home at heart

Meaning

2007-01-18T00:37:00.000-06:00

So it's late, and I'm a little bit drunk...

But let me say,
a parent calling to say that you make a difference in his son's life, well...it doesn't get too much better than this.

It's quite late. I'm hosting the monthly wives coffee tomorrow night. Because of said coffee, I'm up late baking various goodies from scratch. What goes best with late-night baking?? Why, wine, of course! Now, in truth, it took me about four times to type the previous line (as well as this one) because I've had more than one glass of said wine. So, please forgive any typographical or other errors.

I finally started my new job...a job that took me a mere three months to get, thank-you-very-much! I work with special needs students at one of the schools here on post. This, in itself, is a long conversation left better for another day when so many glasses of wine have left me better capable of typing without so many hits of the "backspace" bar. Let us just suffice it to say that I am ever-so-satisfied with this line of work. It's funny because so many people would fight tooth and nail to NOT have to serve any time in the special needs classrooms. I, me, myself, HOWEVER, find myself finding great peace and satisfaction and meaning of life and so many other things that I cannot mention this fine evening (again, under the influence of alcohol, here) in the daily routine of NON-routine in my classroom.

Not making sense to you?? Perhaps, this is a good thing. That means you understand routine to mean just that: routine. But to anyone who works in an SEC classroom (and oh-my-goodness, when did we start having to abbreviate EVERYTHING?!?!? I mean, really???), routine IS the unexpected.

Anyway, I inherited a system that was, quite frankly, unacceptable to say the least. I am working to change that. And today, amid the hustle and bustle, I recieved a call from a parent to say that, "You make such a difference in my son's life."

And I just don't know how much better than this it gets.

So tonight, with my husband gone, I stand in my kitchen baking for tomorrow night's wive's coffee, drinking some lovely red wine, and thinking I am exactly where I am supposed to be doing EXACTLY what I was mean to do,

and the only thing I would change,

is being able to drink under the influence without having to hit the backspace key so gosh-darn much.

Life is good.

An Ode to my new friends

2006-11-03T10:36:00.000-06:00

In the middle of the brown desert
so full of cactus and brown, brown stones,
you came into my life and offered
color. Amidst the scent of dust and
the neighbor's dried up dog poo, you brought
pomegranate and jasmine. You brought
sesame oil and shea butter to
quench my parched skin. You replace the sound
of coyote howls with the delicate
tinkle of water cascading past
the rocks of my new copper fountain
while the softness of your one thousand
thread count sheets cradle me in comfort.

The hope your friendship has brought to my
life is inspiring, and to you,
Pier 1 and Bed Bath and Beyond,
my new friends, I offer thanks.

2006-10-30T12:58:00.000-06:00

Almost settled in now. We've got all of our things in their final resting places and a few new ones on order. The past several years, we've been living in cozy but somewhat cramped quarters. Thanks to J's promotion, we are now entitled to a larger home. It's kind of fun decorating the new house. I get to pick out some new furniture and art for the extra walls. And even though it's now practically November, I am even planting flowers in my new yard.

I'm applying for a position with the local school district to work in the special needs classroom. God willing, I will get selected.

I've met a few people here. Most have been nice. J's unit is just about perfect. Maybe not overall, of course, but as a break from the mess that was his unit in Korea, this is a welcome change.

My best friend from Korea is also in California. Not where we are, but she is planning to come visit me next week. I'm quite excited. Plus, we have family members planning visits out here.

Up until last night at 8:30, I was so happy to be living here. Unfortunately, I came face to face with a desert inhabitant last evening that has left me rattled and frankly wishing to be somewhere else. I'm doing my best to get over it. It's not going to be easy.

Home

2006-10-23T13:08:00.000-05:00

Well, this is it. We are moved in. We still have a thing or two to get for the house, but all boxes are unpacked and put away. This is home.

I like it. It's comfortable. And J seems content. I think this is going to be the nicest home we've had yet.

But there is something.

I don't regret for an instant the decision I had to have my surgery. My life is exponentially better than it was before. And truth is, surgery or no surgery, I wasn't having children. But it just feels like we are at a point in our lives when a child might be a welcome addition.

I guess what started it is my niece. We have a long history--too long to detail here. Just suffice it to say that she has a special place in our hearts. And while her home is not a. . .bad one, it's not the best place for her. I spent this summer in Michigan while J attended another school, and Kendall and I became even closer than before. And I want her to come live with us.

See, she is a completely different person when she is with us. Always has been. Mostly because J and I respond differently to her. We don't argue with her. We don't yell. We simply set rules and establish consequences ahead of time. And she doesn't often feel the need to challenge us. Of course, kids are kids. There are times when I could gleefully wring her delightful little neck. But mostly, things are constant--stable. This is what she needs. And it's not what she gets at home.

J and I have talked for years about wishing Kendall could be with us--mostly because we are much better suited to her than her own mother is. I'm not trying to beat J's sister up here, but it's no secret to anyone that she and Kendall are not good together. This summer almost broke my heart. It's an accident waiting to happen. So after J and I got to California and signed for our house, we bit the bullet. . .and told his sister that we would like Kendall to come spend some time out here with us.

It went much better than expected. But now I'm stuck in this political game. I have to watch my step and play these word games with his sister trying to set things up for my niece to come out here with us. We would like her until she's ready for college. But we can't say that. We have to say "for a little while" and play the pacifying game of "no, you're not a bad mom. she's very challenging. maybe this would give her the chance to see just how good she really has things at home." As if we really believe that.

I hate playing the game. It makes me sick. But I also see the bigger picture of this is what has to be done in order to accomplish the goal: providing Kendall the environment that she needs to succeed.

But then,

out of fairness,

I must question myself. Why do I want Kendall so badly? Is it because it's the right thing for HER, or am I trying to steal another woman's child because I can't have my own?

I want to believe in myself and my intentions. I truly believe--as does the rest of the family, because it has become a family discussion--that we can provide Kendall with the home that she so desperately needs. And we aren't trying to adopt her; we are only seeking an open-ended guardianship. We will still be aunt and uncle, and she will still have her mom and dad and have all the communication with them and holiday visits and whatever else--at our expense. So on the one hand, I can say unequivocally that I have the most honorable of intentions.

But I need to be sure. And there's always the "other hand" to consider. And that other hand holds the question of my motives to want to take on this responsibility. And it holds the fact that I will never have a child of my own.

Wow. My hands are full.

(no title)

2006-09-18T10:59:00.000-05:00

It's been quite a time. Moving from one part of Korea to another. Taking vacation to China. Saying goodbye to beloved friends. Moving to Michigan while J goes to school. Losing my dearly loved Cokie and Weezer. Being apart from J. Reintegrating back into the family. Trying to not kill certain members of said family. Getting J back. Moving to California. Now living in a hotel.

I'm not even sure where to start. It's been such a jumble of emotions that past few months. I'm sure that it's all going to hit me here soon. And I'm also sure that when it does I will spend not a few hours crying.

But life is what it is. It leads us to new places and situations. Unfortunately, we have to say goodbye to some people and things that we love. We have to readjust. So I wake up to a new day and a new opportunity, thankful that I have my health and my marriage and holding onto my faith. Although I am not certain what this day may bring, I am certain that it is a gift from God.

picture website

2006-09-16T17:54:00.000-05:00

I will be making a separate website full of pictures for family to view. That way, I can give them that address to view pictures without having to give them this one. There is no link from the California site to this one.

It's not that I'm hiding anything from them. It's just that I need a private place to write and ponder and vent...or whatever else I feel the need to do. And sometimes it will involve one of them. And I want to do so without having to worry about what one of them will say.

So, should anyone care to take a glance, the site for CA pictures is

http://californiahwc.blogspot.com

I will also be updating the Korea site with all the wonderful pictures we took--including those of our visit to China!!

A New Chapter

2006-09-16T15:49:00.000-05:00

Well, here I am in California, now. Just arrived. I've never been to California--and certainly never veen to the desert before. But as I truly believe, home is where the heart is and not just where I place my head at night. And since J and I are together here, this is home for the next few years...or however long the military sees fit to leave us here.

We are living in a hotel right now. We don't have a house yet, and we're not sure how long it will be. But we got a two room suite with a kitchen so I will be able to cook, at least. The manager of the hotel (Quality Inn & Suites) was quite kind to us. He is giving us a remarkable rate to say thank you for J's service. We're hoping we won't have to be here too long, but were told it could be as long as three months.

I have missed writing so much. During our move, I didn't have access to the Internet. It's amazing how a little piece of machinery can really make you feel more connected to the world. More so, I miss having my outlet. This was my little space to write and share and work things out. And I'm so glad to be able to have it back. I'm looking forward to being able to write about all that happened this summer and what all occurs in the days to come.

California is my new home, so Welcome home.

This is why I smile

2006-02-01T19:24:00.000-06:00

This is my own private paradise. And this is my own private angel. (Although, as John Travolta said in the movie Michael, he's not that kind of angel!)

This is J. This is my paradise. And this is why I smile.

Breaking up is hard to do

2006-01-31T23:29:00.000-06:00

At some point, many of us will find ourselves in relationships that just aren't working. We find ourselves giving too much without getting enough in return. We find ourselves having to become someone we no longer like. Or, sadly, we find that the relationship robs us of our ability to enjoy even other people and activities; we become imprisioned in our own private hell.

But breaking up is hard. Just because ONE person wants out of the relationship doesn't necessarily end things. Especially if a relationship has gone on for a while, it may take some time to completely clear out all of one's belongings and to get over all the hurt and pain.

But it's worth it!

THAT'S RIGHT; I told Flu I just can't do it anymore. And we fought, and he cried, and I yelled, and...this hurts to admit, but he hit me. He did. He knocked me down pretty hard. But I bravely looked him straight in the face and said, "goodbye" and threw his stuff out on the street.

And then I threw up.

But I'm getting much better now. Unfortunately, his friends Cold and Phlegm are still stopping by to try to talk me into taking Flu back, but I'm staying strong, and hopefully I will be completely over him soon.

Thanks for everyone's concern. I will survive!!

trudging along

2006-01-25T00:26:00.000-06:00

The flu thinks I'm really cool and wants to hang out with me for a while. Being the person that I am, I have a hard time telling Flu "no." I mean, I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings; he doesn't have many friends. But the truth is, he's really worn out his welcome. I've given up evenings, weekends, sleep, smell, taste...and even breathing for him. But he just keeps wanting more.

I want him to go.

redefining romance

2006-01-24T23:58:00.000-06:00

Oh, the hectic days. Rushing in, rushing out, rushing here and there. Passing each other on the go with a quick kiss and "have a good day--see you later" but not knowing when "later" will be. Seeing each other about five minutes before we are falling asleep in the evening. Let's take a break from it all.

How about four days cozied up in a jacuzzi suite of a hotel? How about four days of having champagne and chocolate covered strawberries delivered to the room...champagne that we will sip in rose petal-covered sheets. How about dinners at the nicest restaurant around and sumptuous breakfast buffets. And how about days spent hiking, skiing, sledding...or just snuggling and soaking in the pool--or our own jacuzzi? Yes. This is what we need.

The plans are set, the arrangements all made, even the packing is done. But, alas, the best laid plans of mice and men....

Instead, we will spend the four days listening to me honk and wretch and moan as the flu and a touch of bronchitis decide to spend some time with us.

I am so upset. This was to be our weekend. Time to do nothing but enjoy each other.

And yet, somehow, we did. Romance is found in champagne and strawberries for sure, but it is also found in the gentle hand of comfort that holds you as fever makes little bunnies and stars dance in front of your eyes. It is found in the eggs and soup and juice brought to you even though you have no appetite and can't taste food, anyway. It's found in the warmth of the one who holds you close during the night instead of smothering you with a pillow to quiet your incessant hacking.

I don't know how, and I certainly don't know why, but J managed to make our weekend something special. Admidst the sneezing and couging and sleeping, and there was a LOT of sleeping, he was there to hold my hand or head and look at me with love. He didn't even get grossed out by the phlegm! (It was pretty gross, by the way.)

Just another lesson of life: if love is in your heart, romance can be found anywhere.

Oh, yeah--and I'm pretty lucky to have him.

meet Christmas

2006-01-04T17:52:00.000-06:00

This is Christmas. Well, Christmas Angel, actually, but we call her Christmas for short.

The northern part of Korea has a kazillion little army camps scattered all over. Most of them are left overs from the Korean War. The camp where J is stationed is one such camp. Anyway, being small, they each have small stores on them, and different camps carry different items. Going camp-to-camp to find what you need is pretty common. Welcome to Korea!

Anway, with it being the Christmas season, I was camp hopping to get all my gifts and baking supplies and whatnot one beautiful Saturday afternoon. I was at a camp about 45 minutes away with a cart full of goodies bigger than I am when

I see this little reddish-orangish-yellowish thing scurrying on the sidewalk in front of me as two he-man looking soldiers go up to it and kick it.

That's right. I said kick.

The second soldier raised his foot to give it a kick, too. They were laughing as the poor little creature dropped to the ground and cowered. Not caring that they each outweighed me by a good hundred pounds and stood about a foot taller than me, I walked up behind them and said, I know you are not about to kick that little dog.

Foot poised about the little thing, the soldier turned to me and said that the dog is a nuisance and a biter. Obviously it's a threat, says I, it's no bigger than the foot you're about to squash it with. Then, looking him right in the eyes, Kick it and see what happens.

Although they could have just as easily squashed me with that same foot, the soldiers wisely decided to live to kick another day and moved on.

Now I take a closer look at the little puddle of hair on the sidewalk. Its beautiful eyes are looking up at me uncertain as to whether I am friend or foe. I crouch down on the sidewalk a couple of feet from it and just start cooing. Slowly, it inches its ways towards me. As other people approach on the sidewalk, it presses its little body into me to hide from anyone else who might try to hurt it.

Let me just say that it was not my intention to keep her. I scooped her up that day and smuggled her on the bus with me because she was nothing but skin and bones. She was literally starving. Not to mention the fact that it's like 5 degrees outside and people were kicking her. I came to the conclusion that little dog would probably die if left there and decided to risk my own death and take her home with me. On Monday, the vet clinic would open, and I would take her there to be nursed back to health and adopted out.

The 45 minute bus ride gave me plenty of time to work up fear over J's certain wrath but also enough time to know that I had done the right thing. I decided not to call and warn him but to just show up with little dog. When I got back to our camp, I called him and asked him to come help me carry home the packages--figuring that a public showdown would be better for mine and little dog's health. J came right over. But instead of being upset about little dog, he smiled. I explained what happened and that I had no intentions of keeping her, but he just smiled and started petting her. And she let him.

We miss Cokie and Weezer so much it's painful. And I have ALWAYS had a pet. Always. Not having one is killing me. But J and I had decided that we would definitely NOT have a dog over here because we already have the two best pooches in the whole wide world in America, and getting another one would be like cheating on them. AND...I hate little dogs. Really. I hate them. And that's all there are in Korea. Yippy, snippy, barky, bitey, annoying little dogs.

But Christmas (so named because I found her while Christmas shopping) is not a little dog. She's a fox. I've decided. And all my decisions are final. And, well, two days later when someone told us that he would like to have her as his family's own little fox, J and I cried.

And then we said no. Christmas is staying here.

How to not grow out of the clothes you just spent all that time getting into

2006-01-03T23:23:00.000-06:00

1. Stop eating crap.
okay. that rule's not going to last very long. oops--breaking it now!

2. Exercise more.
ummm, maybe. I'm busy. and tired. oh, yeah--and a little lazy!

Guess we'll have to do something a little more extreme. That's right. I'm going to throw out every piece of clothing that's too big on me and anything with an elastic waistband. Zippers just don't lie. They either zip, or they don't.

I wear a smaller size than, well, ever, but I just don't see it. I might be a smaller fat than I was before, but fat I still am. And I think it would be PRETTY DARN EASY to find myself slowly creeping back up into bigger and bigger sizes--especially if they are in my closet! So out they go. Now, if I want to leave the house with clothing on my body (and trust me...everyone wants that), I will just have to make sure not to grow out of the ones I have now. It took waaaaaay too much work to get to where I am now. We won't even talk about how much further I need to go...!

Happy 2006

2006-01-01T06:08:00.000-06:00

It's the first day of a new year.

Why do we celebrate this day? I mean, what is the significance of this day? Birthdays and anniversaries are much more significant. I think it's just the whole rolling-over of the calendar thing. Anyway, it's a chance to celebrate, so who am I to scoff at it?!

And how did I celebrate? In the best way possible, I think; we stayed in bed. All day. We're still kind of there. Depends on how you look at it, I guess.

We woke up kind of late. Stayed in bed and cuddled up with an oldie-but-goodie of a movie. Snuggled. Ate home-made cinnamon rolls and tea...in bed. Snuggled some more. Took a nap. Watched another movie. Got hungry so decided to have a carpet picnic. (This is another of my made-up terms. It's where you take all the pillows and blankets and throw them in the middle of the floor then climb in with cheese and crackers and sausage and veggies and fruit and bread...and wine...and don't come out for a long time.) Let's see, then we watched another movie. Oh, yeah...we did decide to go for a walk, but upon returning home, we got back into our jammies and crawled back into bed with another movie and cookies and ice cream.

