Where Everyone Knows Your Name

When I was single, I had spent some time in a very small town.  There are definitely pros and cons to small towns.  One thing that I had to overcome was that the locals didn't know my extended family and weren't related to me in any way.  While "new blood" may seem like a good thing in this kind of situation, suspicion of outsiders was a hard thing to surmount.  The major "pro" that made living with the before mentioned "con" was that EVERYONE knew my name.  Through a lot of trial and error, I found my place in that tiny town, despite my great grand parents absence from the town census records.

When we moved to the Great White North, I found myself, once again, in the same predicament. However, instead of assimilating into one small town, I had to accomplish this in two simultaneously. I would LOVE to say that I set out with vigor to slay the dragon of "newness," but I didn't.  Looking back, I see all the mistakes I made in the name of timidity that caused me to waste two of the three years we were stationed there.

Despite the social waste that was the product of my asinine hesitancy, my engineer and I did do something right.  We found a local coffee shop/used bookstore...and went there often.  Before we knew it, we were "regulars."  There was nothing like the feeling that came with walking through that door and having the manager greet us by name.  Within the walls of the humble coffee & book shop, we were home.

Honestly, I have no idea how often we went there.  We are book addicts and found comfort among the stacks of books accompanied by the rich smell of coffee.  There were countless times when my engineer would get off of work and we would drive all the way into town just to have a cup of coffee and look at books.  It was a place of solace where we would go and talk or just "be" together.

During times when my engineer was away, I would go there to get out of the empty house.  Familiar faces and a cozy setting would bring a sense of peace when I needed it most.  Hours were spent lost in a good book and a delicious cup of coffee there.

Too often, after having to relocated my family, I have that feeling of just not wanting to find that place AGAIN.  It is so easy to fall into the rut of just wanting the familiar and not wanting to try something new anymore.  With every move, there is an increasingly stronger feeling of wanting to just "wait out" the tour and not putting down roots...at all.

I fight it.  Sometimes it takes a swift kick in the pants from my engineer, but I do fight it.  The fruits of that fight are evident all over the world: from the Great White North to the Orient, from the Orient to Europe, finally, from Europe to the Pacific. As Blue has pulled up our roots, we have searched for the places where everyone would know our names.  In the midst of the search we always find that, not only is it worth it, it is the best thing we could have ever done.

Bathtub Bloopers

You have to LOVE military housing.  Our home in the Great White North had fresh paint and 30 year old pipes.  My introduction to just how neglected our home was came within a couple months of moving in.  Yes, we realized that we had to wear socks and heavy sweaters to stay warm right off the bat.  We just thought everyone had to do that.  All the other stuff that came with our rickety old house would make for wonderful stories.  But living with them at the time, I wouldn't do it again for a million dollars.  I will never forget the very first sign that all was not well in our abode.

It was just a couple months after we moved into our home.  The house was FREEZING.  Heavy sweaters, thick socks, and warm pants were a must.  In the mornings, I remember how I would look at the floor with dread, pull socks on my feet under the covers, and (on the count of 3) swing my legs out from underneath the warm blankets.  It was not a pleasant way to wake up in the morning.  

I showered first thing in the morning.  It was the only way to get warm after hitting those icy floors.  Taking my clothes into the bathroom with me, I would drape them over the radiator with hopes that they would actually warm up before I had to put them on.  One morning was so dreadfully cold that I decided that I needed a bath instead of a shower.  My body desperately needed to warm up.

After stealing all the heat from the water, I dried off and got dressed in the steaming bathroom.  Honestly, I spent a fair amount of time in there...all due to the dread I felt about braving the coldness of the rest of the house.  Finally, ready for my day, I went down stairs.

Oh, the sight that greeted me!!!  Turning the corner off of the staircase, I was confronted with a flooded kitchen!  Water was EVERYWHERE!  The whole left side kitchen walls and cabinetry were absolutely dripping with water,  the ceiling, the walls, everything.  Looking up, I realized that the bathtub must have drained into the kitchen instead of the pipes.  In a panic, I ran and gathered the few towels we owned and got to work drying the best that I could.

Taking a deep breath, I called Housing Maintenance.  Sheepishly, I explained that I had just flooded the kitchen and needed help, now.  Within half and hour, a repair man was there, working hard.  Staying out of his way, I waited to hear what the verdict was.  When he finally emerged from his task, I asked about what he had found.  

Shaking his head, he explained that what had happened had just been a matter of time.  Perplexed, I asked what he meant.  He then continued to say that he had pulled up the maintenance records on our unit before he came over and discovered that the plumbing hadn't been looked at in 30 years.  

Gulping, I asked him if there were any other issues that I needed to know about.  Smiling, he simply said, "Call when things go wrong."  There was no "if"...it was "when."  Boy, over the proceeding years, I called.  I called a LOT!  

My engineer would grow angrier and angrier over the following years at the housing military were expected to live in.  While I have heard that there is good housing out there, all the base housing we have ever lived in has been demolished after we moved out.  To this day I chuckle when I hear young enlisted spouses talk about how much better officer housing is and how unfair it is.  I bite my tongue and keep my thoughts to my self.  Thus far, we have only lived in housing that was condemned upon our exiting.  

Compared to housing issues we would face through the years, that first bathtub blooper is pretty tame.  Our experience with condemned base housing would cause us to look at people who insist on base housing with a mixture of concern and bewilderment.  Yes, I am gun shy.  Five solid years of disgraceful housing were enough for me.

Training Day Gone Horribly Wrong

Our first year swimming in the Blue held a lot of new experiences for us.  Some were the comical bloopers of new arrivals into a unique society while others were difficult, and painful, opportunities for growth.  The tumultuous atmosphere of the military forced us to grow swiftly.  Fore either you grow stronger or you fall.

The military, as a culture, has team building days.  These events are structured to foster physical readiness, leadership abilities, and cohesiveness as a group.  My engineer's first Training Exercise Day ended tragically, forcing both of us to see just how quickly everything could end.

The obstacle course everyone was working through that day was both challenging and dangerous.  While Blue had not had a casualty on the course in the past, the possibilities were strong that it would, eventually, happen.  My engineer had gone through the course in the past with the squadron.  

I remember the day that he worked through that course the first time.  He came home, proud of what he had accomplished, walking a bit taller.  I remember how he off-handedly mentioned how one team member refused to participate in one section of the course, out of concern for safety.    Having never seen the course myself, I asked why.  This portion of the course involved a 30 foot climb straight up, a swing over the top, and the a straight down descent on the other side.  Upon hearing that, I looked at my engineer a little differently.  Not proudly, mind you.  More like very concerned for his sanity.

When my engineer told me that they were hitting the course again, but this time as a large group, I remember explicitly telling him to be careful.  Smiling and kissing me goodbye, he told me, flippantly, that of course he would be careful...he would take it slow.

A few hours later, my engineer came home, sadness written on his face.  Sitting on the couch, he told me what happened.  A senior officer had climbed the beast to lead his team through the course.  However, something went wrong at the top.  My engineer, standing not 30 feet away, described how the man then plummeted 30 feet to the ground.  Looking at me, and then his hands, he told me that the medical personnel did all that they could do...but there was nothing to be done.  

The men and women in uniform stood and watched as one of their leaders fell to what would soon there after be his death.  My engineer would carry this with him, being extra careful with his own men, in the years that followed.  

Death in combat is something that we can ALMOST accept (unless you are the wife of the fallen....then forget that) in our society.  But there is no way that anyone can ever fully rationalize a death in a training exercise.  It is a loss that is wasteful and means nothing in the end.

The loss on that course helped force the military to examine safety standards and measures at its Obstacle Courses.  After a second death of a senior officer from the same tower at another location, Blue was forced to discontinue use of that apparatus.  While this tragedy can be rationalized in light of that needed change, it does not erase the loss of a good man nor the memory of his fall from the minds of the troops who stood witness.  

New Addition

Before our daughter was born, during the Spring of our first tour, I had gone into town to buy cat food for my old lady.  At this time, Cinnamon was 19 and very grouchy.  While I loved spending time with her, it became readily apparent that she was not going to be with us much longer.

There was a store whose proceeds went towards supporting the local humane society.  Because my engineer and I both believe in giving back to the community, when we discovered they carried Cinnamon's food, we made sure to buy it from them.  I will never forget the day I fell in love with Nutmeg.

Standing at the counter, bag in hand, I visited with the young lady working the counter.  Just beyond my ability to hear clearly, there was a rumble.  Finally, perplexed at what I couldn't identify, I ask the young lady if she heard anything.  A huge smile broke across her face and she excitedly said, "Follow me."

Walking deeper into the store, she explained that they had the most beautiful, sweet cat that she had ever seen.  She continued to explain that the rumble that I heard from the front of the store was this cat purring.  Turning the corner, I saw her, spread out on her back, belly in the air, purring like a muscle car.

She was beautiful!  Nutmeg was a lovely sun dappled shadow with grays, browns, golds, oranges, and creams.  And she was HUGE!  My Cinnamon was only 6 pounds.  Nutmeg had to be 11 pounds.  I was smitten.  Calling my engineer, I told him that he just HAD to see her.  Knowing that getting a pet was a joint decision, I knew that she probably wouldn't come home with me.  But it was worth a try.

