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?

Seven years ago.

Seven years ago, about this time in the evening, we were finishing up some dinner that was likely barbecued (his forte) and swapping work stories. In the morning, he was going to sign some reenlistment papers. I can recall us hemming and hawing wondering if that's what we really wanted. Ultimately, it was.

My job was mentally exhausting. About a month before, I commenced to working in a new firm. After my first day, I went home and literally cried my eyes out. I hated it. I detested the atmosphere. I loathed the laziness I had already witnessed in my new coworker who was senior to me. I would have preferred to endure scrubbing the tile walls at Grand Central Station with a chamber brush. That's how bad (I thought) I had it. At this point, someone should have slapped me up side the head stating: Self-pity is our worst enemy and if we yield to it, we can never do anything good in the world. ~ Helen Keller.

My employer was a discontented individual, I learned quickly that switching to this firm was a poor choice--career wise it was smart, but our personalities clashed. She was a curmudgeon, me an eager learner with a energy that would soon find itself sucked into a vacuum that was that office. Thankfully, at some point I did smarten up and find new employment elsewhere. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. My point is I had my own pitiful woes and was feeling sorry for myself for taking the overburdening job and I already had short-timers attitude wondering where the Coast Guard would take us next. I knew at some point with his reenlistment on the horizon we'd be on a new journey in the next couple of years. Or, so I thought.

I digress.

I'm pretty sure there was some hanky panky that evening. I'm also sure I was probably procrastinating on some class assignment. I'll just do it tomorrow, I probably thought. Time wasn't that big of a deal. There was always time and there was always another day like the day before to get the same things done. Not much changed from day to day in those days.

Tomorrow came. I went to work. He went to work. I sat at my desk. He sat in the YNs office in Boston and started to sign his name on the dotted line (again).

He called me.

Our world stopped. Everybody's world did. It was September 11, 2001.

It wasn't a joke he told me. Look on the web--check Yahoo news. They just locked the base down. I don't know where I'm going or what's going to happen.

Bewildered, I saw the images, and any naïve sense of immortality I had slipped from my body. Individually I felt powerless and very naked. It was all so real and present.

My boss wouldn't let us leave. Where would we have gone anyway? She showed little concern despite her daughter living in NY. The office, the clients, everyone was in awe except the curmudgeon.

My husband and I were separated by an hour. My family was another two hours away. While I worried that the military bases might fall prey to an attack next, I sat befuddled in my rolling chair--helpless. I had friends there. Where were they on this day?

My heart broke in innumerable pieces for the lives lost. My mind scrambled to make sense of it all. I felt alone.

Though...in the hours, days and weeks that would follow brought changes. I never felt so connected to people, to a Nation in my life.

Seven years ago, my life and perception on a lot of things changed. It would be vain of me to think that I was alone in this transformation. All I can say with any certainty is that any self-pity I once had was replaced with feelings of kinship and empathy for my neighbor as well as a distinct awareness that freedom was fragile.

May those of you reading this who lost loved ones in the attacks on 9/11/01 continue to find peace and comfort in your memories of them.

Bittersweet Feelings - a little girl and her hero

While folks are buzzing and bickering about Vice Presidential candidates and recent Olympic memories, my sights are set on smaller, yet, important-to-me things for the time being. Today, I ushered my daughter into a whole new world. We met her first teacher at Open House. My daughter shouted to me after asking her thoughts today, "Mommy, my teacher is going to be
F-U-N". That's right, off to Kindergarten she will trot next week. Of course, don't get me wrong, I don't normally dismiss political issues or athletic triumphs for grade school matters. Still, right now, this is what counts. The campaigns still have a few good months left in them, the first day of Kindergarten; however, is breathing down my neck.

I have all the usual emotions—excitement, happiness, sadness. It's all bittersweet. My first baby is going to school. She's growing up. The worst part, I'm not going to be there to see her off. I'll be at home, probably balling my eyes out.

Our daughter declared "Daddy is taking me to school on my first day. Mommy, you can pick me up later." Hmph. Trying not to pout, I plastered on a smile for my girl and hoped she can't see the tears in my eyes. I wanted to be the one to bring her and hold her hand and watch her walk into her classroom. I always planned on being the one.

