is keenly interested in my studies, and while I have to censor the topics a bit, I do try to engage her. She has a thirst for knowledge and that makes me proud. Of course, I pity the man she marries, because if she’s like me, he’ll be phoning his father in law playing on the words of George Strait, “If she’s so much like her mom, There must have been times you felt my way…”

Fading Memories

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My great grandmother passed away last year at the age of 93. I can’t begin to tell you how much I miss her. My family at large recognizes a void when we gather. She had a spirit about her. No, it was more spunk. Yes, even in her old age, she was spunky. I loved her and so terribly regret that I missed out on so much as I myself grew up. I never got a chance to ask her so much. Today, I sit here with questions that could fill the pages of a novel.

Her name was Ann. She was part of the Greatest Generation. This is my favorite period in history, and I never thought to ask my grandmother about it when she was still alive. Sure, I have a few stories from her childhood and the tales she told of the early years of her marriage, but my memories are now fading with time. I should have written them down. I should have paid better attention.

My grandmother had Alzheimer’s disease, which is both progressive and fatal for many. It’s a heartbreaking condition that has the ability to tear you apart knowing that you cannot give someone back their mind and memories. You feel helpless. I imagine the patient feels the same in some respects, then again, do they know? They are frustrated and they are bewildered at lot of the times because people are trying to remind them of things that they didn’t even know were forgotten. It’s tragic.

~~~

On a happier note, I recently finished reading an amazing book, by Elizabeth Berg. Dream When You’re Feeling Blue paid homage to the servicemen at war and the families on the homefront during WWII, the greatest generation. Since I have such an affinity for anything associated with this era, I could see myself in the plot, I felt akin to the characters. Berg, a New York Times bestselling author eloquently depicted many aspects of romance and family life as well as patriotism. Those which stood out to me the most were sacrifice, honor, and responsibility.

You will fall in love with the Heaney family and your heart will both ache and leap with joy as you journey through time with this tale. While it’s a fictional piece, the majority of it is based on factual places and events. In fact, Berg painstakingly researched this book and the history behind the times to present the most accurate description of the period and lives she was telling about. Not only is this a chronicle of love and honor, but is also one of history that is easy to relate to in our own tumultuous times.


To buy this book online: Visit Random House for online retailers
Audio Book: Simply Audiobooks

Another intriguing read, I hope to get my hands on soon: An Album of Memories: Personal Histories from the Greatest Generation by Tom Brokaw

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