My engineer came out to the store with me after work.  After talking about the financial commitment that would come with moving her where ever we might end up, we submitted our adoption paperwork.  When we handed over our paperwork, the humane society worker talked to us about Nutmeg's background.

Nutmeg had been born on an indian reservation in a neighboring state.  Evidently, she and her sister had been brought into a mobile spay and neuter clinic that was run by the humane society in our town.  Sadly, the owner never returned for either cat.  So, with very little choice, the humane society workers had brought both of them back north.  The sister, who had been pure white, was adopted immediately.  Nutmeg had been there a week when we met and fell in love with her.

Nutmeg quickly became a very vital part of our family.  She has always been there when I needed a little gentle companionship.  Her high, cheerful spirits are also a constant source of entertainment.  Just as these things were true of her when she was a kitten, they are still true almost ten years later.

Yes, we have gone to great pains to make sure she never had to go into quarantine.  This has meant doubling up on her Favin Tests at times.  Never has it crossed our minds to leave her behind anywhere, even though she has now lived in three overseas locations.  When I hear people say that they have had to leave one of their "children" behind somewhere because they just couldn't arrange means to take them, my heart breaks because what it really means is that they just didn't care enough to do what needed to be done.

Our Nutmeg was our first daughter.  She has been by my side through two pregnancies, deployments, separations, multiple moves, and times when I just needed the simple comfort that comes with being loved.  I can't imagine a life without her.  Her gentle presence has helped to teach my children to be compassionate to others, and they, too, love the constance that her presence brings.

My Nemesis...The Commissary.

I have a Love-Hate relationship with the commissary.  This is coming from a person who LOVES grocery stores and finds them quite interesting in what they reveal about the local population. I actually love to go in and browse in grocery stores the same way other women like to look at shoes or purses.  But the commissary?  Uh...no way.

When we moved to the Great White North, it was with great anticipation that I went into the commissary for the first time.  I had never been in one before, so I was actually quite excited about what I might find.  I remember forgiving the facade.  Never judge a book by its cover, right???  But my heart fell when I walked in.  To say that it wasn't welcoming is to put it lightly.  It wasn't simply utilitarian, it was run down.

With a heavy heart, I remember taking a rickety old shopping cart with a very noisy wheel and heading to the produce section. I would learn, through the years, to always buy my produce on the economy.  While it may, at times, be more expensive (except when overseas) on the economy, at least it wasn't on its last leg.

During our time at the Great White North, I would learn a few basic commissary rules.  The first one, and I am EXTREMELY careful about this one, is NEVER go to the commissary around payday.  Even if it means that my family eats beans and rice for a couple days, I do NOT go around payday.  That is the perfect way to ruin a good day...or make a bad one even worse.

The commissary around payday is a zoo.  For some reason, mothers choose to skip naps and take cranky kids to the grocery store.  Screaming kids, yelling moms, and empty shelves.  That is what I discovered I would get if I went to the commissary around payday.  Sadly, it took a little while to figure this out.  Yes, in regards to this unpleasant situation, I was a very slow learner.

The second rule of the commissary is to always be ready to modify your list.  Never before had I ever had to do this.  Before the military, we were always near very well stocked grocery stores.  I would create our week's menu, make a grocery list, and get what was needed.  After the first few months at our first duty station, I discovered that I needed to actually notate our menu on my shopping list so that I could improvise on the fly.  In the end, this turned out to be a blessing, for, upon moving overseas, I had to spend a lot of time modifying and rewriting recipes according to what was actually available.

The third rule is a kicker for me.  I quickly learned that if I needed something for holiday cooking, special order it so I could ACTUALLY have it when I needed it.  There is always that nut case who will go in and buy every single one because she thinks it will be sold out.  After our first Thanksgiving in the Great White North, I learned that I had to do this when it came to cranberries.  The produce manager and I quickly became friends when I asked him if it would be easier if I just requested my cranberries.  I remember how he responded, with a huge grin, "That would be WONDERFUL!"  I have done it ever since.

The only redeeming quality about the commissary is that I never know who I might see there. I remember so many days, especially during long periods of separations and deployments when I would pack up the kids and go to the commissary, with great hopes of running into people that I knew.  During those lonely times, I remember feeling like the commissary was really a scavenger hunt...who might be in the cereal aisle?  Like any small town grocery store, the commissary is the place to meet up with people and catch up a little in the midst of busy lives.

Even though I still HATE the commissary, I have learned to live with it.  I passionately avoid that place around payday.  My children are fed and rested when I go.  Flexibility and adaption are essential for culinary happiness.  I now accept the fact that the nut cases who buy everything on the shelves are EVERYWHERE, and I can work around them by special ordering whatever I might need for a gathering.  By coming to terms with the fact that the Commissary is seen as a place where I go in, get what I need, and leave, I have learned how to deal with the disappointment of its utilitarian and, typically, abused atmosphere.  Will I ever enjoy going there?  No.  Will I ever understand people who SWEAR by the commissary?  Absolutely not.  Do I keep that to myself?  Not any more.

Local Flavor

One thing that I adore about being connected with the military is the introduction to so many different cultures and sub-cultures.  The diversity that military families are exposed to is amazing.  While some cultures take a lot of adjustment and mindful living, others are easy to assimilate into.  The Great White North was a delightful beginning to this ever adjusting lifestyle that would become our own.

On our drive north from St. Louis, we were first shown the strong, resilient people who called the Great White North home.  Over the handful of years that we were blessed with living there, we would see that they were so much more.  While being strong, they were compassionate and warm.

Those who settled in the Great White North were of Scandinavian descent.  The town close to our base held their cultural heritage in high regard, which made living in the area a delight!  The people were close to their roots and cherished their rich history and customs.  Like a handful of areas in the United States, they celebrated their connection to the old country with pride and enthusiasm.

Every year, they held an annual festival that brought the Old World to America.  Artisans, musicians, and royalty would make the trek to the New World to mingle with their distant cousins.  It was with delight that my little family went to our first NorskHols Fest.

If you ask my engineer what he loved the most about living in the Great White North, his face will break out in a huge smile and he will exclaim, "Viking on a Stick!"  I will never forget when he had his first encounter with this sinful pleasure.  I had traveled south to attend my brother's wedding.  It was my engineer's birthday and he had gone to NorskHols Fest with some dear friends.  Talking to him that evening, I asked him how he was doing.  With great excitement he told me about all that he had seen, ending the conversation with the highlight of his day...

Viking on a Stick is an alarmingly delicious meat on a stick experience. They take a seasoned ground meat mixture and deep fry it.  Yes, I have to say that a note of panic entered my voice when I asked if he had only one.  With great relief, I heard him answer "yes."  To this day, I think of it as "Coronary on a Stick."

It was also on this day that he had his first introduction to Lutefisk.  Lutefisk is a Norwegian specialty that consist of white fish cured in lye.  My delightful engineer described how a very statuesque woman had offered it to him and our close friends.  The unfortunate part of the experience was that my dear friend is very petite and the plate was at nose level for her.  Evidently, they politely declined.

While Lutefisk left a lot to be desired, Leftsa was a huge hit.  This charming Norwegian flatbread is the perfect platform for anything your heart desires.  Sweet.  Savory.  It doesn't matter.  My engineer LOVED the Cinnamon, Sugar, and Butter.  Naturally.  I really like the Lemon.

Going to NorskHols Fest became an annual experience for us.  My personal favorite was seeing the artisans with their crafts and wares.  Their rich knitting tradition reflected both their love of detail and nature.  The combination of color, texture, and design was breathtaking to me.

During the following years, we would enjoy the experience of learning how to live in various cultures.  Our world view would shift as we grew in understanding of how the US fit into the Big Picture of Global Politics.  Where once it stood in the center of our understanding of the world, it has shifted to being one piece of many.

Just as we experienced Local Flavor in the Great White North, we would do the same around the world, seeing the beauty that lives in all cultures that are not better, not worse, just different from our own.

NO!!! I do NOT Swing!

Oh, my journey as a military spouse as had its interesting moments.  Those experiences have given me hours and hours of entertainment through the years.  Whether they were my own or something that I heard from a friend, my fascination with humanity has only grown with the passing years.

On all bases, there is the "talk."  Some of it is true, but most of it is urban legend.  On the rare occasion that it is true, my wonderment at my fellow man typically increases tenfold.  My engineer and I have a laugh, file it away for a dull moment...at which time we will, again, have another laugh.  There are handful that remain on active rotation, and this is one of them.

It was the middle of winter and my engineer was away at training.  It was just me and my little lady.  Because of the yard nazis and our garage door's tendency to not cooperate when the temperatures dipped, I had left our snow shovel and ice chipper out where I could easily get to  them.  My moments for de-icing the walk and driveway were stolen ones since I had a wee one inside.

One evening, I bundled up my little girl and went to the Shoppette to return some movies and get new ones.  While browsing through the movie section, a very casual acquaintance approached me.  Being thrilled to talk to someone who could actually talk back, I happily greeted her.  I had no idea I was about to be schooled.