When I see my husband don his uniform and throw his sea bag over his shoulder as he boards a ship, I know he's going to miss things. These types of things often are seemingly small but are big in our world. In a life where change is constant and deployments plenty, it's nice to have the little things and childhood moments to share. Fortunately, he's home right now, which is why HE became the chosen one and not me.

Despite my melancholy mood about the situation, I know how much it means to her that Daddy is home right now. He's missed so much in her little life so far. Being there to escort her to her first day is an achievement—an extremely proud moment for her. He's her hero. Who wouldn't want to show off their very own superman to a new set of friends? Smart girl, I have, very smart girl who loves her Daddy so.

Better late than never, Almost Wordless (ok not at all) Thursday

This is me and my niece the day of her Baptism.

(pardon the thrilled look on my face)

Then there is a pic from the other day (on the right) , my niece is the tall one in the middle and she is all grown up, well almost.

Either time really flies or I'm just getting old. Hmph.

WW - Eine Mark

Traveling back in time.

Yesterday I was transported back to a time when butter was rationed and plane spotters patrolled the streets. I listened, with my loving husband, to the stories of two amazing people of The Greatest Generation. They shared with us their intimate memories and fears and anecdotal tales from high school up through the early 1950's. These were my husband's grandparents. Now both in their 80's still have quite remarkable memories.

In fact, I mentioned to my husband how I think I just received the best history lesson I ever sat through. It was candid and pure and kept us on the edge of our seats wanting more. We poured over albums and books and time slipped away from us. What first started with my interest in the era evolved into my husband and I becoming historian apprentices, in a way. The torch has been passed. We are now the keeper's of so much more than we ever dreamed. For we have stories to share for the next generations in our lives and those which will ideally be passed on even further.
The best part was the brilliant happiness the couple had in sharing their lives with us. It seemed as though they felt no one ever took an interest before. They were surprised by my fascination and were more than eager to answer all of my questions. I must admit, I felt a little sheepish at times because I didn't want to pry to much or compare what little I knew to the reality that existed back then. After all, I didn't want to insult or offend them.

In the coming weeks and months, I intend to share with you all so much more, but for tonight, I shall close with this:

They remarked to us how the most common denominator between those living during WWII and now was the military families. In their eyes, the military families exemplify a patriotism and honor that seems lost on most of today's society.

WW

The last time we made a welcome home poster, the girls really felt Daddy needed sparkles and lots of splashes of color. I don't know about you, but I think that sparkles and color do a man good. Keeps him in touch with his feminine side, you know?

Marching through familiar territory.

Once upon a time, I was a little girl. My family vacationed yearly in the same beautiful spot. Every summer it was filled with amazing, yet simple experiences. In my mind, we were in paradise. In my memories, the world was perfect and my sister was my best friend (okay, we fought a little).

My family never took extravagant vacations, rather my parents focused on the family first and how even the little things could bring us together. To some, going to the same place every summer may seem boring and dull. To me, it was familiar, comfortable and perfect. I came of age in the same place where my mother did. She grew up going to the same coastal location with her family. It's a multi-generational thing I suppose. She and my dad basically honeymooned there as well. I can't even begin to tell you how many countless trips I made to this place. I suppose it was a home away from home--and it still is.

A silly story is before I joined the Corps, I visited here with my family (of course). I thought it was going to be my last trip there ever. I figured by enlistment would take me very far away from this little piece of heaven on earth. So, I stood out on a rock in the surf as the tide rolled in. I just stared out into the sunsetting on the horizon and contemplated my life up until that point. I imagined where I was going and the path my life would take. Never in a million years did I ever envision going back to this place, much less vacationing her with my husband and my little ones. Silly, right? I guess my point is that sometimes you feel you can never go "home" again because it's not always the same, but this place, this haven will always be "home" and I never feel strange. There's just an overwhelming peace that comes over me when I return.

Since I gave birth to my first child, I have amazingly stayed within reasonable travel distance to this very same spot. Now, with three little ones, I marvel at my ability to share with them each summer the same place I grew up loving. Of course, they may not know the impact of this, but maybe one day when they are much older, they will look back with fond memories too. I hope I can give that much to them.