This is a good way to start the new year. Heck, I think it's a good way to start each WEEK. If I ever rule the world, this will become a law or something: at least one day a week is to be spent snuggling and watching movies and eating. It is hereby decreed!!

As far as resolutions go, I'm torn. Which means that I have some, but I'm not calling them resolutions. I'm just calling them "things to do tomorrow." Thinking about the whole year is a little daunting and one reason why I think that resolutions never make it that far, so I'm just thinking about what I should do tomorrow...you know, 'cause I did pretty much nothing today.

Tomorrow I will:

smile more,
laugh more,
talk less (really, R, I will try!),
be nicer,
walk more,
walk more,
walk more,
oh, yeah--walk more,
and count my blessings when I'm happy and sad,
and try to give away as much kindness as has been shown to me in my life.

I guess that's it. I mean, there's always the eat better kind of thing, but I'm just not as concerned about that this year. I mean, tomorrow.

Anyway, my wish for everyone (including myself) is to wake up each day secure in the knowledge of God's love, the joy of knowing that each day is a precious gift, and the peace of knowing that it wasn't wasted.

Happy New Year!

it's time to get on with life...or at least start

2005-12-30T21:14:00.000-06:00

I haven't written in a while. A long while. Oh, I have plenty of excuses...some of them are even valid.

It's true that I've been busy. Enormously busy. Busier than I would like, actually. It's also true that I've been spending time with my love. He is my motivation for getting out of bed each day. We've had a lot of catching up to do after not only being apart for nine months but starting a new home in a new country.

These are all valid reasons why I haven't written.

They are also just excuses.

Ask me if I'm happy, and I will answer with a hearty yes and a cheerful smile. I will mean it, too. My life is blessed--more so than I deserve. And I am thankful for my blessings, God.

But I have a hole in my heart. And I'm avoiding it. If I don't look at it, you see, I can pretend that it's not there.

I am living this most amazing life right now. I am in a beautiful place with the most beautiful person in the world, my darling J. I am seeing things I would never imagine seeing. I am meeting people and learning things and experiencing culture that could never be gleened from a book. I have people who pay me to speak English to them so that they can hear my "lovely" voice and "poetic" way of speaking and then try to imitate them.

But in this country where family is most important, I am reminded every day that a piece of mine is gone. And now, during the holidays, the time for families to gather and share and relive memories and traditions, I realize that I will never again know the joy of sharing a holiday with my mother.

My childhood was magical. It was what a childhood should be. It was not without its difficulties and problems, but those, too, are what make the childhood experience whole. But through it all, I had a shining star to show me the way. There was a calm presence at the center of everything I did. She was the center. She kept me centered.

My center is gone. And although I grieve her, I have not yet mourned. I'm afraid that if I do, I will let her go. And I don't want to.

I wrote a letter to my mother today
a letter she'll never get
why do words on a piece of paper seem more real
than those merely thought
or spoken?
there's some undeniable permanence in putting ink to paper.
thoughts not written remain secret
but here--
ink flows into paper
forming hopes and dreams
--memories shared--
and there's no going back;
it's real.
and maybe someone will see this, read this,
ask about this,
and a fleeting memory will spring to life in vivid detail,
details that ache to be shared,
until the sharing leaves me with more than I started.

is that why I still write letters to her?
is that why I love to share her memory?
do I hope that my words will make someone else see her,
feel her,
that they will make her real?
why does it matter?

because I'm afraid of losing her
because she's already gone, and I haven't
I can't
I won't
I don't know how
to let go

because I don't know who I'm afraid of losing--
her

or me.

Do I really look that stupid?

2005-10-13T03:38:00.000-05:00

Because every once in a while, I get really annoyed. With human beings. Who think that Army spouses need a road map to find the latrine by themselves. And I need to just say this:

After 15 years of being a military spouse, I either already understand this stuff, or I'm just not interested in learning it. Either way, there's really no need to speak to me as though I just couldn't possibly comprehend what you're saying. Really. I get it.

And by the way, the reason I'm smiling is because I'm imagining your head imploding on itself.

(I'll probably delete this later. I just really hate these meetings.)(Smile and nod.)

A new site

2005-10-12T18:18:00.000-05:00

I am creating a new site to host the pictures we take here in Korea. This is so that this blog doesn't get out of control and so that I can give just the picture site address to friends and family and not have to give them this one. (It's mine, and it's personal, and I'm not explaining or editing myself.) So, for anyone who wishes to see the pictures we take, I have a link on the left to "Our Time in Korea." Many pictures to follow!!

Jeju-do

2005-10-12T17:32:00.000-05:00

Paradise

2005-10-12T17:19:00.000-05:00

What does paradise look like? It looks like this. It looks like being held in the arms of the man you love more than breath. It looks like him snapping picture after picture of you and answering, when you ask why he isn't taking pictures of the beautiful scenery, "I am."

Are we falling in love all over again? Or is it something more? Something even deeper? Something that you can't fall out of? I don't know. It doesn't matter. I just know that for four days, we slept, ate, walked, talked, touched, breathed in all there was to of each other. And only wanted more.

I am so amazed to be with my most beautiful husband, my darling J. And even more amazed that he feels the same to be with me.

This is paradise.

A little bit more...

2005-10-04T03:36:00.000-05:00

Anyone who's been together long enough with his or her "other" will understand this.

I love J. Of course, I do. And he loves me. But even though that love never lessens, the giddiness of it does have a certain ebb and flow...a rhythm, I guess. And perhaps it's because we've been apart for a few months, or perhaps he is just having some epiphany of my greatness (I don't know, and I don't question these things), but we are just so genuinely enjoying each other that it's kind of silly.

I haven't had much time to write the past week. The paperwork demons have been vanquished (YEA!), but there's still always lots to do. J actually had an entire weekend off. No work. None. At all. We had the most incredible lazy morning Saturday before heading out in the afternoon to see what we could see. Sunday saw a fairly early start, but it was well worth rubbing the sleep out of our eyes to catch the festivals and re-enactments ceremonies that we happened upon.

It was an amazing weekend. And J has put in for a pass for this weekend, and we're making plans to visit Jeju Island. That's right...my husband WANTS to go away for the weekend with me. Just me. To a secluded hotel on a fairly secluded and romantic island.

I call this his "shiny-happy" mood. It's when he looks at me as though I light up his day. It's when he remembers to say all the things that we tend to forget to say during the course of the day. And it's when he wants to spend every waking moment with me. I just might start to get a big head from all the attention and compliments he's been paying me lately.

So...I'm off now because he's on his way home for a bite of lunch. Ah. I love life.

More to follow...

2005-09-29T04:44:00.000-05:00

This has been such a busy, busy week. J came home early from the field (yea!!), and after a day to ourselves, it was back to running around like crazy. I did manage to get done what I wanted while he was gone with the rearranging and such.

There's so much paperwork involved in my being over here and in J being able to legally stay off post in our apartment with me. There's a nationwide curfew for U.S. forces over here, so he actually needs a special pass in order to live with me. BUT, before he can get the pass, there are about a kazillion things that need to be done and papers to fill out. And as it always is with the military, it's a game of hurry-up-and-wait. I get up early in the morning and get on post...and sit...and wait. Between sitting in offices all day and going to meetings with the Family Readiness Groups and some volunteering and running errands and trying to make friends and--oh, yeah, trying to see J when he has a few minutes during the day...I've just not gotten around to posting this week.

Luckily, I think the paperwork is about done. I should have my new visa with its SOFA (Status Of Forces Agreement) stamp in it tomorrow. The NEO (Noncombatant Evacuation Operation) packet is taken care of. I have my permanent ration card. I have my gas mask. I'm registered with ACS, Red Cross, and Tricare (health insurance). I'm entered into the new DBIDS system which records the finger print and photo of everyone entering post. What else? I don't know. There's plenty more. But it's almost all done. Yea!!

The only bad thing is that I still have a couple of boxes floating around out in the mail. One of them contains the cables to connect my camera to the computer so that I can download and post all my pictures. I tried to find one over here, but I haven't been able to find one to fit my camera yet. But there will be many pictures to follow.

That's it for now. I should have some time tomorrow to post a bit about...well, stuff.

THANK YOU to everyone who has been looking for me and asked about me. I can't tell you what it means to know that there are people out there thinking about me. I've made some of the most amazing friends through blogging, and I'm just honored as all heck that you guys think of me, too. Love to everyone, and more to follow....

Rebecca, continued

2005-09-21T06:27:00.000-05:00

So, since she hasn't read this yet and called to yell at me, I'm going to continue talking about my sister until she DOES read and DOES call.

Which actually brings me to my first point: Rebecca, I'm still older than you. Quit bossing me around. I can tell everyone (which is like, two people, really) how cool I think you are if I want to. And there's no sense crossing your arms at me or giving me that look. Really. Stop it.

See, she's my YOUNGER sister, thank you very much. As in, I'm OLDER than she is. But just because she's used to telling her kids what to do, she thinks she can tell ME, too. Well, pfffft. Nothing doing. You can punch me in the arm all you want, kiddo. Oh...that's right! You CAN'T punch me from way over here, can you? HA! So nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah to you as I tell everyone all about how I love your goofy self.

Which is point two: Rebecca is goofy. Really goofy. Like, like...green things. She won't eat green things. Green beans, peas, green peppers...etc. No one knows why. But she'll eat mint chocolate chip ice cream which, I'm sorry to break it to you, Rebecca, is GREEN! But try to point this out to her, and she'll cross her arms and stomp her feet because...

Point three: Rebecca is ornery. Obstinate. Stubborn. Call it what you will. (I personally like the term brat.) Like, like...when she was little. She couldn't say the word perfect. Well, let me correct that. She wouldn't say the word perfect. What would she say, you wonder? How about per-feck. And no matter how many times we told her that the word had a T on the end of it, she would just grin that evil little grin and refuse to say it. She'd always say,"that's how I say it." Why does this make me laugh now? Because earlier in the year, her son was saying a word and mispronouncing it. I don't even remember what word it was. But she told him, she ACTUALLY told him that's not the way you say it. I've told you that before. Say it right. And he's all, "that's how I say it, mom." And then she's all well, it's not right, so say it right. At this point, I just turned and looked at her, eyebrows through my hairline, chin on the floor, and HAD to remind her of her little deal with the word perfect. To which, of course, she responds, that's different.

Point four: Rebecca is evil. Like, like...she loves to torture her husband. (Hi, R!) He had this rather unfortunate health thing earlier this year. Nothing really serious, mind you. Just, you know, unfortunate. And my dear sister teased him unmercifully. Still does. And then--oh, yeah, and THEN he had this other thing happen to him. He kind of got stuck in this thing. And Rebecca, of course, HAD to tell me about it. (And I'm sorry, R, it WAS pretty funny!) But anyway, a few days later, we were sitting with my aunt and uncle and grandmother and aunt's sister and cousin...well, you get the idea, and she let R think that she was going to tell this particular story to everyone. And while it's pretty darn funny (sorry, R, it is!), it's not really the kind of story you'd want your wife telling her aunt and uncle and grandmother and aunt's sister and cousin. Ever. But most especially not while you are standing right there. Oh, how she laughed when he jumped up and all but did jumping jacks to keep her from telling that story...which she, of course, had no intentions of telling, anyway. See? Evil.

Point five: Rebecca has the best laugh on the planet. Like, like...hearing her laugh brings such a smile to my face. Even the thought of her laughing makes me happy. And she loves to laugh. She's not stingy at all. She'll even be on the receiving end of a teasing joke and poke fun at herself. She just makes everyone around her smile and love life.

Point six: Rebecca is pretty patient. Like, like...she hasn't killed any of us yet. She's got her kids and her husband and her sisters and her husband's family all pulling and tugging on her and screaming ME ME ME at the top of our lungs at her. And we all want a piece of her. And me? I want a really big piece. And I'm selfish and demanding and intrusive and call her ALL THE TIME to ask her how many breaths of air she's taken since I talked to her last. But she just goes about her business and tries to make it seem like it's easy for her to get dressed 'cause I just drug her out of the shower and cook dinner and help with homework and put the kids to bed and do laundry and K, my husband just said that if I don't get off the phone now, it's going to be a threesome 'cause we've been on the phone for five days all with the phone attached to her ear. And for some reason, she still answers when I call. Well, most of the time!

Point seven: Rebecca loves with her whole heart. Like, like...her family. She just loves us. And she makes sure that we all know it. All the time.

And I just want to go on and on. Because she's all that's good in a person. She'll make you want to laugh and then want to pull your hair out and then give you the biggest bear hug and then look at you from those melted-chocolate eyes and you find yourself agreeing to things that you never thought you would just to know that you made her happy even for an instant. Because seeing a smile on her face is having something be right with the world. And knowing that you're the one who put the smile there...well, that's knowing that you've done something worthwhile. I love her. I love that smile that is my own yet different. I love those eyes that are, really, just ridiculously large and beautiful and are framed by eyelashes that I still vow to take a pair of scissors to. I mean, did you really HAVE to hog all the eyelashes, Rebecca?! Are we supposed to be totally fooled by them and not notice that it's really just the devil gleeming out at us from beneath them?!

To my younger sister, my evil twin of a sister, may all happiness in life be yours. (And may you please not hurt me for writing this.) I love you.

Me in another life

2005-09-20T08:20:00.000-05:00

Do you ever wonder what or who you would have been if you had made just one decision differently in your life? I don't have to, because I already know. Or at least, I hope I do.

I won't be a mom. And that's okay. But I sometimes wondered what I would have been like if I had. And how would I feel when my children looked at my and grinned those sweet, devilish, from-my-own-womb grins that made me at once wonder what I was thinking having them and how would I ever get along without them? But I don't wonder anymore.

I will probably be asked to remove this post or photo, but until then...

This is Rebecca. And this is who I would have liked to have been if one decision had been made differently. I love you, kiddo.

Missing him and cleaning

2005-09-19T20:32:00.000-05:00

J had to leave this morning for training. He'll only be gone for nine or ten days, which is pretty good. We were just apart for nine months. This is only nine days. Still, I had tears in my eyes this morning as I gave him a kiss, told him that I loved him, and wished him safety. I'm not sad that he's gone. Training is important. But still...the tears.

Anyway, with J gone for the next few days, I will get to finish settling into the house. Or, in other words, I'll get to rearrange things the way I want them without him looking over my shoulder.

I can't complain. Well, I shouldn't, anyway. He did a great job. But the house needs a few tweaks here and there. And doing that with him here is kind of insulting to him--like telling him that he did it wrong. With him being gone, though, I can rearrange out of boredom. Or to accommodate the new bookcase that I bought. Or to make more room for...whatever. It's a game we play. He's well versed at it. Heck, sometimes he plays it better than I do. Like...this weekend. He was looking around at things and remarking about how he wasn't quite sure he should have put this here or that there or arranged the sunroom quite the way he did. He knows that I would never tell him that it was done wrong. No. I'll tell him what a great job he did and how I'm just so happy to be here that I don't care where things are. Then he'll look around a little more and start "wondering" how he could have done things differently...and just "mention" that he's sure I wouldn't have done it this way. And I will of course respond that this just seems like the perfect arrangement. BUT...

(there's always that "but")

BUT...if we ever think about doing THIS in the future, there won't be room for THAT unless SUCHANDSUCH move over THERE. I would hate to do that, of course, seeing as everything fits just so right now...

No, no no, he'll respond. You're right. If THIS were THERE and THAT were HERE, then THE OTHER THING could fit right between them. Sorry, dear. I didn't think that through. I was just in such a hurry to get things in here before you got here....I'll work on moving things around when I get back. Well, not right when I get back, of course, since we'll have to do recovery and AAR's and such, but I'll get around to it...

he says with his head hung low in defeat with a glance at me out of the corner of his eye. See? He knows how to play the game.

So this week, I'll do a little shopping and some rearranging. And I'll get things set just the way I like them. Which won't be exactly the way he would have done it, but that's the point! And then he'll come home and look around and say, oh. I didn't know you were going to do THAT. I was thinking more like THIS and...

to which I'll respond...

I KNOW. I was thinking about that, too, but then I realized that there was just no WAY that I would be able to move THAT by myself. I mean, I TRIED, but I felt that thing in my back kind of pull, so I looked around and decided instead that if I moved THAT over THERE and THIS to the other room, THE NEW THING fits in HERE just perfectly! Don't you think? I mean...DO you think so? If you don't like it, we can always put it back. YOU could have done it better, I know. But you've already done so much. I just wanted to try helping. But you're right. It WOULD be better the other way. I'll move it all back tomorrow and just haul that NEW THING back to the store. I think I can find odishi's little store again...

I'll say with my head hung low in defeat and a glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

And J will come up behind me, wrap his arms around me in a hug, drop a kiss on the top of my head, and tell me what a terrific job I did and that HE would have done it JUST the same way. See? I'm pretty good at the game, too.

Well, I've got about a week to plan, shop, and arrange. Game on!