After exchanging pleasantries, she came to the reason for approaching me.  Very matter of factly, she informed me that even if my engineer and I had an "arrangement" while he was gone, it was bad to flaunt it in front of the whole neighborhood.

Stunned and mute, I finally found my voice, "WHAT?!?!"  She then informed me that leaving my snow shovel out with the large head up and the garage door cracked meant that I was "Open for business."  I have to admit, I started laughing, and laughing hard.  By the time I caught my breath, I saw that she wasn't joking.  She wasn't laughing.  She was actually turning red with embarrassment. Stammering her apologies, she quickly told me to put my shovel away and left as fast as she could.

Shaking my head with amusement, I decided that it was just some kind of joke.  Nice. I told my engineer about it on the phone that night, and he got as much amusement out of it as I did.

Life continued, he came home, and the snow finally melted.  Then we got the surprise of our lives.  A friend who was a personnelist told us about an event that she was inadvertently connected to that made us look at the little reprimand in a different light.

The base had just broken up a Swingers Ring in the other housing area across base.  What I had taken as a hilarious joke was actually happening!  My quirky fellow humans were at it again.  They were having an awesome time converting urban legend to reality, morphing the precious image of the community I was trying to assimilate into.

Over the following years, I would hear people make general statements of rampant infidelity within the military community without them actually being able to name names.  I calmly state that the extraordinary has a way of overshadowing the good.  While yes, there is a major issue of infidelity within our ranks, our faithful do outnumber them.  We are just quiet and calm in our lifestyle and do not attract undue attention.

The Facade of Safety

One thing that was a culture shock to me upon my arrival into military society was what I saw as putting too much trust in the caliber of others who lived on the base: the cars left running with the keys in the ignition, purses left on front seats, children playing unattended, and front doors left unlocked.  Honestly, these things made my stomach turn.

After I had our daughter, there were many people who offered to babysit.  However, I had a hard time trusting my little girl into the care of people that I did not feel that I knew well enough.  While they may have been trustworthy, I just couldn't do it.

There were countless times when I had gone into the BX to find small children left on a couch in front of the TV in the electronics section.  Where were their parents?  Why would they leave their children unguarded?  Over the years that followed, I would continue to see this done.  While in Germany, I actually started calling Security Forces when I saw it.  Let me tell you why.

The military is a cross section of American society.  Just as we have a delightful melting pot of cultures, we, unfortunately, also have ALL elements of humanity...the good, the bad, and the evil.  Due to the integrity and oath that all have sworn to uphold, many people forget that evil can still lurk in our ranks.

While we were stationed in the Great White North, Evil reared its face for all to see.  Our community was rocked by the rape of a toddler.  Her father had left her in the care of a friend while he ran to pick up a few things from the store.

People were appalled and shocked that this "rare" occurrence could happen on base.  As I visited with the moms in my neighborhood play group, I heard their shocked exclamations.  While I was saddened and angered by this crime, I was not surprised.  After hearing more proclamations of the safety of military society than I could stomach, I finally spoke up.

Calmly, I expressed my concern over our community's false sense of security and how I was appalled at how lax people were about caring for their own safety.  At this point, I listed the examples of this behavior that I had personally seen.

After I had finished, there was silence...followed by angry defensiveness.  I was surprised that these women actually felt like they had a right, as military wives, to not take care of themselves and their families!  I remember being hit with the argument that I was new to the military, and, therefore, did not understand how its society worked.

I will admit, that argument hurt.  I had only been connected to the military for 2 years at this point.  To sit and hear Captains' wives blindly praise the virtues of military society while ignoring the fact that we, as women and human beings, must still be ever vigilant, was hard.  Things were never the same in that group.  They would smile and falsely greet me when I was at the park, but the wall was there.  I had put a crack in the facade of safety, and they didn't like it one bit.

As the years wore on and assignments changed, I would see the military community get struck again by events that would shake its sense of security.  While the vast majority of our population has no intent to harm, we cannot forget that our community is a mix of flawed human beings and anything is possible.

DADT....a Personal Introduction to this Policy

This week marks the repeal of Don't Ask Don't Tell.  While many have very strong opinions either for or against, our prayer is for a safe and peaceful transition that the military and its members are going to have to face as a society that was once so strongly opposed.  Through the years, my engineer and I have lived in a society that we were thankful our homosexual friends did not have to contend with.  

My first glimpse of DADT came while we were living in the Orient.  We had recently arrived, and everything was so foreign to us.  Having left the Great White North's frigid winter (a whopping -65 with windchill), we were physically shocked by the balmy 78 degrees that welcomed us in the Orient.  After spending 4 days waiting for a home, we had moved in and started the next chapter in our lives.  My engineer started work and life was good.

One day, my engineer came home, obviously baffled by something that was happening at work.  That was when he told me about something that has not left my mind since.

There was a lot of foot traffic passing in front of my engineer's office.  Realizing that something was up, he had asked his MSgt about it.  There had been a DADT violation, and the service member being kept in the office across the hall was waiting for the final decision to come down from on high.  

That was when the story unfolded.  The service member had been carrying on an affair with, not one gardener, but two. One of the gardeners became jealous upon discovering this as a result of looking through the service member's video tape collection.  In a rage, the gardener had taken one of the tapes and had dropped it off in the Shoppette's movie rental return box.  In an attempt to identify the unmarked movie, the staff had played it in the store's video player.  I don't think I have to go any further.  You are bound to have a very strong imagination.

Unfortunately, the service member was living in a tight knit community and was easily identified.  What followed was a swift decision and a discharge.  Now, if this situation did not smack so strongly of exploitation of a poorer people, I would simply say that guy had a social situation on his hands.  

However, after having lived there for two years and understanding the desperate divide that existed between the haves and the have nots, I feel that his actions were more predatory than relational. In this case, if the sexual orientation was different, I feel the same outcome would have been appropriate.  

What are my personal thoughts on this repeal?  It was only a matter of time.  While some may think and argue it in the ivory towers, my chief and foremost concern is for the safety of our service members.  I know that my heart will break with each story that comes out of infractions committed.  

Funk-tions

I find people terribly fascinating. One of my favorite things to do is to get a cup of coffee, sit on a bench, and people watch.  Of course, it is awesome to have a fellow people watcher with me so that we can talk about the various specimens that walk past, but I can happily fly solo in this endeavor.  I enjoy watching people walk by and creating the stories of their lives in my head.  People are just highly entertaining.  No two specimens are ever alike...no matter how hard they might try.  That being said, I am also a pretty private person who doesn't enjoy the chaos of huge crowds.  I am more of an intimate gathering kind of lady.  However, for those of you who live in the Blue, you know that the military LOVES its crowded events full of people pretending to have a good time.

My introduction to military funk-tions came our first summer in the Great White North.  All of a sudden, our free time was taken up with "required fun" activities that I really did not want to go to.  BBQs...dinners...gatherings...you name it.  Our calendar was filled.  At first, being new to the area, I was excited about going.  The desperate need to meet people had kicked in full swing by the time summer finally arrived after the long, cold winter.  Sadly, while I enjoyed a few of the people at these events, I quickly learned who I really did not want to be around.  That was when I learned the "Smile & Nod."

"Smile & Nod" is the simple act of pretending to be engaged when you aren't.  Honestly, it is my survival mechanism.  Doing this keeps me from informing people that they are complete morons who really needed to grow up a bit or work on their social skills.  This tool also helps me survive painfully dull evenings.  Of course, there are times when it doesn't work so well.  But hey, I try!  

Those early funk-tions were painful for me.  I wasn't very good at holding my tongue or masking my desire to flee.  Since I didn't know very many people, I hadn't built friendships yet that would allow me to at least have someone to team up with to face them together.  Throw  drunken, irresponsible CGOs into the mix, and I was in my own personal living hell.  While I have no issue with responsible consumption, those numerous nights out felt like college frat parties.  Supposedly these people had graduated from college...but they acted like freshmen just out of their parents homes.  While a few understood moderation, many did not.

Then it clicked!  I discovered that I could pair my love for people watching with these painfully awkward situations.  I started detaching myself from the situation and observing my fellow human beings as if I was walking through a zoo.  Over here, in this enclosure, we have the CGO who gets testy when drunk.  Right next to it, we will find the two who get amative after just a couple drinks.  And over in this direction, you will find the CGOs that feel they are they are God's gift to women after tying a couple brews under their belts.  I think you get the picture.  All the while, I would sit there, laugh, talk, and hold my single Guinness.

I also found that this technique worked great when surviving "Spouses Only" events.  While I loved spending time with the other spouses in my engineer's squadron, I found the base wide spouses' club to be quite tiring.  Due to the obvious mask that all the women donned, I had this distinct feeling that nothing was as it appeared.  A few of the older spouses were genuinely being themselves.  However, among the Lt and Captains' wives?  Goodness, the games were on.  I went to two Spouses Club events at the behest of some of older spouses who I liked and respected.  But after looking at the cost, both financially and personally, I never went back.  The last thing I wanted to do was spend money to be something that I wasn't. Watching some of the Captains' spouses (a few who lived near me) fawn and laugh over the older wives just made my stomach turn.  Having experienced their cattiness in my everyday life, the facade sickened me.  After a few conversations with my engineer, I knew that it was not something I wanted to do again.  To this day, I am more than a bit gun shy when it comes to those clubs.  I have to have my "wing-man" when entering that battle zone.  