We just arrived home today from our most recent trip. My girls are still giddy with excitement about the sand, shells and sea salt in the air. My husband, well I haven't seen him have so much fun being a daddy--well ever. He is such a doting dad, and a 'water-man' to boot (having grown up near the beach). Since he deploys often, he's not always been able to come with us to the beach, so this year was something really special. He had a blast building sandcastles that were quickly pummeled by tiny feet and jumping the waves for the first time with our little boy in his arms. We took them to a nearby lighthouse and were just amazed at the sheer curiosity they had about the whole experience. It was so cool. I think my favorite part was when we were just all together enjoying the moment, feeling no rush and no one was picking on anybody (LOL).

I'm still reeling in the afterglow of a great family journey and hope you and yours are able to treasure such special moments, whether it's to the beach this summer, a family picnic or even just a campout in your backyard. Give your children the gift of family memories, in any way that you can.

Fading Memories

Photo source

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

Photo source

Sleeping - Then and Now

Once, long ago, during a field exercise I participated in, combat instructors played the "enemy" and sought to "attack" my platoon. It was exciting, it was my first real experience practicing things I had learned as far as strategies and tactics in the field. We were all relatively young, so the shifts which we were to take to sleep seemed doable. I had the first watch that night.

Laying in the dusk in shallow foxhole, my chin propped, hands on my weapon at the ready, and my eyes scanning the horizon. Of course, it was muddied with trees and foliage so the horizon wasn't much. My ears alert for any sound. Members of my platoon lay sleeping in their foxholes on either side of me. I had it covered. I stood watch for roughly 4 hours. I never knew how boring that could be. I just wanted to move. I didn't know if I was cut out for this. Nonetheless, my watch was up, so I awoke the folks on my sides and alerted them it was their turn. One woke with a burst of energy asking for a recount of what took place the hours before. The other, well she just sort of lay there lifeless. She had no ambition. Still, she took her post, awake and assured me she "had this". I double and triple-checked. Yes, yes, go to sleep. Okay, then.

At this point, the air was much cooler, the night heavy. Everything around us black save for a tower's blinking light in the distance. About an hour later, after I fell into a deep sleep, I awoke. You know how when you can feel someone staring at you?

Screaming in sheer terror (hardly stealth was I), I was scared out of my mind. Sitting part on my hip and part out of my foxhole was a man. Not any man, but a face of a skeleton, painted white with black and red markings. He was small but wore this evil grin as if to say There's no escaping now. I screamed and screamed (yes, a high-pitched girly one).

He just sat there.

It took me what felt like an eternity to realize where I was and who this guy was. He was a combat instructor. At one point, I finally said, Oh, sh$t. I'm "dead" now right? He laughed and drew an X on my neck with a black marker to indicate he "killed" me. I felt like a fool. I had slept through this man sneaking up on me and so had my backup. She was snoring away, gee thanks I thought.

Fast forward to modern day. I can't sleep through anything. A child snores, I hear it. Someone gets up to use the bathroom, I hear that too. One of my children talks in their sleep, you guessed it, I hear it. Sometimes I even strain to hear what is being said. It's quite funny actually.

The moral here? Well, apparently once you become a parent a restful night ceases to exist. That's the case for me anyway. I'm always vigilant of what's going on in my house. I hear the dog many rooms away, running in her sleep. I hear my husband's breathing beside me, and even in another room, someone tossing and turning in their crib. I've been known to rush into a child's room as they are about to roll off a bed just to save them from crashing to the floor. My husband always ask how I knew it was going to happen. I just had a sense, I guess.

Apparently, I should waited to join the service until I was a mother, then I would have heard every crack and snap of the branches in the field that night. I would have told that combat instructor to back away from me with one eye open and one eye closed and not even had to move an inch. Maybe, I would have been able to employ my heightened mommy awareness. Maybe, I would have been able to use the eyes in the back of my head. Then again, I don't know if I could torn myself away from my children for an exercise like that. Something about lullabies and lavender at a nighttime bath are much more appealing to me now then dirt, camo paint and the faint smell of sulfur in the night air.