A whole weekend together (almost)

2005-09-19T04:21:00.000-05:00

J and I spent the weekend together. Mostly. Life is good.

We did this and that and rode the train a few places and went shopping and ate some good food and hung out and walked the town and were silly and just enjoyed each other.

So...yes, he did have to work some Saturday morning. BUT he was home by noon, and we had the rest of the day to ourselves. It was raining. A nice, steady, clean-the-air kind of a rain. We took the train to Seoul and walked around the city. Actually, I think we ate our way through the city. So much food! Walking through the rain, under an umbrella, speaking a different language than everyone else around us--I felt like we were truly the only two people on the planet.

Yesterday we slept in. Really and truly slept in. And it felt good. We didn't leave the house until sometime in the afternoon. We took a taxi to the city center and walked around the market district. J bought me a bicycle. And it's the sweetest bicycle EVER! I feel like a little girl again. It's bright, bright red, and it's got these little flower stickers all over it. (Hee hee.) And it's got a silvery-white basket on the front, a rack on the back...and a BELL! It's got a bell. DLLING DLLLING! That's just what it sounds like. I so love it. It's silly and sweet and absolutely perfect. All I did was grin from ear to ear as soon as I saw it. I hopped on it and rode up and down the sidewalk to try it out while J talked about the price with the shopkeeper. As I played with the bell (dlling dlling). J just started smiling and pulled out the camera to take my picture. The bicycle came home with us.

I will have to finish this later. J just called and says I can come meet him for a movie. Ahhh, I love my life!

He sleeps

2005-09-16T07:10:00.000-05:00

I've been here one week now. It's been a rather busy week. J, despite his best attempts, was not able to take leave (or time off) when I arrived in Korea. He had to go back to work the day after I got here. Such is military life.

It's Friday night. Poor J has had a long week. On top of all the work that normally keeps him in the office until ten at night, he has also had to work on all the additional paperwork necessary for me to stay here in country with him and to allow him to live in the off-post apartment with me. We have some kind of breakfast together in the mornings and normally squeeze in a sort of lunch break during the day, and then he's back to work until nine, ten at night or one o'clock in the morning.

This morning he told me that one way or another, we were going to go out tonight. He called me a couple of times this afternoon to remind me that he was going to be home at a decent time to take me out to this nice restaurant he knows and then "out."

Good to his word, my tired but determined husband walked through the door at ten minutes till seven this evening. (He went in at 5:30 this morning.) He said that he just wanted to catch a shower to freshen up before going out. While he showered, I picked out my outfit for the evening and took some time getting dressed and doing my makeup. I wanted to look just right. When he got out of the shower, I was not quite finished dressing. As I wanted to surprise him with my finished look, I told him that I had a nice, cold drink on the table in the living room for him if he would give me just five more minutes to finish getting ready.

After taking one last look in the mirror and being pretty pleased with the results of my efforts, I walked out of the bedroom and into the living room to find J dead asleep on the couch. I tried to gently wake him. I tried to creatively wake him. Then I thought let him catch a short nap and he'll be ready to go.

He tried to wake up. He really did. He opened his tired, red eyes, gave me half a smile, and tried to mumble "beaufl" as he was already falling back asleep.

I know I could poke and prod him. I know I could cry and yell. I know that I kind of deserve to be upset that I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. But instead I just grabbed a blanket and covered him up. And I pressed a soft kiss to those few new gray hairs that have appeared at his temples since I saw him last. It doesn't really matter if we stay in or go out. We're together. And I only got dressed to look good for him...which he saw right before he drifted off to sleep for good. I'll leave him be for a while--until I need to find a way to move my sleeping giant from his twisted perch on the couch to the soft bed so that he can get the rest he so deeply needs. With me beside him.

Officially moved in

2005-09-16T02:42:00.000-05:00

I guess I'm officially moved in now. I have the Internet up and running in my apartment. Considering the amount of time that can be spent on here, I'm not entirely sure this is a good thing, but having it makes the apartment officially home.

It's been kind of fun getting settled into a new place. J and I have been finding new little things to put into the apartment to make it feel like ours. It's a hard call on some items since we will only be allowed a certain and very limited amount of weight to take from here when we leave. So there are some items that no matter how much we want them, it is just not practical to get them.

This really is a charming little apartment. It's a small building--which I like--so it's easy to know who lives here and who doesn't and to smile and bow at each other as we come and go. There's a little market right across the road (and I use the term road loosely), and the woman who owns the store is so friendly. I speak about three words of Hangul (term for the Korean language. one should not refer to it as Korean), and she speaks about three words of English, but we play a pretty mean game of charades and are slowly teaching each other new words. And, of course, I don't go anywhere without my phrase book in my pocket! (HA, R, I didn't even NEED the tapes!!)

Koreans would refer to my apartment as a three bedroom. Ummm, no. I just don't get it. Set up as a typical Amercian home, it is a one bedroom. I have a kitchen, a dining area, a living room, a bedroom, and the little sunroom (for lack of a better word) off my bedroom. In the evenings, like now, I open the large windows of the sunroom and let the cool breeze blow through the bedroom. Looking through the windows, I have a peaceful view of the mountains. Early in the morning and then later in the evenings, I can watch the clouds as they hover around the mountain. It's such a contrast to the view from the kitchen window which yields a busy street which is death-defying to cross on the way to the Army post waiting on the other side. As soon as one of my boxes which the Post Office seems to have taken a particular liking to arrives, I will be able to post pictures of this new place I call home.

The people here are incredible. They have all been so friendly to me and understanding of the blank look on my face when I can't grasp what they are saying to me. They smile as I grab my phrase book or pocket translator or play a game of charades, and seem genuinely touched when I respond correctly or greet them with their local greeting. Sometimes as I walk through the village, I notice people staring at me. I always smile and bow and offer my accented hello, and they almost always do the same. One tiny older woman came across the street to touch my hair. Another woman stopped me and made a circle around my face and said, "so beautiful." To them, I'm exotic. I'm just amazed by this. Plain jane me with my auburn hair and pale skin and medium brown eyes. Exotic. Imagine.

Of course, my family all says that I only wanted to come over here so that for the first time I might be taller than other people. Other adults, that is. I'm taller than plenty of people if you count those under the age of ten. Even in Korea, my five foot tall self isn't a giant, but I'm on pretty even footing with many people now!

Of course, no experience is without its shortcomings. And two days ago, for the first time EVER in my life, I was stung by a bee. A Korean black bee. What's that? I don't know, but I can tell you that it's an angry little critter that has a heck of a sting. My only consolation is knowing that it most certainly died after hurting me as it left half its body in my arm. Two days later, I'm still taking Benadryl after Benadryl to fight the itching, stinging, burning, swollen, and hot to the touch section of my arm that is still having a reaction to having half a bee stuck into it. (Can anyone hear my whining all the way back in the States, yet?)

It's been one week. And you know what? It feels like home.

Open letter to my mother, page 3

2005-09-12T00:58:00.000-05:00

There's a little bakery outside this Internet Cafe that I'm using. They sell Snicker Doodle cookies, mom. I've got one sitting right here beside me. It's amazing the things we remember from childhood, the things that tug at our heartstrings and take us back. I remember snicker doodle cookies. I don't think there's ever been a more perfect cookie made. All warm and soft from the oven, they have a scent that smells like a warm hug wrapped in your arms. The cinnamon baked into the top is the soft brown of your eyes as they smiled at me. I think I could sit here all afternoon and eat these cookies just to remind me of sitting at the kitchen table and watching you dunk cookies into your coffee. I'll try not to, though, since you're not here to kiss away the belly ache it would cause!

Really, I'm writing to let you know that I made it, mom. I made it to Korea. Thanks to you. And I so wish that I could call and tell you all the things I'm seeing. I called J's mom instead. It's not the same. But I can help him get closer to his mom so that he doesn't wake up one morning and get a call saying she's gone and have to regret that he'll never be able to make their relationship good. Because there's just nothing else on earth more precious than a hug from your mom and seeing that look of unconditional love in her eyes. And I want him to have that.

I got that from you every time I saw you. I guess that's what I miss. I know the love is still there. I know that somehow you're still there. But I miss the hug. And I miss seeing that look, that smile that was just for me. And I miss all the things I won't get to share with you...at least not yet.

I love you, mom, my beautiful angel. And I hope you're watching. You got me here. You made it possible for me to move here and live with my J. So I hope you see me as I look to the heavens and smile. And I hope your warm, cinnamon eyes are smiling back down at me. I'll keep hanging on until I see them again for myself.

The whole picture

2005-09-12T00:20:00.000-05:00

Hind sight may be 20/20, but if you only look straight ahead, you're still only getting part of the picture.

I lived in Louisiana for three years. Perhaps the state as a whole was not my most desired location for residence, but home it was thanks to the Army. And certain parts of the state are remarkable, beautiful, unique...places like New Orleans. I have visited this most incredible of cities on many occasions. If one can be in love with a city, I was in love with New Orleans. And so much is being said about the horrible disaster that has hit my love that I didn't even want to be involved with it all. As I am wont to do, however, I have changed my mind. Because I think there are many, many, MANY points that have been either overlooked or, worse, ignored because it makes for better, more sensational news to do so. Here, then, are the talking points I would like to add to the conversation.

1. As of the Wednesday before, Hurricane Katrina was still only classified as a Category 1 and was predicted to make landfall around the Pensacola, Florida area.

2. Saturday before, forecasters were finally predicting that Katrina might hit New Orleans.

3. Saturday night before, forecasters were saying that she could shift and bypass New Orleans and go straight to Mississippi and Alabama.

4. Sunday, SUNDAY before, it was official that Katrina would make landfall as a Category 4-5 and would, indeed, hit New Orleans.

5. New Orleans was not officially evacuated until Sunday.

6. That's the mayor's fault, not the President's.

7. There are thousands and thousands of people who either
a. had no way to get out
b. had no money to buy gas
c. had no gas to buy (most places were sold out)
d. had no where to go if they DID get out.

8. Evacuation might have been mandatory, but they were not given any help in evacuating. Also the mayor's fault. And the governor's.

9. Support systems were not put in place BEFORE Katrina hit.

10. It's hard to deploy support systems when the city is under 15 feet of water.

11. Active duty forces, put on alert by the federal government, were not allowed in by the state government.

12. Because Governor Blanco didn't want to "relinquish control" of the situation.

13. The Department of Homeland Security should NOT be blamed for the resulting chaos.

14. FEMA should.

15. Should the President have done more? Of course.

16. So should have the mayor.

17. And the governor.

18. And every business that wasn't wiped out by the storm. Have a heart and donate whatever goods are on your shelves; someone can use whatever you have. Don't have a heart? Only in business for the bottom line? Then realize that whatever you donate will be a tax writeoff at the end of the year and might even put you in good standing to get money BACK from the government just for acting like a concerned human.

19. This is not a race issue. A lot of black people died because there are a lot of black people in the city of New Orleans. The mayor is also black. I didn't see him taking a canoe down the streets to rescue people, either.

Let's try something here. Let's FIX it. Let's get people out, get them food and clothes and medical treatment for all the diseases they were exposed to and a place to live and a little hope for a future that was wiped out in one day and THEN point fingers at who did what wrong and didn't do what they should have done. Let's mourn those who didn't make it out, mourn those who did but have lost everything, and mourn the hundreds of years of history that have been damaged and destroyed and may never be recovered. Then let's hold hands and work to put back together what we can and build new what we can't.

To my love, the city of New Orleans, and her incredible people, my heart and prayers go out to you. May the diversity and beat and music and zest that gave you your very flavor live on and one day return even spicier than before.

Land of the Morning Calm

2005-09-09T00:37:00.000-05:00

Ok. That's kind of a lie. There's not much that's calm about mornings here. Koreans start their days pretty early, and they're not exactly quiet about it. But you know what? They can be as loud as they want because

I'M IN KOREA!!

I made it. It was long and something of an adventure just in getting here, but I'm here.

As promised, J was waiting for me at the other side of the customs checkpoint at Inchon International Airport. His eyes were bluer than ever, his arms stronger, and his kiss...well, that's just too good to share.

This is my second actual day here. J found the most beautiful little apartment for us. The key word is either beautiful or little depending how you look at it. To me, the key word was "us." As in, we are living there together. At the same time. J's not always big on words to tell me what he's thinking or feeling. But that man sure can make me melt with the thoughtful things he does. Like the beautiful little vanity he bought for me and placed in the sunroom off our bedroom where the mirror would catch the natural light spilling in because he knows that I like to do my makeup in front of a window. Or the cranberry/raspberry juice he had chilling in the fridge for me. Or the extra sharp cheddar cheese cut into thin little squares for crackers because I think cheese tastes better in thin slices than thick ones. Or the bottles of water he had in his backpack because he knew that a two-hour busride with nothing to drink would be punishment for me.

He had to go back to work the day after I got here, and he was pretty upset about that. Me? I can wait until the end of the day. Because at the end of the day he's coming home. To me. To our home. And to look at me again out of those beautiful eyes, wrap me in those strong arms, and give me a kiss so soothingly electric that I know I would have swam across that ocean to see him if that's what it would have taken.

Things to be thankful for

2005-08-29T13:15:00.000-05:00

1. We made the drive safely
2. We don't ever have to make it again!
3. I spent the day with my father yesterday, and it was good.
4. My pups are settling in (slowly) to their new home.
5. It's a beautiful day.
6. My friends haven't forgotten about me yet.
7. I will see my sister this week.
8. And my other sister.
9. My in-laws are being so kind and generous to me.
10. My in-laws are kind and generous to the pups.
11. I haven't gained any weight this past week!
12. My plane tickets are still valid.
13. J is still excited about me coming.
14. My friends haven't forgotten about me yet.
15. My relatives have actually picked up their phones to call me.
16. I spent some time with the one set of nieces and nephew this weekend.
17. I didn't have to kill any of them.
18. I got some new clothes on SALE!
19. I can sit outside and enjoy a nice breeze.
20. My friends haven't forgotten about me yet.
21. Only seven more days until I catch my plane!

Michigan

2005-08-27T10:14:00.000-05:00

The drive was awful, but we made it. Yea!!

It's real now. Like really real. It was just kind of an abstract idea before. But we have moved out of our house, we are in Michigan, I am living out of a suitcase, and I am making arrangements to see the relatives one last time before taking off. It's real. Wow.

Now's when the butterflies start to set in. Oh, my goodness. I'm moving to Korea. I'm moving to Korea to live with my beautiful J. I'll get to fall asleep next to him again. I'll get to wake up smothered by his huge arm wrapped tightly around me. I'll get to see his blue, blue eyes turn clear like a summer sky or smoky like a winter evening as I stare at him. I'll get to feel his touch--soft, demanding, calming, electric--and the exact moment when I melt. That moment comes before he touches me, even. Before he looks at me. Before I hear his deep as molasses voice. It will happen the next morning as I make the bed and pull up the blankets on his side of the bed. As I smooth out the indentations he made in his pillows. As I tuck in the sheets that his long, strong legs have pulled loose from the end of the bed. It will come as I realize that I am finally back with the man whose love I breathe in with each sweet breath until my heart is filled with peace.

It's real. It's really real. I'm going home.

Waking up new

2005-08-21T09:05:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday morning. It's a new day, and it's a new me.

Actually, it's the old me. The one I like. The one who smiles and looks ahead to all that's waiting just over the horizon. The one who realizes that each person does what they are capable of doing and that it's just unfair to ask or expect any more than that.

There's a few things on my list of chores to accomplish today. I'll get some of them done and then take a break and go do something fun with the pups. I think I'll take them for a nice drive this afternoon. Maybe stop and get them an ice cream cone. Boy, oh boy, do the pups love ice cream! Then I'll do a few more chores this evening.

My movers will be here in the morning. All of my "stuff" will be crated and carted away. Although part of me wishes that my friends were able to give me a little more support, it doesn't really matter in the long run. I'm still leaving. They've still been my friends for three years. And when I look back and think of them, I'll remember the good times and forget the bad.

Time to go get started on this new day. . .a day that shines bright with promise and brings me closer to J. And what better way to start than with a leisurely stroll with my precious pups.

Happy Sunday!

the crabs

2005-08-20T21:38:00.000-05:00

It's official--the crabbiness has set in.

I don't like this. I'm not by nature a crabby or depressed person. I'm upbeat, content, always smiling. I'm the person everyone goes to when a pick-me-up is needed. I occasionally get upset, but I don't stay that way for long. It just requires too much energy to stay angry. And that's energy wasted!

But I'm definitely crabby tonight. Not really going to say why because I'll have to think about it which will make me even crabbier. So I guess I'll just use this Saturday night to get a little more cleaning done. Never mind that it's my last Saturday here. Never mind that I'd asked my two good friends repeatedly if we could do something tonight. Never mind that even earlier today they both said that they had things to do tonight. Never mind that they are both sitting home right now not doing anything. Just never mind it all.

I'm going to get a little bit more done tonight and catch some sleep. I need to get rested for my road trip Tuesday, anyway.

Definitely crabby.

Warning label attached

2005-08-19T17:07:00.000-05:00

There was a sign hanging outside my house this week that read:

Warning--Volatile creature inside. Enter at own risk!