One type of funk-tion that I honestly enjoy are dinner parties.  This gathering of people is typically a balanced mix of the sexes.  There are the handful of singles, but mostly couples. I have met some of my dearest friends at dinner parties.  Conversation and good food are the focal point of these gatherings.  While the active duty maintain conduct befitting the rank structure, spouses enjoy the low key mingling and social interaction that they miss elsewhere.      I have learned so much over the years from the many dinner parties that I have had the blessing of attending.  After gauging the atmosphere, I can typically relax and enjoy myself. Of course, there have been the occasional exceptions.  

There was one dinner party, early on, that I will never forget.  One commander (not my engineer's), had the propensity of hitting on younger female officers, despite his wedding band.  This got even more noticeable as the evening wore on and the drinks flowed.  At first, I really didn't know what to think.  I was even more confused when his beautiful, gracious wife entered the scene.  I found him to be quite repulsive and felt even more so after encountering him at various funk-tions over the following years.  However, this night stands out because of a woman I respect highly for her ability to make this military life work...and make it look effortless.  In the midst of a crowd of adults humoring this idiot, she spoke up.  She didn't do it heatedly, but intelligently.  Her tact, grace, and honesty were an inspiration to me.  Frankly, I was mesmerized at her ability to say what she really thought in a fashion that left no room for argument. In her, I saw a woman whose identity was her own.  The memory of her strength and honestly would be an encouragement to me to be myself.

As a young spouse, there were a few very important lessons that I learned by attending funk-tions.  I discovered that some of the stereotypes did, indeed, ring true.  Most of the time, the fulfillment of "prophecy" was done by some poor, misguided or immature spouse who could not think on her own.  Sometimes it was a matter of lack of etiquette training, while others were just an inability to go with the flow.  With these, "Smile & Nod" became my only weapon. I would watch as she would run her mouth off with generalizations about the enlisted and take note not to be seen in public with her.  Stupidity has a way of rubbing off on people...and I just wasn't up for getting dirty.  I saw the other side of the coin when a young enlisted spouse would make "statement of fact" comments concerning what officer spouses are like.  Because I did not want her to lose face, I would quietly keep my own identity to myself.

Yes, funk-tions are a part of our lives in the military.  However, they are what you make of them.  There are countless times when I go because I don't want to send my engineer into the lion's den on his own.  But I pick and choose now.  Just because in invite comes down the hatch, it doesn't mean I have to attend.  While I have met several wonderful women through Spouses' groups, I also know that they can be a bit of a liability.  While the prospect of some funk-tions have a way of putting me in a funk, I have learned how to play the game.  As any spouse who has been around the block a few times will tell you, it is a game...and if you aren't up for playing...don't go.  You aren't required to attend.  It is purely up to you.  But note...sometimes the ape house can be quite amusing.

Dak-Rats & My Engineer's Dark Side

Ah, the joys that come with the first few years of marriage.  That is the time when you realize that the love of your life leaves dirty dishes on the counters, shoes in the middle of the floor, and has a tendency to remove his clothing in various stages throughout the house.  It is also the time when he sees that you really don't like to shave, you do stupid things because you don't pay attention, and, if you can get away with it, you levitate in your sleep, spin, and end up with all the blankets...leaving him with NOTHING.  Yes, the bliss of young marriage.  It is also during that time when discoveries that you NEVER thought you would make spring forth...forcing you to face them and just deal with them.  That is exactly what happened to me.  I discovered that my loving, compassionate engineer had a very dark side...one that could be set off by a beast that only stood four inches tall. This is the tale of my engineer versus the Dak-Rat.

The Dak-Rat is really a Richardson Ground Squirrel from the Great White North.  This cute little booger had a way of causing so much mischief that I kind of felt that we must be related.  They would create colonies under lawns, sports fields, and play yards.  They also had a way of eating stuff that they really shouldn't.  And these little guys were EVERYWHERE!

The way you knew that you had a problem was when you would see a single head come popping out the ground.  It reminded me so much of that mallet game that you find in arcades (which I love, by the way).  The cute little heads would pop up and then back down in a blink of an eye.  Sometimes, in a really heavily Dak-Rat populated area, you can really see them all getting into it.  Honestly, I found them to be quite hysterical.  There were times when I would sit with our cat at the window and watch the show.  Of course, my reasons were far different than hers.  She really just wanted me to let her have a go at slaughtering a few.  Alas, I am a mean mom.  It was just like taking a kid to the ice cream shop and telling her she can look, but not have.  I think you get the picture.  Yes, I am very easily amused.

One of the big problems with Dak-Rats were the tunnels they would create underground.  Sometimes, unfortunately, they weren't too deep. There were so many Dak-Rat related injuries caused by ill-starred steps that those in uniform, despite already waging the War on Terror, declared WWIII on the Dak-Rats.  I had no idea how bad it was getting until my engineer brought it, full scale, into our home. Here is my loving engineer who gets gooey eyed over puppies and kittens, going ballistic over a squirrel!  I just could not believe it!

I will never forget the first night it happened.  We were eating a lovely dinner and enjoying each other's company.  All of a sudden, he looks out the window, cusses like a maintainer, and launches himself at the door.  Dumbstruck, I sat and watched as he threw open the door, yells, and hurls his shoe at a squirrel!  I was amazed!  This was a side of him I had never seen before.  Red with anger, he returned to the table, mumbling something that I will not repeat here.  Uh...WHAT???  I think you will have to remind this because I don't think I understand what I just saw.  Quietly, I told him that he would have to go out there to find his shoe.

Now, if this had only happened once, that would be one thing.  But this scene was played out so many times that I finally started closing the curtains before dinner and made sure the back door was shut.  I was getting concerned that the neighbors were going to start talking about the crazy engineer who threw his shoes at squirrels every night.  Really, in a community that had a way of spreading gossip faster than any ladies' beauty parlor, did we need to add this to it??  That was when I started hearing the other spouses' war stories concerning their husbands versus the Dak-Rat.  Men everywhere were absolutely losing their minds.  Part of me wonders if this was happening because they had nothing better to do.  Their primal urges were pushing to the forefront, and the only creatures they could hunt were squirrels.  Even those, like my engineer, were sucked into it.  

One myth that was spreading like wild fire was of a guy who decided to pour fuel down a hole and light it...resulting in a transformer conflagration.  One thing that was not legend was the ample use of air guns (despite being highly illegal on base).  Yards that had dogs were free of Dak-rats.  But ours, which was nestled between a chocolate lab and a bulldog, was magnificently populated, resulting in barking dogs whenever they happened to be outside.  And if I left the window or door open, my husband would have join the pandemonium.

To say that no longer having to see this dark side of my engineer due to being reassigned was a blessing, is an understatement. I was a bit disturbed at how a normally calm, compassionate man could be pushed so forcefully to a point of almost rage.  To this day, he says that he was just protecting our yard so that he didn't have to deal with the base lawn nazis.  Uh huh, right.  As a new spouse, I remember wanting to grip his shoulders and shake him.  Now?  I would chuckle, shake my head, and continue reading my book.  My daughter, being very disturbed by the Jekyll & Hyde change of her loving father, would ask me what was wrong with him.  I would smile and explain, quite simply, that he was just being a man.  Not much more I could really say on the subject, is there?    

Birthing Babies and Discovering Family

When it came time for my first child to arrive, I was feeling pretty alone.  I had grown up, like most in the civilian world, with the idea that family was always close when a new member entered the collective.  But as the time drew nearer, I had to accept the fact that it was going to be just the two of us.  The geographic distance between me and my mother was just too far for her to be able to come up.  While my mind understood, my heart ached.  My engineer was so loving and supportive during this time.  The pregnancy hormones were coursing through my system, and he was that loving, level voice of reason that kept me grounded.

My engineer and I were excited about our anniversary.  We had made reservations at a nice restaurant and were looking forward to one last dinner out before our child arrived.  However, none of that would happen.  Our beautiful daughter decided that she wanted to grace us with her presence two weeks early.  After two days full of severe back pain, my water broke at midnight...the morning of our anniversary.

Typical of a first child, my labor was an uneventful 17 hours.  My engineer never left my side. Honestly, during that whole thing, I didn't have time to miss anyone.  What I had was what I needed, and, at that moment, what I needed was what I wanted.  The hospital staff, CNM, and my engineer were my team.  It wasn't until after we were settled into the ward that I started longing for my family.  I remember thinking about the "oohs" and "ahhs" that are a part of family welcoming a new addition into the fold.  The room seemed so lonely.  I remember holding my beautiful dark haired angel, tears rolling down my face, as I thought about the lonely world she was entering...and wishing it wasn't so.

Then it happened.  One the second day after she was born, my closest friend arrived with her husband.  I was SO surprised.  All of a sudden, that feeling that I had missed earlier was there.  When she walked into that room, I discovered something very special.  My Military Family.