Ok. So maybe the sign wasn't really out there. But it should have been.

To say that this has been an emotional week for me would be an EXTREME understatement. I'm excited to be leaving Fort Polk--for too many reasons to recount here. I'm thrilled that I will be not only seeing J but living with him again soon. And nervous. I can't explain why. Every time we are apart for a while, I always do this little thing right before we are back together again where I wonder if I'm going to be a disappointment to him. Kind of like when you have your heart set on ice cream or pizza, and it's all you can think about, but once you get it, it doesn't taste as good as you hoped it would.

What else? I'm preoccupied with all that I have to get done this week. Someone will be talking to me, but all I'm hearing is the mental checklist I keep running down and crossing off items. There is a bit of paperwork to be done and appointments and shipping and packing and making sure the right things are put into the right piles because if something gets packed that shouldn't, we won't see it again for a year or two. There's backing up of all the paperwork just in case it gets lost in one place. Backing up the computer in case something happens and files and pictures get lost. (OH NO!!)

There's a little sadness at leaving some of my friends who, now that I'm about to leave, want to spend time with me...time that I need to use to get all my other tasks done. What the heck. These are my friends. I'll just take off with them for a bit and stay up later to finish my work.

Which leaves me extremely tired. I can count on one hand the total number of hours of sleep I have gotten this week. It's kind of scary to fall asleep standing in the middle of the kitchen debating whether to clean the counters or refrigerator and wake up a few (?) mintues later with the cleaner and cloth in hand, counters freshly wiped. Or fall asleep looking at the clothes you've decided to take with you and wake up to see that you've packed your suitcase. I don't know if exhaustion technically qualifies as an emotion, but it does for me this week.

There's bitterness about things that were said and things that were not done.

There's heartbreak every time I look at my pups. Knowing that I must leave them to be with J is totally unfair. I want to stomp my feet and pull my hair and kick and scream and cry. These are my babies. I can't leave them. Yet somehow, I must.

There's the feeling that I am betraying their trust. They don't like the packing. It makes them nervous. And they keep following me around and looking at me, asking if everything is ok. And I give them their scratches and kisses and tell them not to worry...everything is ok. And I'm lying. I'm leaving them, and they know it. And I hate it. And I hate me for doing it.

And then I look at the picture of J on my computer and know that I'm going home. I think about this new adventure we are about to start. I'm happy. I'm ready.

And I'm frustrated with some of my relatives. I call to tell them when I'm going to be in town just like a good little niece/cousin/granddaughter should. I'm travelling fourteen hundred miles (that's 1400!) to see you before I get on a plane and leave, and you won't drive two miles to come meet me somewhere!?

There's anticipation for the two days I will spend with Rebecca and her husband and my nieces and nephews as we all hang out at the hotel and swim and eat pizza and laugh and joke and play and show how much we love each other.

There's hurt feelings for my other sister who has decided that she doesn't want to join us.

There's dread at the upcoming drive. I hate driving. It's just distasteful to me. It's the equivalent of me serving someone a bowl of worm soup. Yuck. And I've got 1400 miles of road to cover.

And then J calls to tell me about our apartment and how he's looking forward to me getting there and showing me things and going here and there and just being together again, and that makes me catch my breath and remember why I'm doing all this. When he says, "I'm so glad you're coming, " I get little butterflies in my stomach. I would cross to the ends of the earth for this man, and HE'S glad to see ME.

The packing is done now. Now, I just get through the weekend. Movers will cart my stuff away Monday, and I leave here on Tuesday. I wonder how many times I'll cry between now and then?

What's briefer than brief?

2005-08-19T01:38:00.000-05:00

This update. Let's just say I'm tired. And it's rather late. And the packers will be here in the morning. Been going pretty much nonstop this week to make sure I have everything ready before they come.

Okay. That's it for now. Time for a few quick winks before it's up and at 'em again.

--you know you're tired when...

you fall asleep walking down the hall, wake up in the next room, and wonder how you got there!

to my surgeon

2005-08-13T23:29:00.000-05:00

Dr. Foxworth,

When I walked into your office a year ago and asked you to perform my surgery, you hesitated. This is a big step, a drastic one. There's no going back. You really put me through the hoops. I had to work in those interviews to prove to you that I knew what I was asking. This is my career. I have to be able to justify this. You made me recite facts and figures and symptoms and side effects and pros and cons. What do you know about Lupron? What do you know about Danazol? And I had to show you the research I had done, show you that I understood the disease I was battling and the weapons used to fight it. But I'm 36, and I KNOW that I still want children. You made me look you straight in the eye and tell you that I had given up hope, that I already considered this chapter closed. And are you prepared for the "after?" We're taking away 25 years, and your body won't understand. I told you that I wouldnt' make the next 25 years living like this and was prepared to deal with whatever happened.

I could see it in your eyes; you were going to say no. Knowing there was nothing more for me to do, I stood up and looked you firmly in the eyes as I proffered my hand for a shake and said thank you for the meeting with a sad smile. You shook my hand...and you paused. And as I turned to leave the office, you told me to wait. I met your eyes squarely. A long exhale, and you asked me to have my husband join us. September 28. I'll put you down. Go home, read these papers, and come back next week. From that point on, we worked together to find the best solution.

You warned me before surgery, and then again after surgery, that I had a long road ahead of me. It was going to be rough, and it was going to hurt, and things would never be the same.

Thank you, Dr. Foxworth. You were right. Things aren't the same, and I pray that they never are. You gave me a second chance. You gave me a new life. Over the years, I forgot some of the joy just living brings. Now I find it every day. There's joy in waking up each morning not feeling like a prisoner in my body. There's joy in being able to move however I want. There's joy in not being in constant anticipation of the pain.

Sitting in your office again yesterday, we discussed the surgery. The smile in your eyes as you gave me the thumbs up was genuine. Echoing a year ago, I stood up and proffered my hand with thanks and turned to leave. And like a year ago, you stopped me. Hey...good luck. I met your eyes squarely. We both exhaled and gave each other a silent nod.

It's time for me to go start my new life now.

Thank you.

A brief update

2005-08-13T23:19:00.000-05:00

I did see my surgeon on Friday for a short checkup. All in all, she's very pleased and feels that the surgery was the right decision and was successful. I received the standard cautions about the possibility of recurrence and the importance of checkups--although I now only have to have them every two years--as well as another offer for prescription medications...which was met with another refusal.

We're not worried about the numbness that still covers a section of my abdomen. It should come back, and we're hoping it does, but it's just not that big of a deal if it doesn't. There were only a few itty-bitty concerns that we're just going to play wait and see on. Recovery takes a year for most and longer for some. I'm at ten and a half months.

Things are good. I still have a green light for Korea. (Yeah--like she could stop me, anyway!)
Thanks, Dr. Foxworth!

Charity gone wrong

2005-08-13T23:17:00.000-05:00

I firmly believe that no matter who you are, you will need help of some kind at some point in your life. And it is our duty to provide help to others when they need it if we are in a position that allows us to.

I received a phone call last Saturday. It was from a stranger. I'm not sure how she got my number, but I'm assuming it was from the ad I placed about the flowers I was selling. I don't often answer the phone from numbers I don't recognize, but this time I did. On the other end was this stranger asking for help. She told me that she was desperate...desperate enough to call a stranger. She had three children ages 9, 3, and 1 and was pregnant with the 4th. She was living alone in an apartment without a single piece of furniture. Her children were sleeping on the floor. Their clothes were on the floor. They ate on the floor. She had no family close by to help and no money to buy furnishings. She was looking for help.

If she had asked me for money, I would have hung up. I'm naive but not stupid. But she wasn't asking for money. She was asking if I had any extras...extra pillows, extra blankets...even extra dressers or mattresses. Anything I could spare would be a blessing. I was a bit taken aback. I told her that I don't have any children, so I had nothing for children to give her. And I don't have any extra furniture. She got quiet on the other end, and thanked me for at least not hanging up on her. I told her that I would see what I could come up with. I couldn't promise anything more than a phone call back, but I would, indeed, be calling.

I sat and thought for a while. And I prayed. I wanted to know what I should do. As I sat outside thinking just what my responsibility here was, I noticed that a neighbor was hauling out his old metal futon. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he got a new one and didn't need this one anymore. I took that as my sign to help the stranger.

Over that night and the next day, I rounded up a queen sized futon which would make a nice bed for the kids, a washer and dryer, two dressers, a single mattress, and five bags of food. I also was working on some clothing and toys for the kids. When I called S(tranger) back to tell her, she seemed very happy. Her enthusiasm faded a bit when she asked if the items were new or used. When I told her used, she responded with an "oh." I told her that I only needed her to find someone with a truck to come pick it all up. I didn't see how this would be a problem since she had told me about the church she attends. She agreed. This was Sunday afternoon, and she had church later that day.

I called her on Monday to see if she had found a truck yet. She said that she didn't "feel like" asking anyone; isn't there someone I can ask? I told her no and that I can't hold onto these items very long. I talked to her again Monday evening. She still hasn't checked with anyone. She told me that she would hang up the phone to call the pastor right then and give me a call right back.

But she didn't call me right back. And she didn't call Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday or Friday. I tried calling her but got no answer. Meanwhile, another neighbor has told me that her friend is looking to buy a washer and dryer and wants to know if I will sell these to her. I told her that they were already spoken for. But Saturday afternoon, when the furniture is still in my house and I still haven't heard from S, she asks me again. I told her that I will give S until the end of the day to return my calls. If I don't hear from her, I will sell the washer and dryer to get back what I paid for them. So I do.

Saturday night at 11:53 p.m. my telephone rings. I check the caller ID, and it's S. Calling me at midnight. Not appreciating the hour of the call, I don't answer. She leaves this message:

"uh...I'm trying to reach K! This is S. I'm calling about my stuff, so you NEED to call me back!"

I'm not very happy. First, she doesn't call me back after saying that she will. Then she doesn't return MY calls. For a week. Now, she's calling me at midnight. And leaving a rather rude message on my phone.

She starts calling the next morning. I don't answer the first time because I'm just not composed enough yet to talk to her without losing control. This message goes like this:

"uh...hello, K! This is S, again. You haven't returned my calls. Did you go out of town without telling me?! You REALLY need to call me back about my stuff!"

And this was followed by five more phone calls. And four more today.

I'm not feeling charitable any longer. I feel foolish. And used. And I've already found other people that need the items I bought and collected for her, so I'm getting them to people who are sincere in their need.

I hope she doesn't call again tomorrow. Because I just might answer the phone this time. And I don't have anything good to say to S right now.

"Smaller" smiles

2005-08-13T02:06:00.000-05:00

I went shopping today. I needed some clothes before I leave for Korea. I woke up feeling refreshed (I'm not sure how on only four hours of sleep), I had some nice messages waiting for me on the computer, and even my hair was cooperating...so I decided to take my good mood and go clothes shopping.

This has never been anything I particularly enjoyed. Not for a long time, anyway. But I told myself to just take it easy. No expectations here; we're just looking for a couple of new outfits. I head for my favorite store in town. This store is my favorite for three good reasons: 1) I like their clothes, 2) I like their prices, 3) they are a combination misses and plus sized store, so I don't have to walk into a plus size only place to shop. This last reason is actually pretty dumb because it's depressing to know that one whole side of the store is off limits to me. I guess it just makes me feel good to be near regular sizes.

So in I went. I know that I've lost some weight. When clothes fall off, it's a pretty good indication of this. But I'm still trying to not have any expectations or visualize any certain outcome. I'm just going to go inside and try some things on, and I'm not coming out without at least three outfits, and I'm NOT going to CRY.

But I did cry. I cried when the first size I tried on was too big. And I cried when the next one was still too big. And I cried when, fueled by newfound hope, I reached for the size I had always hoped to get into...and it fit.

I spent three hours wandering around the store--the OTHER half of the store--choosing clothes with color and shape and style like I had always wanted but wouldn't wear because of being too self-conscious about how they would look on my hips. And I bought six outfits. Then I went to another store and bought three more.

I may not be stopping traffic anytime soon, but I no longer have to be referred to as the girl who's "kinda big but has a great personality." And that's enough to make me smile.

A deeper gold

2005-08-11T18:37:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine recently bought herself a new ring. It's actually a new wedding set. She came over to show off how shiny and sleek and flawless it is. I made the appropriate oohs and ahs. Then she asked me why I don't trade my old set in on a new one. After all, I've certainly EARNED it. "I don't think so," I said. "I like mine just the way it is."

That's how she looks at life, though. She likes things shiny and new. When some of the sparkle starts to wear off, she's out looking for something to replace it. She looks at my rings, my two simple bands, and sees their age, sees their flaws and how they're no longer perfectly round. To her, they're just old.

I look at them a little differently. One wedding band is mine; the other is J's grandmother's. I wear them side by side and see continuity. There are small scratches in the gold now. The color has deepened from the glassy color of new rings to a warmer, richer, and deeper gold more like the color of brushed bronze. And the shape is no longer perfectly round but has formed to the contours of my finger.

I look down at my hand and see rings that have stood up to all I've put them through. I see the way the small scratches reflect the light a little differently but into beautiful and unique patterns. I like the warmth of the color of this deeper gold. It speaks of life and love. And I like the way this ring has taken on the shape of my finger. It has become fitted and a part of me. On the rare occasion when I take off my rings, they have the look of rings that have been well worn. It's obvious that they belong to someone and that they are part of someone.

These are my rings. They speak of me and of my marriage. They speak of a relationship that isn't shiny and new and perfect but of one that is has endured scratches, turned deeper, and changed shapes until it's a custom fit for the people who wear it. They show continuity, endurance, and the special beauty of things that have been strong enough to bend under pressure without breaking.

Like everything else in her life, when her rings lose that new sparkle, she'll be off to trade them in on something new. She'll never appreciate seeing a well worn ring on her finger and knowing that they're not beautiful in spite of their flaws but because of them.

Love Letters

2005-08-10T21:45:00.000-05:00

In organizing things for the move, I came across old love letters J and I have shared over the years. What is it about those few words written on a page that touches so deeply?

It's interesting to read letters that are many years old and then read newer ones to compare them. The "more" that we've grown into over the years is reflected in the letters. As wonderful as new love is, it doesn't even compare to sharing history with someone.

I am so in love with this man. He is with me in everything that I do. There is no place he could go that I would not follow him. There is nothing I would not give up to be with him. To be with him, touch him, laugh with him, love him is heaven. I would wait all my days to look into his eyes once more.

to my darling J,

you are the fire that makes me burn
and the peace that calms my soul.
you are every great adventure.

Friends

2005-08-10T00:02:00.000-05:00

When I started writing my journal, I didn't figure anyone would ever read it. It was just a way for me to cope with long nights. It also helped me sort through some of my feelings; it's therapeutic to write. But one day, someone dropped by and said hello. I figured it was a fluke--something that was destined to happen sooner or later but just once and just by accident. It wasn't, though. I actually have friends who take a few minutes out of their day to stop by and see what I might have rambled about the evening before.

I don't know what to think about this. I'm happy and humbled. And hopeful. Some of the people who glance past here I would have to consider friends. And unlike the friends that I am leaving when I leave Fort Polk, I don't have to say goodbye to my blog friends. The Internet will travel with me, and I can stay in touch with every last blogger. As a matter of fact, the only thing that will change is that my journal will contain entries from Korea and sappy descriptions of how great it is to see my best friend every morning again.

I actually find it comforting to know that I can take all my new friends with me. And I can share my new adventure with all of them. So if you're one of them, and if you're reading this you most likely are, thank you. Thank you for making me part of your day. Thank you for your encouragement. Thank you for waving to me as I leave.

BUT...
don't wave so hard--I'm just switching locations. It's not that easy to get rid of me! Have you learned nothing from me yet?!

Bare walls

2005-08-09T23:44:00.000-05:00

If anyone had asked me a few days ago, I wouldn't have thought that we had much "stuff" in the house. I don't like a lot of stuff or clutter. My walls were decorated simply with an oil painting here, a tapestry there, wrought iron sconces scattered throughout. But my walls are bare now, and the simple decorations I had are even more noticeable now that they're gone.

My packers come next week. Much of the work I am doing now they would do when they got here, but I simply don't trust them. Everything would end of packed for sure, but not the way I want it. I'm just a little particular about things, especially MY things. I want it all packed just a certain way and in a certain order. And since there will only be one of me to supervise the five or six packers they normally send, I have work to do ahead of time so that I make sure things get done the way I want them to.

So far, all of my closets have been organized and sorted into categories. So have the three storage units. My walls are now clean and clear. I had my yard sale this past weekend, so all of my extra "stuff" has already been dealt with and removed. I sent six boxes to Korea today. Just little things that I would like to have with me. Little touches to make our new apartment a home.

J was supposed to sign for our apartment today. He's a little late in calling, and I'm hoping it's because he's meeting with our new landlord and getting a set of keys.

Have to give Cokie and Weezer some extra special attention tomorrow. I was gone all day running errands, and now their house is being taken down around them. They are a little nervous. I don't know how I love those dogs so much, but I do. They've been with me for the past ten and a half years. They've been there during deployments and schools and everything. I'm thinking of things I can do to make them feel extra comfortable and loved when they go to stay with grandma and grandpa.

My list of things to do is getting shorter and shorter. Now that I'm down to bare walls, I can cross one more thing off the list.

Time Out

2005-08-07T13:43:00.000-05:00

So what happens when you go and go and go without stopping? When the list of things you need to do, should do, and want to do is longer than the time you have? And when the months of little sleep lead to three days of no sleep at all? The body just shuts down, that's what.

It was a long week. I managed to get several things marked off my master list but at the expense of sleep. I was up all night Wednesday and all night Thursday. I thought I would get to take a nap on Friday, but my ad in the paper for the flowers from the yard meant that I had people in and out from 8:30 in the morning until 6:00 in the evening. Then there was a cookout Friday night. I would have skipped it except that I had volunteered to bring food, and I didn't want to let them down. (They were really counting on my famous baked beans and deviled eggs!) So I went to the party figuring I would only stay an hour or so. Once there, I was having fun and forgot about being tired. I remembered around 1:30 a.m. as I made my way home. J called to see if I'd made it home and to say goodnight. As I was on the phone with him, gunshots rang out. They sounded as if they were coming from the apartment above, but I couldn't be positive. I hung up with J to call the MP's, and before I even finished giving all the information to the desk sergeant, my neighborhood was lit up with so many spotlights you would have thought it was daytime and filled with more MP's than I'd ever seen in my life.

J called me right back and said he wasn't hanging up until he knew what was going on and that I was okay. This whole ordeal took a couple of hours. By the time the police and swat team left and I calmed down and J felt comfortable hanging up, it was 4:30. Now, Saturday morning was supposed to be my garage sale. Around here, saling starts at 6:00...and yes, that's in the morning. By noon, most people have called it quits and gone back indoors because it's just too hot to sit out in the sun hoping someone will come by to buy your old coffee cups and college sweatshirts. So I drive to the Shoppette for a cup of caffeine--I mean coffee, and start setting my things up for the sale.

Sure enough, my first customers arive at 5:30. In the morning. In the dark. Whispering because the neighbors are still alseep. They leave with about $35 worth of crap--I mean things that I no longer need. By 8:30, I've sold everything I cared about selling and decide to call it quits. I had already called the Women's Shelter in the next town over and told them that I had clothes to donate and asked what else was on their list of things they needed. Some of the little odds and ends I was getting rid of made their list, so I gathered it all up and loaded it in my Jeep. The lady a couple of houses down from me was having a sale, too, so I bop over there real quick and grab up some of her games and stuffed animals to take in, too. (Having to leave home in the middle of the night is rough enough. Kids should at least have games and stuffed animals to help comfort them.)

I get home from the shelter about 12:00. My neighbors see me come home and run over to say that they are taking their dog and going to the beach and want to know if the pups and I want to go with them. Now, I'm tired. Very tired. And running around in my bathing suit with my young hunky neighbor and his young, hunky friends...and their younger, perkier girlfriends and wives...doesn't sound all that appealing. But I look at Cokie and Weezer who seem to have somehow undertood the invitation and have a quiet look of hope in their eyes and hear myself saying, "We'd love to go! Thanks for inviting us!!"

I change into my suit and wish I'd spent the past three nights of not sleeping doing situps and leg lifts but realize (and hope) that the hunks and perky girls will be too distracted by all their nubile, exposed flesh to pay much attention to me. After about four hours of sunning and playing, my pups are exhausted and ready to go home. As soon as we are loaded back up in the Jeep, they both pass out. And I realize that I'm not far behind them. On the drive back home, I have to fight to keep my eyes open. I grab my phone and call my sister and tell her to please talk to me and keep me talking. (Don't lecture me about talking on the phone while driving. It's much more dangerous to fall asleep at the wheel.) She talks to me until I reach home safely and makes me promise to go inside and go to sleep.

I go inside and put out dinner for the pups. I'm trying to decide what to make for myself when J calls. I sit down on the couch to talk to him and only hear a few more words of what he is saying. It's 6:15 Saturday evening, and I have been going nonstop since 7:00 Wednesday morning. And sitting here on my couch after an afternoon in the sand and sun, with a blanket around my shoulders, a cool breeze from the ceiling fan, and J's warm voice tingling its way across the phone lines, I fall asleep.

Actually, I think I was the one talking when I went down for the count. I passed out. Shut down. No more time left on the play clock. And I didn't wake up until 9:15 this morning in exactly the same position as when I went to sleep. That's fifteen hours of sleep. And the pups and I aren't doing much today, either.

I do have some phone calls to make and some letters of thanks to write and some more packing to do; however, a thunderstorm is moving in right now. I think I'll go outside and watch as it rolls in and smile at the sky.

2005-08-05T00:18:00.000-05:00

You're in a better place, I've heard a thousand times
And at least a thousand times I've rejoiced for you
But the reason why I'm broken, the reason why I cry
Is how long must I wait to be with you

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord, won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now

Help me Lord cause I don't understand your ways
The reason why I wonder if I'll ever know
But, even if you showed me, the hurt would be the same
Cause I'm still here so far away from home

In Christ, there are no goodbyes
And in Christ, there is no end
So I'll hold onto Jesus with all that I have
To see you again
To see you again
--"Homesick" by Mercy Me

My mother's marker is finally done and in place. Is it closure for me? No. I'm not ready for closure.

Sleep well, mom. I'll see you in my dreams.

You've got to give a little

2005-08-03T22:14:00.000-05:00

There's always an ideal. In any situation, there's a perfect outcome. But then there's what realistic and what's acceptable. I had to make some adjustments in my expectations today. I wasn't happy at first. But in the end, I'm okay with it.

Someone came by the yard today and made me an offer. The offer was that she did all the work of removing the wood and flowers and in exchange got to take anything she wanted for free. I initially refused. I couldn't begin to estimate how much money is tied up in my yard, but I know it's well into four figures. And I thought her offer was ridiculous. But I did tell her that I would allow her to remove the one flower garden (I have four) and take what she liked in exchange.

She went to work clearing out the garden. The agreement was that she didn't just get to take the flowers she wanted; she had to completely clear the garden and then reseed it with grass. Meanwhile, three soldiers (thank you Jeff, Chris, and Jesse) came out to start dismantling the fence and deck. If I was scared yesterday by what I saw in the wood, I was mortified tonight. With every piece of wood moved, my heart sank further. The bugs were disgusting, sure, but the spiders will be haunting me for a few days.

Jennifer didn't mind the spiders. She stood right in the middle of it all and reached down into that ground with her bare hands. Me? I was standing on a chair in the middle of the yard. I made my pups go inside. There were more spider nests that I would have ever thought possible. They kept asking me what I thought would happen when I put wood on the ground and left it there for three years. Honestly? I didn't think about it. I just made a fence because it was pretty. So did the grass spiders, the wolf spiders, the black widows, and the brown recluses.

So I was standing in the middle of my yard--the yard I used to view as a peaceful retreat--and watching the wood being put into a huge pile and listening to the four of them wonder at the number of spiders in the garden Jennifer was clearing. And I realized that this wood would be sitting here until I found someone to come get it. And I realized that I had three more gardens to clear on my own. I thought about what would be lying in wait for me in the other gardens.

I also thought about what would happen if I got bitten. Three years ago, I was bitten by a normal, everyday, non-poisonous house spider hiding out in a shoe. In slipped my foot. I didn't feel the bite, but within two hours, my foot was swollen to the point of having to cut the shoe to get it off. An hour later, I couldn't walk on that leg. That evening, my foot was discolored and purple. That night, my entire body had stiffened; I was sore and was running a fever and freezing. A trip to the doctor revealed a punture wound on a toe and the prognosis of "severe serum reaction." Not an allergy because I didn't stop breathing, see. A serum reaction. That was followed with a week's course of steroids and antihistimines and the advice to not be in the position of getting bitten again.

I'm supposed to leave here in two and a half weeks. I don't have a week to waste being laid up with a paralyzed limb. But what if I'm bitten by the widow or the recluse? Will I notice it in time to get to the hospital? How long will I be in the hospital? Most people don't know they've been bitten by the recluse until they see the telltale bulls-eye mark. By that time, my father had collapsed, the doctors were hoping to save his life and debating amputating his leg.

I made a deal. Jennifer is taking the wood--every last piece of it. And some of the flowers. In return, she is to finish all the yardwork by tomorrow night. Every garden will completely cleared. She will plant the new seed. She will weed and mow and restore my yard to its pre-occupancy blandness. And me? I do nothing more. I will provide the tools and the ice water. But I don't step into the yard again.

Is it a fair deal? Maybe. I paid a fair amount for all the wood. It's got some weathering as it's been out in the yard for three years, but it's still worth something. But I get it all out of my yard andI get the rest of the work done without touching the dirt again. And she is buying some of the flowers from me. So I'm giving a little. Maybe it's not ideal, but I've got a plane to catch.

Asking for help is hard

2005-08-02T17:54:00.000-05:00

I had my first inspection yesterday. I'm not worried about the inside of the house. There's no damage, and I keep things pretty clean so the final wipe down shouldn' be bad at all. The yard's another story.

My yard is a source of pride to me. Over the past three years, I have done so much work to it that it no longer resembles government housing. I have a landscape timber fence around the perimeter. It's just for decoration so it's three timbers high. And in the back corner of the yard, I've built a (drop) deck for our patio furniture. I did this all myself during J's various deployments and schools. I've also planted hundreds of flowers. Hundreds. I found out yesterday that everything must be removed from the yard. Every last timber and every last plant.

I went today and put an ad in our post newspaper advertising the flowers and timbers and fencing that I will no longer be needing. Then I went outside to get started on the removal of the wood. I have to get it done within the next day or two because I have to have grass growing in those places before I can leave.

It's hot in Louisiana. So hot. But the wood has to be moved. So one by one, I pick up timbers and move them to my cement patio until someone comes to get them. I managed to move 17 of them. 17 out of about 100. And I can't do anymore. It's not the heat; a bottle of ice water will cool me off. No, it's something much worse.

My wood has been sitting out in the yard for three years now. And in three years, it has become haven for spiders. All sizes and shapes and of various venomous potencies. And I tried so hard this morning. I had on long jeans, a long sleeved shirt, a hat, gloves, and glasses. Every inch of skin that could be covered was. But it didn't matter. I just can't move that wood. I can't move any more. I would pick up a piece and check it carefully. If it was infected, I dropped it and ran away. If it looked clean, I would gingerly grab hold and carry it to my patio. And maybe I could have kept going that way until I noticed that I would get to the pile of "clean" timbers only to see spiders crawling over them. Which meant that the ones I had touched, the ones I had held close to me, had actually had spiders in them that I hadn't seen.

I can't do it. I want to. But I can't. And I feel so stupid. I have to go ask someone for help--something I'm not particularly good at, anyway--and I have to tell them that the reason I can't do it myself is because there are spiders out there.

I don't want to ask for help. But I don't want to die, either, and if one of those things touches me, all that is good and happy and full of love inside of me will wither up die for sure.

J called this morning and told me not to touch the wood. He told me to call for help. I didn't even tell him that I had tried to move it already. He just knew. He must have felt my heart splinter all the way in Korea because he woke up in the middle of the night to talk to me, comfort me, and tell me he had been thinking about the back yard and he didn't want me touching the wood. "I want you to call someone," he said. "I don't want you out there." Then he got really quiet and said, "I'm sorry."

I knew what he meant. He's sorry that this is something I can't handle.

So am I, J, so am I.

Tag...you're it

2005-07-31T20:24:00.000-05:00

I've been tagged for the first time. Brian tagged me with an easy one, at least. I'm supposed to list 10 songs that I'm into right now. Going to be hard to pick just ten off my playlist, but here goes:

1. "Testify to Love" by Avalon. Because everyday, I pray that I will be a "witness in the silences when words are not enough."

2. "Come Away With Me" by Norah Jones. Because her mellow voice makes me melt, and I love the images she creates. "come away with me and we'll kiss on a mountaintop" and "I want to wake up with the rain falling on a tin roof while I'm safe there in your arms." Ahhhh, yes.

3. "Someday" by Sugar Ray. Because this song came out during a rough time in J's and my life and reminded us that what's most important is the person who has stood by your side. "Someday when my life has passed me by, I'll look around and wonder why you were always there for me." Besides, Sugar Ray's pretty fun!

4. "Some Kind of Wonderful" by Joss Stone. Because, well, have you heard her voice?! And I love this arrangement. A little blues, a little funk, a little soul. "Now my baby, when he holds me, he sets my soul on fire. And, wooo, when my baby kisses me, my heart becomes filled with desire. When he wraps his lovin' arms around me, he almost drives me out of my mind. I get these funny little feelings inside of me and chills run up and down my spine." That's good stuff, now.

5. "Shackles" by MaryMary. Because it's always good to be reminded to throw my hands up in praise. "Take the shackles off my feet so I can dance. I just wanna praise you. I just wanna praise you. You broke the chains now I can lift my hands. And I'm gonna praise you. I'm gonna praise you!"

6. "Dream a Little Dream" by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. Because? Come on...it's Ella and Louis!

7. "Dance With Me to the End of Love" by Madeleine Peyroux. Because jazz is just sexy. "Show me slowly what I only know the limits of."

8. "Exalted Forever" by Big Daddy Weave. Because BDW has a great beat that totally matches the line "I sing for joy at the work of your hands." Think cross between Dave Matthews and Hootie. (Remember Hootie?)

9. "Prosperity Blues" by Keb 'Mo'. Because life isn't complete without the blues. I love this song. He's singing the blues about not having the blues anymore! "I can't even crack a frown since the blues slipped outta town."

10. "The Valley Song" by Jars of Clay. Because it's good to be reminded that sometimes it's the toughest roads that lead to the places of greatest retreat. "I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of joy."

Thanks for letting me play along. Bonus points to anyone who recognizes more than three of the above songs! And since I took my turn at being "it," I will be tagging Monica, Sue, and Penny Halston. You're it!!

on being a wife

2005-07-30T11:02:00.000-05:00

Often when I meet someone, s/he will ask me what I "do." I could spend twenty minutes detailing all the things I that I do and am responsible for throughout the course of the day, but I know that what they are really asking is what job I occupy outside of the home.

And I wonder...why is being a wife not good enough? Why do we not value this position?

I can only speak as the wife of a career soldier because that is what I am, but it is more than a full-time position. In the military, a spouse's actions and appearances can have quite an impact on a soldier's career. So it is my job to not only care for J but also for his career.

I have my standard duties of taking care of the home, running errands, being J's friend and confidante (not a duty but a privilege), scheduling appointments, paying bills, taking care of the pups, yard work, cooking...all the little things that have to get done during the course of a day.

Then I have all the things that help him be the respected NCO that he is. I have committees in which I actively participate. I have "command appearances" as I call them...functions at which I can't be required to attend (because I'm not the one wearing combat boots) but where my appearance shows HIS dedication to his career. I help with charity functions. I help by showing up in the middle of the night to give food to the soldiers coming off a long, tiring training mission. My home is always available for meetings and "social calls" at last-minute notice. I often have four, seven, ten people I've never met before over for dinner or a cookout for "unit bonding." We've had new soldiers stay with us for a day or two until their rooms in the barracks become available. I play taxi service for new soldiers without vehicles. I play welcome committee to new families. I know the name and number of the wife of every soldier of J's and call them to check on them and their children and see if they need help with anything. I take food and drinks to J's work when training prevents them from taking breaks to eat.

I understand all the military jargon. We speak in acronyms and abbreviations and lingo. I know what it all means. I understand J's job and what he does and how it relates to what others are doing. I know what's on the training schedule and when they will be home or gone and what will be going on.

I know the protocols for social functions from casual lunches to formal dinners. I know the rank structure and how to recognize and address everyone I meet accordingly. I am the gracious, well spoken wife who is always available and always seen but, appropriately, always in the background.

I also know when things aren't going right how to get them taken care of. I understand the chain of command and when to follow it and when not to. I can walk into the Command Sergeant Major's office or the Colonel's office with grace and resolution and have a problem taken care of immediately and in such a way that even my complaints bring credit to J.

But people asking what I "do" want to know what I get paid for doing. Because that is what's important to them. So I tell them what my profession is and answer the appropriate questions about working with children and listen to the stories about their jobs. I give them a friendly smile as I refill their glasses and duck inside to check on the food and to make sure everyone is finding everything they need. I make the right comments and share the right anecdotes as I move through the crowd of people unobtrusively straightening up as I go. I laugh at a joke as I light the torches to give light to the night sky.

I walk past J and check the food cooking on the grill. He puts his hand on my waist and tells me what a great night it's turning out to be as he leans down to give me a kiss and say "thank you." And he's absolutely right...it IS a great night. And I love what I "do."

Short

2005-07-30T00:10:00.000-05:00

There's a term used in the military to describe someone who is about to leave a post...or the military itself. It's called "short." It means that someone only has a short time left before moving on. It doesn't just describe the person, though; it also describes the mental changes that start taking place before leaving.