I wasn't alone at all.  My little family wasn't floating in an ocean of Blue on our own.  We were surrounded by family.  Not only were they family, but they were family that we didn't have to explain military oddities to.  My military family understood because they were living it.  Over the years that followed, my military family would grow.  While I am cautious when it comes to developing friendships, I would open my heart and mind to meeting new people and reaching out to them where they are at.  Now, years later, I have "family" all over the globe.

When I meet new spouses, I remember how disconnected I felt when I was new to this military life.  I work hard to help them know that they are not alone.  That they, too, are surrounded by a loving family who understands just where they are at.  While I wish that they did not have to go through what I went through, I understand that it takes a real "ah ha" moment for them to truly see what is right in front of them.

My military sisters are my anchor.  Over the years, I have realized that, while my blood family may love me, they do not always understand.  Sometimes, when things are rough, trying to talk to someone who doesn't live in the Blue can make life even harder.  What I LOVE about my military sisters is that we support, understand, and encourage each other to walk on.  While we all offer shoulders to cry on, we also have hands that raise chins with a loving, "Square your shoulders and march on, Love."

Over the years, I have heard several women lament the "quality" of spouses who marry into the military.   Like any society, there are the bad apples.  I will not deny that.  However, when I look at the caliber of woman who I have chosen to be my own military sister, I can't help but wonder where the neigh sayers are looking for friends.  I have been blessed to have encountered so many strong, intelligent, wise, and compassionate women through the years, that I know these women exist everywhere.

Just as our active duty form their iron strong bonds with each other through the trials that they face together, so do spouses.  Some friendships are there for a season, but others endure years of separation and only grow stronger with time.  These military sisters are the ones that I can laugh with, walk through life with, and mourn with.  We can count on each other for honesty, regardless of the situation.  We laugh at life and all that goes with it.  We listen and speak thoughts honestly and lovingly.

Frankly, I do not think I would be the woman I am today if it wasn't for these dear women.  It takes a special kind of woman to make this life work.  She has to have a very thick skin, but still be compassionate and tenderhearted.  Wisdom is a vital part of her makeup as she has to maneuver through a society that is a microcosm of America as a whole.  The melange of cultures and backgrounds in the military demands both sincerity and discernment. Without these, the fabric of our society can begin to unravel due to inflexibility and isolationist behavior.  As a young spouse, I had the honor of observing older spouses who were the manifestation of all these qualities and were able to embrace everyone, regardless of background.  Upon observing the beauty, strength, and grace that they brought to our society, I knew that what I desired most, was to develop those traits within myself.  

Upon returning home from the hospital with my daughter, I looked at my military family in a completely different light.  I saw that my wee one had so many aunts and uncles.  I will never forget how my colicky little girl immediately calmed when she was held by a Tech Sgt. in my engineer's squadron.  The love and gentleness that he gave her was enough to give him a very special place in our hearts.  There we were, tired, frazzled new parents, and he gave us hope that she would not scream forever.  To this day, we are immensely thankful for the hope that he gave us.

With the birth of my daughter came the discovery of a family that would be the strength and connection that I so desperately needed.  Without my military family, I would not be the woman I am today.  While I love my "family,"  my military sisters are the ones that I first turn to in times of joy and sorrow.  With them, nothing has to be explained.  The unspoken understanding of living in the Blue is our anchor in the midst of storms.

Life Lessons from an Indian Cooking Class

Over time, my engineer and I discovered the treasures that the Great White North had to offer. We found that, due to the long cold winters, the people were wonderful beyond belief.  Because most socialization was done indoors for 9 months, it was best that you were on good terms with everyone, or you wouldn't be welcome anywhere.  By the time that we were there about a year, I discovered that I had a passion for cooking.  It would have amazed the "self" of pre-military the number of 20+ guest dinners that I had prepared that first year.  Even now, as the mother of two, I am a bit amazed at the hours I had spent in the kitchen.  That passion for cooking is what prompted me to go on a treasure hunt for a good kitchen store.

Where we were located, the closest Williams-Sonoma was a 5 hour drive...and don't even ask about a Sur La Table.  I have yet to see one of those again.  I had always enjoyed cooking, but it was nothing like the passion that I developed that first 12 months in the military.  What I discovered was that the way to a squadron's heart was through its stomach.  I also found that if I wanted Indian or Greek food, I had to make it myself.  So, out of sheer homesickness for restaurants from back home, I dove into culinary exploration.

One day, while exploring our local town, I spotted the one thing that had been in my dreams for months: a kitchen store.  A real, honest to God, KITCHEN STORE!  I couldn't believe my luck.  After parking and carefully braving the ice, I went in.  That blessed store became a haven to me.  It was an independently owned store with the most delightful staff you could ever want.  They had cooking classes and contests throughout the year!  Oh, my prayers had been answered!  I could go in there and browse for a good hour.

The thing that kept drawing me back was how at home I felt in there.  After feeling so out of my element, it was amazing to actually go somewhere and have someone know my name.  I had never realized just how lonely I was until I found myself searching for reasons to go in.  That store was the kind of place where local women would go in and visit.  There was always coffee and cider on during the long winter months.  I got to meet so many women there who had the same love...food.  And not just any food.  But good food, made with their own two hands.

I will never forget when the owner of the store released the next season's list of classes.   On that list, front and center, was Indian Cooking!  My engineer and I were desperately missing good Indian food after leaving our local neighborhood Indian restaurant behind in St. Louis.  Quickly, without hesitation, I signed up for the class.  When the night for the class finally came, it felt like Christmas morning.  With great excitement, I went to the class.

To say that night is one of the highlights of our time in the Great White North seems too simple.  What I learned that night from a local doctor's wife opened the doors to a whole new world for me.  She showed me how simple Indian food was, and in the process, paved the way for me to learn creative ways to remedy homesickness.  What I learned that night was that, whenever I miss a location, I can transport my family back to that place through a simple dinner that brings back memories.

Over the last decade, I have transported our family back to several locations.  Indian & Greek food for our time in St. Louis.  Santa Maria style BBQ and good Mexican food for my home state.  Food from our time in the Orient.  Various cuisines from our three years in Europe.  Whenever we miss our military family from past assignments, I cook a meal that takes us there, opens the conversation to good memories, and reminds us of how rich our lives are, despite the challenges and heartache.

To this day, I am beyond thankful for the one Indian cooking class that I took all those years ago.  That young woman desperately needed to learn some coping mechanisms.  Not only did the doors to Indian Cooking open to her, but she learned that familiar smells, tastes and textures  can bring a connection to different times that seem so far away.

Now, every time we arrive at a new location, I search for cooking classes and cook books for local cuisine.  I have learned that to live within a different culture means to embrace the food and the closeness that people have by sharing a meal.  Yes, over the years my cookbook collection has grown by leaps and bounds...but each book is an important element within the various chapters of our Military Life.  That one Indian cooking class taught me the invaluable life lesson of making the best of the life I have.  While we may be completely uprooted on a regular basis, as long as I have my kitchen, going back is just a dinner away.

The Joy of Public Mortification

One thing that I quickly learned about living in the pressure cooker military environment was that some people just did not have social skills.  Normally, I could get away from those who lacked the ability to interact with their fellow human beings.  However, that is very difficult to do in the military.  Some people are just angry, and they long to spread that discontent among their fellow spouses.  Through the following years I would bear witness to the airing of dirty laundry in very public places.  I would watch in awe and wonder as grown women would reduce themselves to quarreling junior high girls, right before my very eyes.  It is quite amazing, really.  There is a small, but extremely LOUD segment of the military population that feels that, without drama or discord, their worlds are going to end.

Everyone knows what I am talking about.  These are the women that give military spouses a very bad rap.  Most of us want to live in peace, run the household, have our friends, and see the military society work the way it is supposed to.  The turmoil these women are capable of creating is mesmerizing.  A simple affront or misunderstanding results in fireworks and the makings of WWIII.  With great effort, they try to draw their husbands into it, causing tensions to rise within units.  Many times, this stuff happens because they are bored or have decided that the Military is the source of all their problems..."Let's stir the pot a little?" First Sgts and leaders within squadrons and units understand this...completely. All of a sudden, guys are called in for "control your wife" talks with the Shirt or the commander.  

My first personal experience was a result of a chance encounter with my delightful "Shared Wall" neighbors.  My neighbor and his screaming wife FINALLY conceived. No, this didn't bring a stop to the amazing noise volume filling our home from next door.  If anything, it increased.  I remember that, at this point, the leaves had changed and fallen from the trees.  It wasn't brisk outside.  It was downright cold.  Winter was setting in.  My engineer and I had discovered that we were expecting our first baby a month before.  While we told friends, we did NOT scream it from the mountain tops.  People would know soon enough.  I was a couple months along and sick as a dog.

One evening, after spending most of the day embracing the toilet bowl, I peeled myself away from the house to go to the BX for a few essentials.  I had meandered through the store, picked up what I needed, and stood in line.  Because I wasn't feeling too hot, I hadn't really noticed the people around me.  I guess you could say I was zoning out.  I was at the register when I heard a voice behind me say, "HEY!"