Things are a little different in the military community. We know that we are only going to be somewhere for three years on average, so we make friends fast and hard. We settle into our homes quickly and become part of the new neighborhood as though we had lived there all our lives. When it's time to leave, though, we kind of start a process of mental separation to get ready for the move. We start noticing more the flaws of our soon-to-be ex home. We even start distancing ourselves from our friends just a little so that it won't be so hard to leave.

I guess that's where I am now. Things that haven't bothered me about my home for three years are suddenly hard to live with. I look around at the area I'm living in, and I just can't wait to get out of here. I keep thinking, I've had to put up with this for THREE years! And I've started noticing things about my friends that, sadly, irritate me to no end. I know it's a defense mechanism this whole noticing all the bad things that I'm doing. It's easier, of course, to leave someplace that wasn't all that terrific than to leave a place you loved. And it's easier to leave if your friends are irritating you than if you think that you'll never have another friend so terrific as this one.

So I understand why I'm feeling the way I am. But I am SO definitely short.

Packing up

2005-07-28T23:27:00.000-05:00

Six weeks. I will see J in six weeks!

Barring any changes made by the military, I will be leaving Fort Polk on 24 August and be heading back to Michigan for a couple of weeks before hopping on the plane and flying to Korea. I've been running around this week making appointments and filling out form after form. I've already hit several snags, but I've been able to fix them or work around them. Hopefully, most of the hard part is out of the way. Getting the paperwork and appointments is the worst.

Now I am making a schedule of all that I have to accomplish to get out of my little house. Today is the 28th, and my household goods are being picked up on the 22nd...that's a little less than a month. While technically a crew comes in and packs everything for me, I still need to go through everything in the house and sort it into the various piles: storage, mailing, taking on plane, and getting rid of. My first inspection is on Monday. I will find out everything that I need to do as far as the military is concerned to "clear quarters" or move out without being charged for anything.

Six weeks. Forty-two days from now, I will be looking into J's ocean-blue eyes. Forty-two days from now, I will feel his strong arms and taste his kiss. And forty-two nights from now, I will be able to sleep again.

Date with a doctor

2005-07-28T00:30:00.000-05:00

I can't believe it's been almost a year since my surgery. It's been ten months today. I'm going in this next month for my one-year check up. It wll be a month early, but the surgeon wants to have a chance to see me before I leave for other parts of this world. I haven't seen her since last November at my six-week check up. This one is kind of a biggie--she wants to note the changes in the quality of my life, note my recovery progress, and note how I'm doing without the aid of pharmaceuticals. Also, if my physical comes out ok, I won't have to have another one for three years. Hopefully.

It's a lot to think about. I can't even put into words how different my life is now than it was ten months ago. I can enjoy...everything...so much more now. It's incredible to not have my daily life revolve around pain. I'm looking forward to the day when I'm fully recovered, but even having a numb lower abdomen is better than living the way I was. So I guess if feeling never does come back, it would be okay. I'm still learning how to cope with some of the symptoms of menopause without taking prescription drugs. I think my body is just confused as to why this happened about 25 years ahead of schedule. I'll just keep taking all those vitamins!

What was my trade off? And was it worth it? I'll never be able to have children. I can also admit that it sometimes bothers me, just a little, to think about the fact that my parts are gone. Intellectually, I know that having them is not what makes me a worthy woman. But there's still one little part of my mind that makes me sit down and mourn the loss while hoping J doesn't think less of me. I had a really mean person online say the most hideous thing to me. I quickly put him on "ignore" and tried to do just that. But his words still echo every now and again.

My family thinks it's funny that I choke on a single prescription pill but now take a handfull of vitamins each day. Vitamins I trust.

Was it worth it? More importantly...would I do it again? Everything but the epidural, I would! I know what my trade offs were. Yes, I did give up a lot to have this surgery; I gave up the daily pain and frustration and emotional reaction to it all.

How long will it last? That, I don't know. There are no guarantees that my disease won't return. A friend keeps saying that there's no way she would ever go through such a surgery without a guarantee.

There are no guarantees in life..except those made to us by God. So I guess I will just put this all back in His hands. He's never let me down yet.

Lazy mornings with J

2005-07-25T22:39:00.000-05:00

J called early this morning. I wasn't quite awake yet. I heard the phone ringing and reached for it instinctively. I mumble a sleepy hello into the phone and am greeted with the warm molasses sound of J's voice. Eyes still closed, I can't help but smile as I bury a little deeper into the covers. I don't want to leave this cocoon.

I remember lazy mornings with J. We didn't get them often. But oh, the delicious mornings of waking up to the sounds of birds singing outside the window, the first rays of sunlight gently streaming through the window blinds. I would feel when J would awaken by the change in his breathing. And then, of course, would come that first morning sigh...half grumble, half purr. I melt when I hear that sound. Oh, those mornings when we didn't have anything to run and do! We could just lie in the sanctuary of each other's arms.

His voice this morning took me back. As he spoke to me across the lines, I kept my eyes closed so that I could feel him there with me. The sheets were perfectly cool from the breeze of the ceiling fan. I stretched and felt the covers sliding over my legs reminding me of the mornings when we would wake up with our legs tangled together and the sensuous combination of cool sheets against warm skin.

J's voice was low and gravelly like it was on those mornings when we would whisper so as to not break the spell. He teased me about being lazy and still lying in bed. I teased him back and then finally conceded to getting up. He said no, not yet. He was just climbing into his bed for the night. And with him in his bed and me in mine, the 6,000 miles between us disappeared as we snuggled up together and whispered about our days and our hopes and our dreams just like we used to. Morning in one place and night in the other didn't matter. It was all the same with our eyes closed and our hearts reaching out to each other.

I told him goodnight softly as he drifted off to sleep. After I hung up, I dressed and took my pups for their morning wander. Outside, the birds were singing their morning songs, and the first rays of sunlight were filtering through the trees and catching on the droplets of dew still hanging on the petals of the roses we planted together. A light morning breeze was gently stirring the windchimes as I sat on our glider, content with the world.

What a beautiful, lazy morning.

Betrayal

2005-07-24T16:28:00.000-05:00

I feel so betrayed by my friend. I am stunned.

Even though I talk to J on the phone pretty regularly, I love the written word. When I'm writing, I have a moment to pause and find the word that has just the right taste and feel on my tongue. I can sit and wait for the exact words to fill a page and say just what I feel. I also like that a letter can be pulled from it's keeping place anytime and reread. Whether or not J does this, I don't know. But it's how I best express myself.

Right now, J's room is filled with cards. He claims that he can decorate the walls with them as there are so many. Some of them have a few lines written inside; some of them are filled. Other cards contained poems or essays that I have written to him.

One day, I was sitting quietly waiting for just the right words to come to me when my friend buzzed me on the computer. She wanted me to come over. I normally stop what I'm doing and go when she calls, but not this day. I told her that I was busy writing and would talk to her a little later when I finished. I think she was a little put out. Later that evening, she asked me if I had finished what I was working on. I had, and she asked if she could see it. I wanted to say no. But for one reason or another probably relating to guilt for putting her off that day, I relented, and I emailed my writing to her. Later that night, she told me it was "nice."

Today I found out that she used what I wrote. She took my words of love and passion for J and used them. And she used them for another man...not her husband. I saw my words written on a piece of paper. It took me a moment to realize what I was reading. She had changed a word here and a name there. But there was my heart so painstakingly written to my husband being sullied...dirtied...cheapened as she used it to send to her "friend"--a "friend" she swore to me was no longer in her life--all the while pretending that these words were written from her heart!

I left without saying a word. I don't know what to say. She doesn't know that I know what she did. It would have been different if she had decided to "pretend" to write this to her husband. I still would have kind of liked her to tell me she was using it. But for her to give them to another man?!

Those were my words. They came from a place of love, commitment, friendship, passion, and partnership...and 15 years of marriage. I'm not Hallmark, and I don't make cards for cheap, illegitimate affairs driven by childish ideas of what "true love" is.

You want to know what true love is, my friend? It's the man who stood by you when you couldn't walk and helped you back on your feet. It's the man who held your hand during delivery and proclaimed undying love to you and the child that wasn't even his own. It's the man who drove 20 miles to get your favorite kind of ice cream when you were sick and then held your head when you threw it back up later. It's the man who's still standing next to you no matter how many times you've tried to push him away.

Send my letter to him. Celebrate him. I will send you everything I write. Let me know when you grow up. Until then, don't expect to see anything else I write. It's obviously over your head.

Rose colored glasses

2005-07-24T11:47:00.000-05:00

People like to tell me that I'm too nice, I'm too gullible, that things aren't as simple as I make them out to be. People say that I look at the world through rose colored glasses.

I've learned quite a bit from gardening. I have many, many roses in my yard right now. Roses come in all different shapes and sizes and colors. Each one is just a little different from the other. Even on one single rose bush, no two of my blooms are ever quite alike. But they are all beautiful. Roses are strong and hearty, too. They can withstand the tropical heat of Louisiana or the cold winter of Michigan. Winds may bend and reshape them, but they rarely break. They can grow in almost any type of soil. The more sun they are given, the more they will flourish. Yet even a rose planted in the shade with lilies and cannas trying to overtake it can find its way out of the dark and produce brilliant, sweet smelling blooms. As a bud is opening, it's true color isn't fully revealed until each delicate petal has been allowed to unfold. Sometimes, flowers will stop unfolding halfway if the plant is stressed or disturbed or taken by disease. Roses, to protect themselves from those who would hurt them, have razor sharp thorns. A soft, gentle touch will spare a gardener from being pricked.

I've learned a lot from gardening. I hope that I do look at the world through rose colored glasses.

Celebrating Saturday

2005-07-23T17:20:00.000-05:00

I was thinking earlier about how the next holiday is still quite a ways away. I was mostly thinking about this because a holiday is an excuse to do something fun, and I want some fun. I was kind bummed when I realized that my next scheduled time for fun...and to try to convince a friend to have fun...is a month and a half away.

Then I thought about it. Why do we only celebrate special occasions? Why do we trudge through life with our heads down and wait to perk up and live for those few certain days spelled out by the calendar?

So I'm celebrating Saturday. Why? Because it's a beautiful day. Because I've had a pretty good week that has brought me one week closer to being with my best friend. Because life is just too short to trudge through it. No more trudging! I will skip my way along and just offer a smile to anyone who looks at me sideways.

There is so much in my life that's precious. LIFE is precious. And I want to celebrate it all. I went to the store this afternoon and got some balloons and tied them to my patio. I even got some of those little noise makers. I'll be sitting out there this evening with a drink and some popcorn. And if any of my neighbors ask me what I'm celebrating, I'll just give them a big, silly smile and tell them I'm celebrating Saturday and invite them to join me.

Happy Saturday, everyone. May you always find a reason to celebrate!

A reflection of me

2005-07-23T10:11:00.000-05:00

As I sit here, Cokie is lying at my feet. Here, in this little tiny closet that is my computer room, she lies panting just to be near me. And it kind of makes me sad because I'm not sure I'm worthy of this kind of love.

Some days I get caught up in my own funk. Some days I have a thousand and one errands to run. No matter what, my pups just lie here waiting for me...waiting for me to snap out of it, waiting for me to come home...waiting for me to accept the adoration they want to lavish upon me.

They have this look in their eyes. It's trust.

Things may not always be the way they would like them. I'm sure they wish I'd take them for more walks or longer ones--or feed them steak for dinner every night! But they trust me to do what's right, to make everything ok. And it makes me sad when I don't live up to that.

But then I look at pictures of me and J together. And I have that same look in my eyes when I'm with him. I trust in him to make the right decisions and to take my feelings into consideration. I trust him to be there when I need him. And I trust that even if things aren't always the way I wish they would be, he will make everything ok in the end. I wonder if that ever scares him, too.

Sticks and Stones

2005-07-21T16:28:00.000-05:00

I'm sad right now. And a little angry. Maybe a lot angry and a little sad. Either way.

I know something that it seems other people in the world haven't learned yet. No one has the right to step into another person's life and tell her how to live it. Trust me, if someone doesn't like me, she is free to turn and walk away. Buh-bye. See ya. I don't even care if she is cursing me as she leaves as long as I can hear her voice fading into the distance. I'm pretty good at ignoring stuff like that. I just pretend that you don't exist..which, of course, you don't in my world. I can even learn to laugh at how ridiculous someone sounds to be obviously obsessed with my life when hers barely rates my acknowledgement.

I'll tell you when I stop laughing...when someone comes near my family. You can laugh, yell, curse, shout, cry, beg, or scream at me all you want. I think you're silly and lonely. But these people around me, the ones whose smiles cause my heart to melt...you'd better leave them alone. Your issues aren't really with me, but they will be if you don't back away.

I have this friend. We've never met--never spoken on the phone. Truth is, we've never even IM'd or emailed each other. But she's my friend because she kept me company at night with her words. She brought a smile to my face on days when I couldn't find anything else to smile over. She made me giggle and laugh and chuckle and snort and guffaw. She did this just by deciding to write a little journal and put it out here for other people to read and enjoy. Whenever you invite others in, you might end up with a guest or two that aren't very nice and you wish would just go away. But what happens when some people become so disruptive that they ruin the evening and threaten to start breaking things? You have to call an end to the party and ask everyone to leave. And that's what my friend has had to do.

I hope your locks are strong enough to keep the bad men out, Christine, and that you can one day open your doors again. It was a heck of a party.

Just passing time

2005-07-21T03:01:00.000-05:00

Ok. Here's the deal. I have started this post at least four times. Each time, get so far into it and then erase it. Why? Because it's just not interesting to anyone...not even me, and I lived it. It was just a day. And the details aren't particularly interesting. The only funny thing to happen today is when the earring broke off in my ear tonight, and that's not really funny--it's supid. And it hurt. And I still can't believe it took three people working together to get it out.

Anyway, the only other thing that happened is that I ended up at the Shoppette here on post (think gas station & convenience store) until 2:34 in the morning talking to the military police. No...nothing's wrong. I ran up there with G to grab a soda, and we ended up standing out there for almost and hour and a half chatting. The Shoppette is open 24 hours, so MP's are there all during the night to get coffee, soda, snacks...anything to keep them awake during the boring night shift. And I don't know what happened (well, actually I do...it's called G), but a friendly hi and hello turned into an hour and a half long conversation.

And you know what? I enjoyed myself. I've almost forgotten how nice it is to talk to people. What did we talk about? Absolutely nothing. Chatter. Jibber-jabber. And it was fun.

You know what else? It's already after 3:00 in the morning. It's amazing how time passes when you're passing it with someone else.

Counting my blessings

2005-07-19T20:23:00.000-05:00

I have to admit that I've been feeling a little emotional the past couple of days. I don't know why. It shouldn't be hormonal anymore...I had that little problem removed. There's nothing particularly sad in my life. The weather is fine. I haven't had an argument with anyone. And yet...I'm not quite myself. Is it because today is day one of month 8 of my husband being gone, and sometimes it doesn't seem like it's going to change? I don't know. But because I'm tired of being in a funk, and because I don't want to succumb to trying to eat my way out of it, I'm going to count my blessings to remind myself of all the good things God has given me.

My faith: thank you God for filling my heart with the knowledge of your goodness.
My husband: I am so blessed to have this man as my lover, my partner, and my friend.
My dogs: they keep me company and make sure I leave the house each day for their walk.
Rebecca: to be able to look at my sister as a friend, someone I truly enjoy.
Jodi: to have the opportunity to build a relationship with my older sister.
Mom: the love that she gave me is a part of me every day.
Dad: I have the chance to reconnect with the man who once made me think he set the sun in the sky just for me.
G: for someone that will always be there if I call
Amy: who reminds me to smile and makes me feel needed
My MIL: the friendship we have now is only sweeter for the pain it took us to get here
My FIL: shows me that people can change
My nieces and nephews: who still look at me as though I'm fun and cool and like my little made-up reasons for things

I have a home, clothes, food, and many extras. I am able to afford a computer and the Internet connection with which to make new friends and to keep me company while J is gone.

I am able to stand and walk and sing and dance and hear the whisper of the wind and see the glimmer of the dew on my flowers.

I have indeed been blessed.

With tears in his eyes, he says "go"

2005-07-18T10:45:00.000-05:00

I don't write about politics here. My little journal isn't about politics. But I have been asked so many times how I can possibly support a president who would choose to send my husband into harm's way. I'm going to skip all the political jargon and gobblety-goop and cut right to the chase:

I have met Mr. President, and I have seen him cry..cry for me, cry for my husband...cry for asking him to leave.

You see, that's what I want. The fact is that my husband is a volunteer in his service to his country. This is the life he has chosen. He wants for me and his family and my family...and your family...to have a wonderful, free life and is willing to give his own life to see that this happens. And he will go wherever this president or the next--or even a previous one that I didn't care for at all--asks him to go.

Me? I'm the one left behind, the one left to worry and wonder and wait. This, too, is a life of my choosing. I ask no one to shed a tear for me...except the person who would send my husband into harm's way. I ask that this person stand in front of me and look me in the eyes and tell me that this is what he believes is necessary...and then shed a tear for the necessity of it. I ask that he please just appreciate what it is that he is asking and that my husband is so willing to give.

Politics of the whole thing be damned. I saw my President face to face, and I saw him cry.

Thunderstorms

2005-07-17T13:36:00.000-05:00

It's thunderstorming today.

I miss J even more when it's thunderstorming. We used to sit outside and watch the storms roll in. We would watch as the sky turned colors and darkened with heavy clouds. We'd smell the ozone in the air as the clouds prepared to let loose of the water that was too heavy to carry anymore. We'd feel the breeze as it started to blow coolly through the yard. Then we'd just sit back and wait...wait for the first rumblings of thunder...wait for the first flashes of lightning...wait for the first fat drop of rain to fall. It's so tranquil.

After the storm really got going, we'd go inside out of the wind and rain. We'd leave the blinds open so that we could watch the storm through the picture window in the living room as we snuggled into the couch...into each other.

I sat outside by myself this afternoon watching as the storm first appeared. I watched as the sky darkened into a deep, rich blue like the color of J's eyes. I breathed deeply of the air as its perfume changed and seemed to carry J's very scent. I felt the breeze as it danced around me and toyed with my hair like J's fingers. And when the thunder came, it echoed through my soul like the husky timbre of J's warm voice. I was at peace.

I stayed out in the storm until I was drenched--not wanting to part from this sensory-driven interlude. Just then, J wasn't six thousand miles away living a life separate from me. Each drop of rain tasted of his kiss as it splashed on my cheeks, and with every flash of lightning, I felt the electricity of his touch. He was there with me in the middle of the storm, and we were the only two people in the world.

Wherever you are today, my love, I pray that God sends you a thunderstorm.

our babies

2005-07-16T13:04:00.000-05:00

since I put up pictures of me and of J, I thought I should put up pictures of the rest of our little family. This is Weezer and Cokie. They don't know that they are dogs, so please don't tell them. (I don't think they'd believe you, anyway.)

Weezer is a Newfoundland mix. Cokie is a flat-coat retriever...and yes, that is a breed. They are both rescue animals which is something J and I believe in strongly. (Please support your local rescue shelters whether it's ASPCA, Humane Society, or whatever is in your area.) We have had them for over ten years.

Weezer-Beezer (my buddy) will be 11 this October. We've had him since he was about 3 months old. The shelter was totally wrong about what kind of dog he is, but we are so glad! They said he was a spaniel mix...but they also said he would be about 30 pounds. Well, he is a Newfie mix and weighs about 100 pounds. And I am so in love with this dog. He is a gentle giant, but turns into my protector whenever J has to leave. He has the meanest sounds bark on the planet and keeps strangers far, far away from me and our house. I once got a phone call from a maintenance man who had entered the house while I was away. He was calling me from my bathroom because Weezer had him cornered and wouldn't allow him to move. I came home and let the man out, and he learned to let me know if he had to come by for routine maintenance. Another time, I had the exterminator out to make all the creepy-crawlies go away. I had to point something out to the man over in a corner, and Weezer apparently thought the man was standing just a little too close to me because he grabbed ahold of his pants and gave a tug. I didn't even realize it, but the exterminator turned to me and said, "Uh, could you get your dog off of me, please?" I looked, and there was Weezer with this man's pants firmly in his teeth. (Turns out Weezer was right. The man was a jerk, and I fired him shortly after that. Weezer is much happier with the new exterminator.) He's never bitten anyone. Of course, he's never had a need to. Most people take a look at a great big 100 pound black dog coming at them and decide to stop.

Cokie-Mokie (my pumpkin head) is not a protector. Oh, she'll let you know if someone is at the door, but that's all one should expect from her. She is also 10. She was an abandoned puppy that we brought home because she was black and matched Weezer. She is my snuggler. (Weezer gets too hot.) She is a total girl. She loves to be brushed and have baths and wear scarves tied around her neck. She loves to run and play, and it's hilarious to tell her that there's a critter under the ground and to "get it" because she will dig and dig and snort and sniff and go crazy trying to find something under the ground. I know...it's bad to abuse her natural hunting abilities this way. But it's also funny. They hate the armadillos. Cokie is always nosing around all the little holes they make outside, and every once in a while, I point to one and say, "What is it? Get it, Cokie, GET IT!" There she goes! Sniff, dig, snort.

There they are. My babies. The pups. Time to go snuggle on them now!

An honorable man

2005-07-16T11:46:00.000-05:00

This is my husband. He is the most beautiful man I know.

J may not be perfect. He can sometimes be forgetful. He rarely gets enough sleep so is on occasion grumpy and tired. He doesn't suffer fools well.

But he knows the meaning of honor. He lives it every day and in everything he does. He makes a commitment to something and follows it through to the end. He makes commitments to the soldiers under his care to see that they are trained and have everything they need to function beyond where they thought they could. He meets with their families and has them over to our house for cook outs. He takes their phone calls no matter what time they come in. He would never ask them to do anything he would not do himself, and if one of his soldiers is working, he is working.

He makes commitments to his friends that he will always be there for whatever they need.

He makes a commitment to his family that he will always keep coming back no matter how many times they let him down. He doesn't limit second chances. And no matter what, he never ends a conversation without telling them that he loves them and will talk to them again soon.

He made a commitment to me, his wife. A commitment that can be difficult to honor under any circumstances but especially under the circumstance of being a professional soldier. He may not always be around when I would like him to be, but he honors our marriage as the constant in his life that keeps him grounded. He never puts me on the back burner or acts as though I am second to his career. He tells me that we are partners and tries to share everything with me and let everyone else know that he is where he is because of me. He takes whatever opportunity he gets to just spend time with me and let me know how very much I am a part of his life.

He made a commitment to his country. He wears this uniform proudly. He wears it knowing that it is not a statement of support for any administration or current policy but a profession of loyalty to his country and to a way of life. He goes wherever he is asked and does whatever is required. He performs his job with dignity and would never do anything to bring discredit to his service or his country. He is willing to sacrifice his own comfort, safety, and even life to honor this commitment.

I am so proud to be his wife.

Comfortable in my skin, Part 2

2005-07-15T20:18:00.000-05:00

...cont'd

I am not one of the beautiful people. Not in that sense, anyway. I'm just me. And I do pretty much like what's on my inside. But...what do you do when your insides don't match your outsides?

I was always pretty average on the outside...and I was comfortable with it that way. I could paint myself up for special occasions, but on the average day, I was the typical girl next door. I was very active. What I lacked in ability I made up for with enthusiasm...and a sense of humor. Things started to change in my early twenties. Due to pain from a medical condition, it was getting harder and harder to be active. Then came the hormone shots and (occasionally) steroids. It happened gradually, but I went from being a size 8 to a size 18 over about ten years. I'm only five feet tall.

On the inside, I remembered what it was like to run and climb and play and be free. I remembered what it was like to walk into a store to pick out an outfit and not leave the store in tears. I remembered how much fun it was to get dressed up and go out. Instead, it had become a nightmare involving staring at the awful, huge clothes hanging in my closet and hoping that wherever we were going would be dark and have places to sit. I was so self conscious. And I wasn't comfortable anymore.

And yet, this was just how things were. I was used to them. I dreamed of them changing, of course. But I didn't know when--if ever--they would.

Last summer, I sat down with my doctors, and we all agreed that it was finally time for surgery. I was scheduled for 28 September.

It's nine months later now. Recovery is a little slow, but that's only because I'm actually trying to recover to a time of 13 years ago when I had a body I could understand and control. J has been gone for 7 months now, and in some ways it's good to have this time to myself. As much as I miss him and so desperately look forward to being with him soon, this is giving me time to settle into a new life.

You'd think it would be easy. All of a sudden, most of the pain is gone. I can do things again. And I'm down to a size 10 now. But I've lived many, many years of dodging pain, cramps, bloating, mood swings..and other things too horrible to mention. I've had to deal with side effects of medication and hormones. (I will never take them again!) So I'm learning how to be just a person again.

I'm hoping that when I see J, I will have truly accepted that this is my new life. I'm also hoping that the four-inch wide section of my abdomen will eventually regain feeling and that I will be able to strengthen those muscles. I've got no delusions here. There's no way to erase the past 13 years and become a perky 20 year old. But I don't want to. I just want to be able to go for a walk in the daylight. I want to be able to go swimming--in public. I want to be able to feel my husband's arms around me and not cringe inside because this body just can't belong to me.

I just want to be comfortable. And I want to see the look on his face when he sees me smiling and oh-so-happy to be average.

me

2005-07-15T19:22:00.000-05:00

me

ok. I actually wanted to post this to my profile, but I can't figure out how to do this. if anyone can help me here, I would be ever-so-thankful!

Comfortable in my skin, Part 1

2005-07-15T17:28:00.000-05:00

"It's what's inside that counts." Isn't that what we're supposed to say--what we're supposed to think? I mean, it sounds good. We shouldn't judge others by their appearance but by their actions. And maybe on the surface we put on the appropriate PC face, but let's be honest...most people still really feel that:

a 100 pound woman craving chocolate is cute; a 250 pound woman craving chocolate is an out-of-control fatty:

a man with a 32-inch waist sweating at the gym is just getting a good burn; a man with a 44-inch waist sweating at the gym clearly doesn't exercise enough:

a nicely dressed woman with three kids in tow and pregnant with #4 is someone who just loves her family and being a mom; the woman in sweats and flip flops with three kids in tow and pregnant with #4 is uneducated and probably just having kids for the welfare checks:

a man in a suit pays with a check so he has a paper trail for his accountant; a man in old, torn jeans pays with a check because he is hoping to beat it to the bank.

I hear things like this every day. Oh, it's never said to the person's face. And sometimes it's not even said in words. It's the way we smile a little brighter towards the "beautiful" people. It's how we try just a little harder for them. We just somehow see them as better, smarter, nicer...more worthy of all the good things in life. Or maybe we just want to associate with them in hopes that some of their "beauty" will rub off on us.

cont'd...

Create in me a clean heart...

2005-07-14T01:53:00.000-05:00

I have started writing a couple of times but have decided not to post those thoughts. Most people make New Year's resolutions on January 1st. I'm trying to stick to those made on my birthday. This is my new year, and I want to make the most of it by making the most of myself. Even though no one reads this, it still has my name attached. I read it. I know that I wrote it. And I want to be a better person. Maybe tomorrow will come; maybe it won't. Maybe these will be the last words I ever write. Do I want those to be angry or bitter? Do I serve to make the world better or worse by what I write?

I cannot count the number of times I have sung the following prayer in church, but it is in earnest that I now pray...

create in me a clean heart, oh God, and renew a right spirit within me. cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me. restore to me the joy of your salvation and uphold me with your free spirit.

Happy Birthday

2005-07-10T11:49:00.000-05:00

It's my birthday today. I am 33 years old. It'll be just a private celebration today...just me and the pups. Mom is...gone. J is in Korea. I just don't expect anyone else to remember. But that's okay.

I woke up this morning with a song in my heart. I woke up singing, "This is the day that the Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it." So God must have remembered my birthday. I took my babies for their morning walk/squirrel hunt. When I came back, I called my sister-in-law's house. My niece answered, and I got to talk to her for a while. That itself was a birthday present. I'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon with my pups. Tonight, I'm going to see the annual Soldiers Show here on post. It's normally later in the summer. Kind of perfect this year that it got scheduled early and on my birthday!

33 years. Am I who I want to be yet? Have I used my time wisely or frittered it away? Have my mistakes taught me lessons that I can use in the next 33 years? If something awful happened tomorrow, would I be at peace knowing that I lived a good life? Does everyone in my life know how important they are to me?

Things to work on in the next year:

smile more
laugh more
count my blessings every day
don't join people in their misery; encourage them out of it
look for the opportunity for blessings in every circumstance
quit bearing gifts as though they are burdens
don't gossip. ever
be a witness in the silence
accept my beauty
seek out the good in everyone
live life filled with love

an open letter to my mother, page 2

2005-07-07T03:02:00.000-05:00

It's been six months since I last heard your voice. Why is that so hard for me to believe? Maybe because not that much has changed. Oh, there's been a thousand things I've wanted to tell you, but it was all just jibber jabber--just excuses to talk to you.

I'm still in Louisiana... hoping to get to Korea soon.

Rebecca came for a visit, mom. We had a really good time. People still asked us if we were twins! Funny how we can laugh about that now.

I have one of your wedding photos. I was going through mine, and I found one of me in the same pose as you. Guess what? I have your smile, mom. It's more of a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, really. I have your chin, too. Now I'm looking for just the right photo frame so that I can put you on one side and me in your dress on the other.

Your headstone finally came in. They had to special order it from somewhere. China, probably. Now we are just waiting on the engraving. We are having a slight difference of opinion with the "artist." He thinks it would look good one way, we told him to kiss our asses and just do it our way. Sorry for swearing, mom, but sometimes you just have to. It should be done soon, though. I think you will like it. Actually, I know you're saying that we shouldn't spend that much money on it. Don't worry about it. This is what we wanted, so please just accept it. Ok?

I was going through pictures the other day and came across the ones from last summer. Remember my "pretty princess" haircut? Wow, that was awful. Those are the last pictures I have of you. I wish I had taken more.

I'm trying, mom. I'm trying to laugh more than I cry, to hope more than I fear, and to sing more than I shout. I'm trying to smile because it's your smile and because the light that shines from my eyes when I do is your light. And I'm trying to find a way to move on without letting you go.

My friend's little boy is 5. He asked me where my momma lives. I told him that you live with the angels. He asked me if that means I can't see you anymore. I told him that I can see you whenever it rains because that's you and the angels dancing in the clouds and stomping all the water out of them. It rained today, mom, and I just want to thank you for stopping by to say hello. Please come by anytime.

Little more than I can give

2005-07-07T02:49:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite songs has that line in it. Some days, especially these days, it seems as though that's what is being asked of me. A little more than I can give. My list of to do things just keeps getting longer. I barely make it through one item before two more are being added. My beautiful pups need their attention. My friends all need what they need. My husband. My yard. My life. I spend all day doing things, but at the end of the day, nothing got done. It can be so frustrating. It's all a little more than I can give.

But you know what the next line in the song is? "A little more than I deserve."

I take a look around. I have so much. I am so truly blessed. And instead of focusing on what I'm not able to give, I need to focus on what I've been given. It's WAY more than "a little more than I deserve."

The Call

2005-07-05T21:37:00.000-05:00

I got the call this last week. J says it's time to start making arrangements for me to move. I still dont have a date yet because he has to arrange some things on his end. But it's time for me to start preparations. I would be lying if I said I was looking forward to the move itself. It's going to be a pain. And my head is spinning thinking of all the appointments I have to make to get the information I will need to make my decision so I can make more appointments to schedule the actual move. I'm hoping to find something out tomorrow.

I'm sad about leaving my dogs with their grandparents for a year. I don't want to do it. Not at all. What else can I do? I just can't choose staying with them over being with my husband. But I'm sad.

I'm nervous about seeing him. I always get nervous after we've been apart for a while. I can't explain it...it's just the way it is. And I've lost some weight. That's a good thing, I know. But I haven't said anything about it to J. Will he notice? Will he be happy? I know he will notice--there's just no way he cannot. But I'm nervous.

I'm apprehensive about the language. I'm pretty good at languages; I have an ear for it. But not Korean. I'm studying and trying to learn, but I don't know how well I will do with this one. Fortunately, J is really picking it up. I hear him speaking it on the phone, and it all sounds the same to me. Normally, I'm strong in this area, but I'm apprehensive.

I'm anxious about meeting everyone. I know that J has said good things about me. I know that everyone is looking forward to me coming over and being part of the little family at his camp. Will I live up to their expectations? Will I be all that they expect from all the things he has said? Will they think I "match" him? I don't want to be a disappointment. I know that I won't be, but I'm anxious.

And...I'm excited. I've been waiting--mostly patiently--for the day when I can not only talk to J but be a real part of his life again. I want to be with my husband, my lover, and my friend. It's going to happen soon. I know there's still a bit of time between now and then. I know it's going to take a lot of work to make this happen. I know what I'm going to have to leave behind and what I'm going to have to learn and how I'll have to pass the test with his new unit. But, I'm excited.

The countdown begins.

Goodnight, honey

2005-07-02T03:19:00.000-05:00

It's late. You've been on my mind tonight--even more than usual. I long for you tonight. It's a peaceful longing, though. The ache I feel for you is almost a comfort to me. It's like an old friend come to visit. I curled up on the couch watching television with the sound turned off. You know, it's funny, but I almost think I understood it better with no sound. I shouldn't tell you this, but every once in a while when you call, I don't answer right away so that you will leave a message on my voice mail. That way I have something to go back and listen to when I need to hear your voice. I have five of them saved right now. I thought maybe listening to your messages would help me fall asleep. But not tonight. I see your face when I close my eyes. Your blue eyes are there shining back at me. I turned on the radio hoping the music would distract me. Instead, Jennifer Knapp's voice has me imagining your arms around me as we dance as though no one is watching. You are with me so much that I can feel your touch across the miles. When did you become such a part of my soul? I thought about crying earlier because I missed you. I actually sat down and thought maybe I should cry. But I can't. I'm not sad. I feel lucky knowing that I have someone I love this way. I came in here to turn off the computer for the night. Our picture is saved as the background right now. I smiled when I looked at it, and next thing I knew, I was going through all our pictures on the computer and reliving the trips we've taken together. And I came across the pictures of you curled up with our puppies on the lawn. What happiness we have shared. We have a good life. I need to go lie down. It will be time to get up soon. Just one more moment of looking into your eyes and perhaps a couple of times more of listening to your voice on my messages. Thank you for your love, J. I may be closing my eyes for a bit, but I will see you in my dreams, and we will dance some more. Goodnight, honey.