I turned around to see that it was my neighbor and her husband.  I forced a smile and said a pleasant, "Hello!  How is pregnancy treating you?"  only to be cut off with a loud, terse, "you need to stop throwing your tampons in the toilet!!!  You flooded our basement and NOW we have to wait for it to dry out!"

There I stood, ID and debit card in hand, at the register with a huge line of people looking on.  I remember looking from her to her husband.  He looked completely beat down and embarrassed, but that coward didn't say a single thing.  I then, very evenly, responded, "I am sorry, but it wasn't me."  All I wanted to do at that point was get out of her way, find a toilet to throw up in, and get out of site of the line of onlookers.  Sadly, I wasn't to be so lucky, fore she had more to say.

"It HAD to be you!  That is the ONLY reason our pipes would back up.  I know it was you!" she continued loudly.  Finally, I had enough.  I turned to her and very firmly said, "It was not me.  I haven't had a period in three months.  I am pregnant.  And I don't not appreciate being accosted in public in this manner.  Have a good day!"  Her husband stood there, his mouth hanging open, his hand gripping her arm.  Everyone's eyes were wide open, and the cashier had a small smile on her lips.  After bidding the teller a good day, I took my things and headed home.

To this day I still think about this unfortunate exchange.  There was no real way to get out of it.  I was tired of her temper invading my home.  To have this then get dumped on my head in front of so many people was mortifying!  She was the preverbal bull in a china shop, destroying everything in her wake.  To this day, she is the epitome of "The Angry Military Spouse."  I have a lot to thank her for.

Now, as I work within the military community, I keep my eyes wide open for "The Angry Military Spouse."  Because of the stress of our living environment, such anger is contagious and quickly becomes viral.  When I meet young spouses, I tell them to search for the positive and stay far away from discord. Life is just too short.  Forget the myth of living a dramatic life, a peaceful one is much better by far.

Mating Rituals - Military Style

Ah, the joy of youth!  Boy meets Girl.  Boy talks to Girl.  Girl plays with Boy.  Boy avoids Girl like the plague.  SOMETIMES, it doesn't end that way.  Most of the time, it does.  Especially when it involves a Uniform.  Of course, there is often the reversal of roles.  Either way, the show is there for the whole squadron to see.  That first assignment of ours was absolutely overflowing with relationship drama among the CGOs.  At the time, I thought it was completely ludicrous that people would set themselves up to become such public spectacles.  Then it dawned on me!  I was witnessing the ever entertaining mating rituals of our young military officers.

I am a full believer that there is nothing new under the sun.  Of course, our young people believe that everything that they deal with is unique, dramatic, and, therefore, must be shouted from the rooftops.  When my engineer and I first started noticing the odd behavior of some of the CGOs, we were first perplexed, then disturbed, and, finally, completely entertained.  I know, that is cruel.  There we were, a married couple, a few years older than our "peers," watching these younger officers' lives twist and turn in the wind of love sought and, typically, lost.

Like most civilian Americans, I had always felt that the workplace was NOT the place to look for love.  The OBVIOUS "what if things go wrong?" is always at the forefront of my mind.  You can imagine my surprise when I started seeing some of the officers date within the shop.  Now, those of you who have been in a while have witnessed this phenomena as well.  A perky, pretty new Lt in-processes, and the males go wild.  They start using their 10 cent words and walk a little straighter.  It reminds me a bit of a shark feeding frenzy near a fishing boat.  They swarm her, circle, and try to take a bite.  All the while, she is flattered and thrilled to be in such a friendly work environment.  Then the games really begin.

It is normally a cocky 1st Lt. who will step forward and ask her out first.  If she isn't entangled in a long distance relationship already, she will agree to go out with him.  I don't have to go into the relationship progression from here.  We are adults.  Most of the time, this first time meeting doesn't go well, and they part ways.  But they can't, really.  They are in the same squadron.  They have to work together.  Because a squadron is very much like a very nosy extended family crossed with a small town, everyone else has already made it the item of interest for the next couple months.  These two unfortunate officers just made their lives water cooler fodder.  While they may have moved on from their casual few dates, everyone else is creating amazing tales of anger, jealousy, and passion. While, sadly, some of the tales are quite true (hello...don't kiss & tell & take pictures if you don't want everyone knowing about it!), most are not.

Then, there is the reversal.  A handsome, young, single, kind Captain who finds himself the unwitting target of two female Lieutenants.  To be completely honest, women do not play fair when it comes to a shared interest.  Things get really catty and underhanded fast.  Just as the males made fools of themselves, the women are often no better.  Sadly, one of the two often genuinely catches his eye.  They try to quietly keep their relationship under the radar.    But just as those few casual dates sparked a whirlwind of storytelling for our first subjects, so does the mystery of the chemistry of these two.

I think the thing that pains me the most is what the rejected Lt tends to do after this.  Rejection is never a good thing to face.  But a rejection paired with a work environment as close knit as a squadron has to be brutal.  Sadly, she will throw herself at whoever seems like a close second, whether she has genuine feelings for him or not, with hopes that it will stop the speculation concerning her unrequited love.  Unfortunately, most see it for what it is.

While all this, and more, is going on, my engineer and I sat and watched.  Yes, at times, I voiced concern over the erratic behavior of our young CGOs.  Some of it was mind blowing. Now, however, I sit back and watch...enjoying the show.  Over the years I have discovered that such mating rituals take place throughout the military, regardless of rank.  Colonel or Airman First Class, it doesn't matter.  Within our little pressure cooker society, the uniform has an interesting way of going about looking for a mate, regardless of the very public display for all to see.

Finding My Bliss

As a spouse, I HAD to LEARN ways to cope with the stressors that came up due to our new lifestyle.  Yes, I now had a thriving music studio with students that I absolutely LOVED working with.  Through a lot of hard work, I was making friends and learning how to let things roll off my back.  By watching older, gracious spouses, I was learning how to maneuver through military society.  But come winter, I was back in a funk again.  

Those first snows in October came with a vengeance. At first, the beauty of the white thrilled me.  The gracefulness with which it fell from the sky was peaceful and called for a big pot of soup and fresh bread.  However, despite its beauty, the lack of sun soon started to have its affect.  At this point, I was pregnant with our first child.  Pairing the emotional roller coaster of pregnancy with the gloom that descended on me with the sun's absence, you can imagine what my poor engineer had to contend with.  Luckily, it was about this time that I also started turning my mind back to what brought pleasure to me.

I have always been a very creative person.  Growing up, if I could work with my hands, I was happy.  However, the responsibilities of adulthood quickly put creativity on the sidelines.  At this point, it had been YEARS since I had done anything.  Not even a coloring book had entered my home.  Now, at this bleak period in my life, I had found myself again in a white, cold place, surrounded by NEW friends (but no one I felt comfortable talking to), pregnant, and very far from family.  Other than my students & my engineer, I had very little to lift my spirits.  In the midst of the descending darkness, I looked for what brought joy.  

With the pregnancy of our first baby, brought a need for a nursery.  It was in the process of putting together the nursery that I found my bliss.  I remember dusting off my Great-Grandmother's Kenmore Sewing Machine and deciding that I was going to do all the sewing for the Nursery myself.  Because I was a low-risk pregnancy, ultra-sounds were an extra that we decided to forego.  So, with great excitement, I went shopping for fabric.  I quickly fell in love with a Hickory Dickory Dock toile at the local fabric store...and got to work.  

To say that working on that major sewing project brought peace is an understatement.  The joy that I felt as that huge stack of fabric was transformed into a beautiful, modest nursery, was something I became addicted to.  I remember standing in that little room, with my hand on my growing child, and being at peace with the world he or she was going to live in.  There was a gentleness and love in that room that, to this day, I still cherish.  While it was simple, as my engineer was a Butter Bar, it was a haven.  A haven created with my own two hands.  At that point, I made the decision that creativity was no longer going to be a fleeting moment, but a steadfast part of my daily life.

I remember, with a smile, as I searched for new things that I hadn't tried yet.  I fell in love with making cards for family and friends who were far away.  There was a feeling of connect that came as I would thoughtfully create something for the birthdays and anniversaries in each month and mail them off.  I seriously enjoyed getting my hands dirty, sometimes wearing random shades for days at a time.  While scrapbooking was never something that hit high on my list of things that I enjoyed doing, with the birth of my child, I saw the importance of recording our life so that she could look back and know her story and that of our family.  

Over the following years, I picked up several hobbies.  Every single one I thoroughly love.  I quickly learned that long periods of separation were best spent creating something beautiful.  I have stacks of quilts to attest to that, each one hand embroidered with the dates and "reason" for its creation.  My lonely bed results in sleepless nights.  So, instead of tossing and turning, I stay up and create. Some of my "hobbies" have resulted in extra income for my family.  While that had never been the intention, it is definitely a pleasant bonus.

A couple years after finding my bliss, my engineer discovered a series of articles in scientific and medical journals discussing the positive affects that creativity with raw materials have on mental health.  Evidently, serotonin levels spike when test subjects spent time transforming raw materials (yarn, paper, wood, etc) into something beautiful or useful.  To say that he became a supporter of my bliss is an understatement.  Through the years, when stress was high due to location, long hours, TDYs, or deployments, he would lovingly encourage me to create.  He would humor my long hours and passionate desire to work with my hands.  

Now, knowing the peace that my bliss brings to our home, I see younger spouses who are struggling the same way I did.  I encourage them to find their bliss.  It doesn't matter what it is.  Just find something to create with your hands and see where it will take you!

 

My Formative Year as a Military Spouse

Every career has its training requirements, job description, and performance expectations.  During that first assignment, I would be "schooled" on what was expected of me, how I was to conduct myself, and who I was supposed to be friends with.  I had been raised to be gracious and considerate of others.  I was a bit taken aback to learn that some did not feel that was enough to "help my husband progress in his career."  Uh....what???  Excuse me...I don't think I heard that right.  "Help my husband progress in his career???"

Now, 10 years later, I smile, nod, and contemplate what I will have for breakfast in the morning when I hear this come out of a spouse's mouth.  But in the beginning, I was more than a little confused.  While I completely understood the need to be diplomatic and respectable, not once did it cross my mind that my husband might NEED help from me in the workplace.  Everyone with a brain between their ears knows that it isn't a good thing to get on the boss's bad side, but honestly.  What self-respecting human being would demand someone HELP him progress in his career?  

The first time I heard this idea was from a Captain's wife.  She "informed" me (even though she, herself, was 3 years younger than me) that it was my job to make sure my engineer looked good at all times.  This young woman went on to explain that his superior officers would make decisions concerning his career in light of how "involved" I was in the base community.  I remember looking at her and wondering if I had teleported back to the 1960s.  My internal response to her was to then avoid her like the plague at every function I went to.  It was obvious to me that she evidently thought that her airman was an idiot and needed her magical touch to make it in life.  The idea of spending time around so much perfection was just more than I could stomach.

Now, I will say that there is a delicate line that spouses have to walk.  While a spouse did not enlist, the active duty member did.  What that means is that spouse must respect the stomach turning divide that does exist in the ranks.  However, spouses who learn to live with that have NO BOUNDARIES when it comes to friendships.  This was explained to me by my engineer's very first commander.  He saw that I, a new spouse, wasn't too sure as to where I fell in the big picture.  It was to him that I went when I started getting schooled by other spouses (all of whom had about 4 years under their belts and were connected to career fields other than my engineer's).  I remember just asking him about who I could and could not associate with.  The reason why I went to him was simple.  Over the first 6 months at that assignment, I saw that ALL the active duty members held him in high esteem and genuinely liked him.  Upon seeing that all ranks respected him, I felt that he was the person that I should approach about my growing dilemma.  After speaking to him, I went forth with my head held high, knowing that my mother, did indeed, raise me correctly.  

It was a very good thing that he was our first commander.  Fore next came the commander that still makes my blood boil at the mention of his name.  I will never forget my engineer's face when he returned from work on the day when he had his first "face to face" greeting with that next commander.  My engineer was HOT!  I had never seen him so angry.  "I met my new commander today," I remember him saying.  Really, how did it go? "Not so good."  Uh oh...  "He told me two things:  Don't sleep with the enlisted."  After a moment of silence he added, "and he doesn't think you should be spending so much time with the enlisted spouses."  At this point, I blew my top.  First off, my engineer is M-A-R-R-I-E-D!!!  Secondly, other than the commander's wife, I was the ONLY officer spouse!!!  Was he expecting me to only associate with her?  What about all the women connected to our squadron that I had grown to love and respected???  To be honest, at this point was when I decided the war was on.

Not a week later, I was hosting the "Welcome back from summer" gathering at our home.  The reason why I was doing this was because another spouse had held the last gathering at her house and it was my turn.  Everyone was bringing their all time favorite dessert and we were going to talk about everyone's summers and dive into fall and winter plans.  Then it happened.  What was supposed to be a relaxed, enjoyable evening turned into "Meet the commander's spouse" night, complete with her informing me of how she wanted it to go.  I decided at this point that going with the flow with a smile was best.  At first, all of our spouses were having a wonderful time.  Then she walked in 20 minutes late.  I will never forget the emotional shift that took place in my little home.  Women who normally filled a place with laughter went silent.  They became serious and buttoned down.  My heart ached for it to go back to what it was.  Then the great reveal happened...

Now, the commander had explicitly told my engineer to not sleep with the enlisted.  You can imagine my shock when his spouse disclosed that they had met when she was enlisted and they married shortly after she separated from the military.  And folks, I wasn't the only one who sat there, shocked, in that little room.  Their service members hadn't been told not to sleep with anyone (and I had kept that conversation close to my chest), otherwise they would have been at the point that I was.  I learned, at that moment, that they were a "Do what I say, not what I do" kind of couple.  The rest of that evening, I worked really hard to cover the anger that I felt.  However, the next day, that anger would surface with a vengeance.

I was in the middle of making dinner when the phone rang.  Always friendly on the phone, I answered, being quite happy to talk and work at the same time.  I was surprised to hear the commander's wife on the phone.  After making pleasantries, she got to the heart of her mission.  She told me that she was concerned that I spent so much time with enlisted spouses and that I really needed to spend time with the officer spouses in the squadron (there was only one other at this point...her).  After quietly hearing her out.  I explained to her that I disagreed with her.  I told her that I agreed with our first commander's guidance and explained exactly what I had been told.  I also went on to say that there was no way I was going to turn my back on the women that I had had the great privilege of both getting to know and learn from.  I informed her that I respected the rank boundaries that existed among the active duty, and that I knew how to live within it.  Finishing off my explanation, I told her that I was willing to be her friend, but not at the expense of the women who were dear to me. To say that conversation did not go well is putting it lightly.  While I had stayed neutral, she did not.  Gently excusing myself, I hung up and got back to making dinner.

At this point, 18 months into the assignment, I had developed friendships across the board:  Active duty, Officer Spouse, Enlisted Spouse, Civilian.  I had followed our first commander and his wife's lead in pursuing friendships, yet always respecting the boundaries.  I was growing as a young military spouse, forever learning about the culture that makes the military so unique.  I would meet countless officer spouses over the years who just couldn't bridge the gap.  However, I would meet others who danced with the grace of a true military spouse.  They would embrace their military sisters, regardless of "rank divide," respecting the cultural differences, and seeing the beauty in unity.  

I have seen a direct correlation between those who segregate the spouses and those who believe that their active duty members need "help" succeeding.  While at one time in our military history men were evaluated on their spouses' involvement in the "appropriate" activities, that is no longer the case.  As long as spouses do not become a liability or tear apart the stability of military society, they are free to live their lives. Several of my closest friends live this to the fullest, and their husbands have had no problem making rank, both officer and enlisted.  So, seeing these women, who have seen much and lived so fully, I pray that I, too, can follow in their footsteps and continue to grow as not just an "officer spouse," but a Military Spouse. 

The Curse of Shared Walls

A few months after arriving, I finally found my feet.  With great excitement, I started teaching music again.  One of the deep loves in my life is music.  My mother can attest to the fact that, as long as there is music, I am a very happy girl.  With great encouragement from my engineer, I jumped into starting my studio and focusing on my students.  Before I knew it, I had a wonderful group of musicians who were growing in their various ways before my very eyes.  This period in my military life would become one of my most cherished.

Like most music teachers, I taught from my home.  I had carefully placed the piano on an interior wall so as to not fill my neighbors' homes with the sound of my students' progress...or lack of.  Because I knew that we would move often, I had invested in a high quality digital piano, as to conserve on our weight allowance.  This also allowed me to adjust the volume to a workable level for both my students and my neighbors.  Everything was great.  I was finally happy.  My engineer was thrilled to see me diving into something that I loved.  Then it began...the screaming.

Everyday, between 4pm and 4:15pm, we would hear the neighbor's door close with a bang...and it would begin.  His wife would begin SCREAMING at him at the top of lungs.  Over time, I would grow to pity him and despise her.  At first I was embarrassed as his commander's wife (she was one of my students), would turn to me and ask if this was a part of my daily life.  I would shrug my shoulders and do my best to draw her back to her lesson...despite the unseemly distraction next door.  Over time, she would simply raise her eyebrow and shake her head when it would come crashing in on her lesson time.  Part of me felt really bad, as every house had the name and rank posted next to the front door for all to see.  What was I to do?  There is no way her husband didn't hear about it!  I know that, if something like that happened to me, I would tell my engineer.

This daily screaming would be a part of our lives for a good year. Weekends were the worst.  After a while, my engineer and I just spent as much time out of the house as possible.  I was quickly learning what I seriously did not want to be.  Our dinner quests and friends quickly developed this running joke about the whipped man next door and his shrew of a wife.  My engineer and I, forever wanting to stay out of something that may bite us later, worked hard at not contributing to the talk concerning our neighbors on the other side of the wall.

I remember one day when the husband sheepishly told my engineer that his wife was going through fertility treatments, and she was a "little" difficult at the moment.  However, upon doing the math, the screaming started before the treatments began.  All I knew was that I wanted nothing to do with someone who would speak to the love of her life the way she did...regardless of the excuse.

That early experience was the first of many concerning shared walls in military housing.  When we moved to The Orient, our shared walls would push me to contemplate calling the police for fear that someone was being physically injured.  I would quietly talk to the spouse when her husband wasn't home, only to be told that he had never hit her or the children.  I finally told her that I would call the Military Police anyway if it continued.  Sadly, shortly after, he went Blue to Green after being pushed out for hitting a subordinate.  My heart broke, watching her leave with those children, knowing the abuse would continue.

Not all of our shared wall companions were bad.  Some of them were delightful!  We would hear laughter floating through the walls as families enjoyed each other's company.  There was the luscious smell of various culinary creations that would escape their abode into our own. Because we were all far from our families, holidays and spontaneous gatherings would be open to each other out of mutual understanding of the need for connection.  For the first time in my life, I would feel comfortable going next door to borrow a cup of sugar, and be more than happy to return the favor.

My engineer and I would learn the vital lesson of living a quiet life in our home.  Arguments would be conducted in controlled tones, as to not, unwittingly, inflict it on someone else.  We would learn how to carefully maneuver being the hosts of gatherings that didn't infringe on someone else's life.  With the arrival of children and the noise they bring, we would develop habits of graciousness to our neighbors who were, unfortunately, having to suffer the sleepless nights right along with us.  Even to this day, living in a single family home, our home is normally a quiet one.

I guess I have a lot to thank that angry woman and her doormat husband for.  If it wasn't for them, I am not sure if we would have learned the valuable lesson of quiet living as early as we did.  We have our moments, with the addition of two children...no doubt about it.  But they made us ever mindful of what could be heard outside our home.  I just hope to God that I NEVER have to live near them again...and my heart breaks for those who have been cursed with having a shared wall with them in the years that were to follow.

The Sweet Smell of Spring

Months passed.  Spring was in the air!  It was April, and the early thaw brought high hopes!  The sun came out and my spirits went up.  In just a few days time, patches of grass could be seen where snow and ice used to be.  The roads became a filthy mess, but who cared?  It was SPRING!!  My cagey self was ecstatic! Of course, upon stepping outside, I would discover that it was still friggin' cold...but the sun was out!  Just about anything could be forgiven if the sun was out, right?

A few days after this brief reprieve from the gray and cold, a smell started filling my house.  I search high and low for where it was coming from.  Because it seemed to descend on us overnight, I thought for sure that it was coming from the plumbing in our house.  All day I looked for that smell.  It seemed wrong that it should be so beautiful outside, and yet my home all of a sudden smelled like a porta-potty. I remember bundling up that afternoon to head out to the BX in search for a stronger cleaner.  That must be the problem.  Maybe I just don't see the source of the stench.  I remember grumbling to myself about scrubbed toilets as I stepped out the door.  That is when it hit me!

The SMELL!!  Stepping out that door, I walked right into a wall of funk that made me want to scrub up!  All of a sudden, I realized that the nastiness that I was smelling wasn't coming from my home at all.  It was EVERYWHERE!!!  It honestly smelled like a very neglected outhouse at a campground.  Stepping back into the house, I slammed the door behind me.  Staring at the door, I remember saying, "I literally live in a s*&t hole!"

When my engineer got home, all he could talk about was the stench.  It wasn't until the next day that he found out the source.  Our location's sewer system was a lagoon.  During the Spring thaw, the edges of the lagoon had defrosted, and the sheet of "stuff" had flipped to the top.  To make matters worse, a few days later....it would re-freeze that way!  The unfortunate part of the situation was that the lagoon was on OUR side of the installation.  I soon found out that the majority of enlisted housing was blessed with not being down wind of this monstrosity. Did they just decide that officers could use part of their income as a Yankee Candle allowance???  If that was the case, they should have just given us an allotment for it!

I would soon discover that the smell was going to be an annual occurrence for us.  With the sun and promises of spring came the greenish, stomach turning funk that floated through my home. I noticed that the BX kept an ample supply of Yankee Candles on prominent display at the front of the store.  Wives would "host" candle parties out the yin yang.  Either you embraced the "light" or your home smelled of feces. The spring of our last year, I actually heard this conversation between two children: "Gross!  What's that smell??"  The more seasoned kid who had been there a while responded, "Spring, what else?"

Now, every spring, no matter where I live, I think about those springs in the Great White North.  As I breath deeply of the fresh, rain kissed air, I think about the fact that there is a spouse who is desperately trying to figure out where that horrid smell is coming from in her home.  She will scrub her house from top to bottom, thinking that she must have missed something.  In frustration, she will go down to the basement, thinking that the smell is a burst pipe.  On the verge of having kittens, she will open that door and be hit by it...the "Sweet" smell of Spring.  For the first time in her whole entire life, she will buy that Yankee Candle and light her up!

"Will You Be My Neighbor?"

There is nothing quite like moving to a Northern Tier location in the middle of winter.  It was dark, cold, and lonely.  I remember looking outside and wondering if there were actually people living in the houses that were connected to and surrounding our own.  During the long daytime hours while my engineer was at work, I would clean, wander the house, read, and stare out the window at the vast expanse of white.  Obviously, I was having the best time of my life!  All the change that had happened in our lives, paired with the lack of sun, was sending me spiraling into a funk.  In the evening (3:30 in the afternoon) lights would pierce the darkness, taunting me that there really were people who lived in those houses.  But that young spouse was too chicken to walk up and introduce herself.  That winter was going to be a very lonely time.

Looking out the window, I would see people run out, start their cars and scuttle back inside. Children would come home from school.  Service members would return for lunch and dinner.  Seeing my engineer at lunch time was the highlight of my day.  Occasionally I would see a spouse load up in the car and disappear somewhere.  After a while, getting sick of being indoors, I would bundle up and shovel the walk and driveway.  I did this with hopes that another spouse would "come out and play."  However, that winter, I was on my own for that one.  

Now, I bake a batch of cookies, prepare a few plates, and knock on doors.  Our move ALWAYS lands us in the middle of winter.  I have learned that, if it is a cold place, I need to just bundle up and go searching.  People hibernate during the winter and resurface in the spring.  In Europe, I fell into a great group of ladies who would meet up for coffee, crafts, and social connection.  By then, I was a bit more aggressive in my hunt for relationships than I was in the beginning.  Really, when it came to meeting people, I was very shy.  Pair that shyness with a new culture and blistering cold, you have a very uncomfortable young woman.

During this time, my engineer was surrounded by other people.  He would occasionally go out to lunch with the guys.  Over dinner, he would tell me about his day.  Listening intently, and filled with questions about these people in the outside world, I would start to live vicariously through him.  When he finished his workday, all he wanted was to come home and have a quiet evening with me.  All the while, all I wanted was to go out and meet people.  At this point, I really didn't care who I met...as long as it was someone new.  He soon saw that I was painfully lonely.  He would ask if I had met the neighbors yet.  "No"  Well, why not? "I never know when they are home." Why don't you just knock on the door?? "-silence-" That poor guy had a bloody typical young spouse on his hands!  His frustration with me would grow(and would resurface again with each move)during the remaining months of winter (4 months remaining at that point).  

Part of me seriously wishes that the older me was there to drop kick that young woman's butt out the door into the snow...and toss a plate of cookies after her.  The prison that I had created for myself was ludicrous.  On the outside, most people see me as confident and outgoing.  However, on the inside is a very private, at times shy, person.  I LOVE being with people.  But I do not enjoy meeting people.  I wouldn't learn to go against my own grain until we were sent to The Orient.  Trust me when I say this, my outgoing self is nurture, not nature.  I guess you can say that young woman, back in that house in the middle of snow and freezing temperatures, was a babe who had to learn to walk.  I think I waited about a year until I really reached out to form friendships.  This makes me shake my head when I think about how quickly I jump in now.  

When I meet young spouses who seem a bit gun shy now, my heart goes out to them.  I can see myself in their awkward attempts to try to fit in.  Every military spouse knows what I am talking about.  They are the ones who look forlorn when they have to attend squadron funk-tions (yes, that is what I call them), clinging to their airmen's arms.  They are normally pulled, kicking and screaming, to social gatherings at other spouses' homes.  While I don't really like to attend either, I have always found that there ends up being something of entertainment value to come out of those things.  There is just a serious look of loss and alienation in their faces.  Everything is so new and foreign to them, and they haven't learned to "go with the flow" or to just dive in yet.  Many of them grow into women who have decided that they hate the military and want nothing to do with it...even though it is their husbands' careers.  It is only by the grace of God that I didn't grow into one of the bitter women (even though I do have my moments....but who doesn't?)

To this day, I know, without any doubt, that I had to go through that lonely time.  I had to survive something that I never wanted to deal with ever again.  There have been many times when I have been tempted to slip back into that mould after a move.  Then that miserable young spouse, who desperately wanted someone to come out and play, comes to mind.  Instead of staring out the window, begging for others to come out, I bake a batch of cookies, knock on doors....and see if they will be my neighbor.