A Motto to live by

2005-07-01T00:48:00.000-05:00

I have three mottos in life...

1. Dry skin is the enemy
2. Men are stupid
3. All things come to us in God's time

What the...huh? How do you get from 1 to 2 to 3? And what's up with #2? Does J know about this? Read on.

1. Dry skin is the enemy. Well, that's pretty self-explanatory. I don't think it needs any further elaboration.

2. Men are stupid. Ok, now. Don't get your undies in a bind. This was once a 157-page treatise listing causes (testosterone), citing specific examples (not calling when they are late, remembering the stats of a 27-man sports team but forgetting their wives' birthdays), and proposing coping strategies (a kick in the pants) to the strange malady that seems to affect the brains of men, specifically the married man. However, it was hard to carry around such heavy reading my purse, and I found myself having to give a brief synopsis of the contents to potential readers. After several revisions, I published the condensed version on a single notecard containing only the words, "Men Are Stupid."

Lest my work be misconstrued, let me say that I do not insinuate that men are not accomplished thinkers or that they have nothing to contribute to society. No, indeed. The sad fact is that they all-too-often are possessed by extraordinary levels of knowledge, intellect, and ability. What they lack is the understanding of how their actions (or inactions) affect those around them, specifically their wives. (For further reading on this subject, please read Volume II published under the title They Just Don't Get It).

3. All things come to us in God's time--All things come to us at a certain time and for a certain reason. Every situation is an opportunity to learn and grow. Perhaps each circumstance in our life is not what we would have wished, but if we are facing it, there is something to be gained. It then becomes our choice to thank God for what we have been given and seek out the understanding he is hoping to impart...or to kick at the dirt at our feet and disgrace ourselves by refusing to accept God's wisdom.

So that's it. For me, that covers about any situation I encounter. I just try to remember that there is something to be learned from whatever we are facing in life, it's not my husband's fault that sometimes he just doesn't get it, and everyday is more pleasant with soft, smooth skin.

Sending my love across the lines

2005-06-29T23:25:00.000-05:00

I'm having a hard time writing today. It's one of those days when all I can think about is wrapping my arms around J and holding him. He sounds so tired. Not just tired...weary. Weary is such a good word because it sounds exactly the way it feels. Worn out. Resigned.

I miss him. But today, I'm missing comforting him. It's just this sound in his voice. It hurts my heart to hear him sounding this way knowing that all I can do is listen through the crackle on the line.

Always the babysitter, never the mom

2005-06-28T23:21:00.000-05:00

May as well get this over with.

Fifteen years and no children?! Don't you LIKE them? Don't you WANT them? You need to grow up and have kids, already. You must be really shallow people. Yep. That's us. Mr. and Mrs. Shallow. You've probably stepped in mud puddles deeper. Next subject!!

I don't really know what to say when people start giving me the third degree about my lack of children and their insistance that I'm just not grown up without them. Or worse...I'm not WHOLE without them. I have ignored some people, changed the subject on some, walked away from others, and out-and-out attacked (verbally, that is) (unfortunately) still others who have started along this course of conversation and not taken my hints to DROP it. But since I have written about my friend's children, and I will undoubtedly write about them and my nieces/ nephews more, I will go ahead and let you in on the inside story.

I can't have children. Ummm, that's it. Whole story. No kids. Not now. Not ever.

It's not a particularly sad or even interesting story. There's no heart-wrenching, gut-twisting plot. There's no brave heroine. There's no knight in shining armor. There's just a young girl who finds out that her parts are sick. The girl tells her husband. They are both young and don't figure not being able to have children right away is all that bad. Ten years later, when there are still no children, the doctors say that the parts have gotten sicker and should come out. The girl isn't using the parts, anyway and isn't very likely to be able to use them...well, ever, so she says go ahead and take them out. A few tears and a four-and-a-half hour surgery later, no more parts. The end.

See, I told you it wasn't a very good story. The only good part is how the husband proves himself to be so much more than the girl ever thought. He takes care of her and holds her head when she vomits the medicine that they TOLD the doctors not to give her BECAUSE it makes her vomit and throws the mean nurses out of the room and locks the door behind them and sleeps on the hard tile floor next to her hospital bed because the (now mad) mean nurses can't (won't) find him a damn cot or something to sleep on and he's not leaving her alone. Then he asks the surgeon for permission to take her home early from the hospital (did I mention there were mean nurses?) and lovingly carries her back and forth to the bathroom and cooks her scrambled eggs for the next four weeks. (Yes, that's all he knows how to cook. But they are delicious eggs. And...he can open a mean can of soup!) Actually, I guess this is kind of a love story...which makes it a good story, after all.

A brief tirade

2005-06-28T23:11:00.000-05:00

Let me just say this...

If I "just can't understand" because I just don't have children of my own...
If I "just don't know what it's like"...
If I'm "not entitled to an opinion" until I have my own children...

QUIT ASKING ME.

Oh, yeah--and I guess you won't need me to babysit anymore, either, will you?! After all, no one as inexperienced as me should be left in charge of your children.

(not directed at G, but at certain other people...you know who you are)

No more Ms. Nice K

2005-06-28T22:28:00.000-05:00

I'll admit that I don't have many friends here. Part of that is just the nature of being a military wife: people come, and then they go. A couple of my good friends left for other posts this past summer. Then...my husband gets sent to Korea in December, so I'm not really part of any unit family right now. So right now, I have three people I would consider a real friend living here. G is my best friend.

G's husband has been gone to school for the past two months. That's not really all that big of a deal, but G also has four children...one of whom is special needs. This just basically means that she is tired. Really tired. And with no husband to help out with anything, I have kind of been filling in.

Let me first say that her kids are great. Mostly. As in they are great when they aren't annoying me and making me long for my much quieter dogs. And her kids LOVE me. Being from the South, they call me Ms. K. I like that. It shows respect. It's definitely one of the few things I think those of us in the North could copy from those below the Mason-Dixon line. Anyway, I have been spending much, much, MUCH time with them because she wants the company and NEEDS the break. And during all my time spent with these lovely albeit precocious children, I have come to believe that it's easier to be the mom than the good friend.

Ok, ok. I know I can leave whenever I want. I know that I get to go home to peace and quiet. I know that this is only a part-time gig for me and a full-time job for her. BUT...when mom says "no," kids listen. Mom can yell or plead or threaten or spank or send them to their rooms. Me? They can ignore me. What am I going to do?

The problem is that they kind of see me like the favorite aunt. Which would be cool if I only saw them as often as a favorite aunt would. But I see them every day. And sorry kids, but I'm not going to have candy in my purse for you every day. As a matter of fact, get out of my purse! It's mine. I don't go through your things. And I'm not going to sit on the floor every day and let you climb all over me. I'm old. Your little elbows and knees hurt. Those little games I teach you? Yeah. They aren't fun anymore after SEVEN HOURS! And just because I let mom leave the house to go to the store without all four of you screaming and begging and giving her new wrinkles does NOT mean that you are allowed to jump on the furniture, play dodgeball inside, and climb the cabinets in search of anything containing sugar.

So...lately I have begun instituting some of MY rules when we are together. I know you don't like them, but that's just kind of tough. I was all nervous at first because I thought that you would cry, and mom would ask what's wrong, and you would tell her what I said or made you do, and then mom would get all mad at me. You know what? That's okay. The worst thing that can happen is that she will fire me as your babysitter. And I'm prepared to deal with that.

Happy Anniversay

2005-06-28T15:05:00.000-05:00

I've been married 15 years.

Over the past 15 years, my anniversary has gone all different ways. Our first anniversary, J was deployed to Gulf War Part 1. It's pretty surreal to be 18 years old and realize that you might be a widow before you've even had the chance to live with your husband! (we married right out of high school. he left for Basic Training right after that and then got deployed to the Persian Gulf.)

Every year is a surprise as I never know what will be going on that day. A few times we have been decked out in romance. A few times we have only been able to get in a quick kiss before he leaves for another long day. And then a few times, like this year, we haven't been together at all. It kind of stinks. I try not to complain; it's all part of this life. But it would be nice to be together on our anniversaries.

So this year, I had the whole day to myself. I didn't really want to spend the day with other people. I was a little distracted--preoccupied might be a better word. And I didn't want to share this with anyone. I didn't want to hear the "so sorry" and "let's take your mind off it" that I knew my friends would, naturally, say. I WANTED to think about what the day meant. In my heart, I was celebrating even if it was all by myself.

To my most beautiful husband and best friend, J, I want to say...thank you for everything. This life is unpredictable. Almost nothing has turned out the way I thought it would when we first took our vows at that young, young age. I could never have imagined the path we would take or the sights we would see along the way. I think I'm glad for that. There's just no way I could have understood what was waiting for us and what it would take to get to where we are. I have come to realize that circumstances may not be perfect, but life is. It's perfect because I have been blessed to be married to the one person who sees me and understands without explanation. It doesn't matter where we are or even if we are together. You are in my every thought. You are the fire that makes me burn and the peace that calms my soul. You are every great adventure.

Happy Anniversary, love.

Rebecca

2005-06-28T14:46:00.000-05:00

I love my sister. What's more, I really like her. I think she has become a terrific person. She has kind of a crazy life between her husband, her three children, her three dogs...and her husband's , ummm, interesting family. Oh, yeah--she has our older sister to deal with, too. Sometimes, she has to make peace; sometimes, she has to kick them all in the butt. I like that about her. She manages to find ways to do both.

She finally made it down here for a visit. Circumstances got in the way a couple of times, and I was starting to think that she just wouldn't be able to make it. But she did what she does and managed to find a way.

We had a terrific time. She was here a week. While I could have shown her more if she had stayed longer, I think it was long enough for her...and for her family. This is the first time in her 11 years of marriage that she has been away from her husband and her children. For the first time ever, she got to be just Rebecca, not mom or honey. We did girly things like getting manicures and pedicures (also a first for her) and going shopping. (Sorry about that, Raymond. We did LOTS of shopping!!) And we went to New Orleans and danced and walked and shopped and ate and lounged in the pool. She met my few friends. She saw my little house and my gardens. And she even went home with an extra suitcase--filled with presents for her family, of course!

Mostly, we talked. And enjoyed each other. Just the two of us. We have never done that before, and I don't know when we will be able to do it again. Life just spins out of control sometimes, and we tend to put things off and put them off thinking there will always be another opportunity to spend time with the ones we love. I learned on January 7th that there just might not be. So, we took this opportunity now.

Thank you, Rebecca, for coming to see me. I love you.

Food poisoning

2005-06-05T20:52:00.000-05:00

This is miserable. Absolutely miserable. This must be some sort of punishment for some great misdeed. I can't remember EVER feeling this bad. Well, except for right after my surgery last year. But that's to be expected. THIS? Oh, my. I have been sick until there is just nothing left in me. I am tempted to eat something simply because I don't know what's worse...vomitting or having the dry heaves.

What's the worst part? I got sick from vegetable lasagna. It's not even like I was eating something bad...something deserving of punishment. No. I was eating wonderfully healthy vegetable lasagna. And what is my reward for eating well? That's right. Vomit. Stomach cramps. Diarrhea. Nausea. Dizziness. Headache. Body aches. I had no idea that tomato sauce with broccoli, squash, and carrots could be soooo miserable coming back up. And let's not forget the lemonade!

My friend called earler. I told her that I was sick. She, being the good friend that she is, took it upon herself to bring me some soup. Vegetable. Tomato-based, of course. Thanks anyway, G. I think I'm going to have to pass.

a dedication

2005-06-02T23:16:00.000-05:00

on January 7th, my mother passed away during a car accident. I knew that I had to try to stand up during her funeral and honor her in some way. These are the words that I spoke that morning, Jan 11, 2005:

She was an amazing mom.

I think being a mom was God's destiny for her
because she was so natural at it
And beautiful

Not one time did I ever question her love for me
Not once did I doubt her support
I knew that at the end of every day
good or bad
she would be there to hold me
tell me that she loved me
and call me darling

We were happy, and we were loved

that is my mother's legacy
Love

It is her beauty
her heart
and her shile

It's the way she touched everyone she knew
It's in her friends and family who came here to show their love

Most of all, it's her girls
who are such better people for having had her as their mother
And her grandchildren
who lost her too soon
but who will always remember her soft touch and warm smile

So I will try to brush away my tears
and replace them with a smile
Because even though I'm not ready to give her up,

Mom led a beautiful life
and I know SHE was ready when she met God

dedicated in loving memory of
Sylvia Ann Steele, April 13, 1943-January 7, 2005
in Christ, there are no goodbyes

Open letter to my mother

2005-06-02T22:22:00.000-05:00

Dear mom,

Over the past five months, I have wanted to call and share so much with you. I've wanted to tell you about my flowers. I've planted some of the wild roses you like so much. I've wanted to tell you about J and how he's doing in Korea. I've wanted to call you and tell you when it's hot and when it's cold and when it's both all in the same day. I know that sometimes I didn't call enough, and now that will have to be my regret.

I don't want you to worry about me. I'm doing well. I wake up each day and count my blessings...and I know that I have so many of them. I just sometimes think about all the things that I will never get to show you or share with you. I wanted so badly to fly you over to Korea and have you visit us there. I wanted you to see when J gets his new rank pinned on him. I'm just thankful that we got to share the news of his upcoming promotion even if you weren't able to see it when it happens. I know how proud of him you were.

I hope you are proud of me, too, mom. I remember all the things you taught me. You set the best example for me, and I strive to live up to that example. I try to be a good person and treat everyone with love and respect. I don't call names or curse. (Well, mostly.) I try to always have an open home and outstretched hand just like you always did. I stand firmly behind the values you taught me but keep my touch gentle. If people remember me for something, I hope it is the light in my eyes and the smile upon my mouth that looks so much like yours. That's what everyone remembers most about you.

I keep thinking about all the things I still want to tell you. In the end, they all boil down to simply, "I love you." I love you, mom. So, if you don't mind, I'm still going to talk to you every now and then. I know you'll be listening. And I think that if I listen closely enough, maybe I will hear you whispering to me, encouraging me, still calling me darling. And don't worry if you see me cry. I'm still fine. I'm learning how to smile through the tears.

I just wanted to write and say thank you. Thank you for all that you were and for all that you gave to me. Thank you for making me always feel that I was important. Thank you for teaching me kindness and never letting me be mean. Thank you for always having a firm stand but a gentle touch. Thank you for being true. Thank you for showing me how to love.

I'll write more again, mom. I love you.

Goodbyes

2005-05-31T23:30:00.000-05:00

My husband and I have been together since our junior year in high school. (Wow. That was so long ago.) Over the past 16 years, we have had to say "goodbye" to one another many times. The first time was the summer after my junior year. I was traveling Europe for the summer with a student orchestra as an "ambassador of goodwill." Because of our age and because we had only been dating about four months, I thought I was saying goodbye for good. (one of the only times I've been glad to be wrong!) We married after graduation, and a month later I said goodbye to him as he went off to 13 weeks of OSUT (boot camp). Next was goodbye when he was shipped off to Gulf War Pt. 1 two weeks after Basic. (We didn't live together for the first 16 months of our marriage.) Over the next few years, we said goodbye to each other 4-5 times a year each time he would leave for month-long field exercises. Then it was for a three month stint at school. Later, he decided to change his MOS (his job) which required another goodbye and five more months away at school. Then, it was off to Gulf War Pt. 2, followed one year later by another three months at school, and finally followed by an 18-month rotation in Korea. (We are now in month six.)

I still cry every time he leaves. I think I always will cry. It's what I do; I'm a crier. But even though I can't help the water leaking out of my eyes, I think I've become pretty good at the goodbyes. In the beginning, each goodbye had to be clearly articulated with the requisite phrases of, "I love you...I'll miss you...I'll think of you every day...I'll always be waiting for you...Come home soon...etc., etc." And sometimes, I would notice some of the other, older wives saying quiet goodbyes to their husbands and wonder how they could let them go without saying all the phrases I thought were so important to say. Now, I'm one of the other, older wives...and while our goodbyes are now quieter, they are no less significant. In fact, I cherish the smaller, softer things we say to each other when he leaves. On his last deployment to the Middle East, he looked down at me and said, "I have to go to work now," and then leaned down for one last kiss before picking up his bags and walking across the hangar to his plane.

The morning J left for Korea was rough. I was trying to be strong (and failing miserably). He was trying to act as though he was just leaving for work like any other day. (He wasn't faring much better than I was.) Neither of us was sure that we could handle an airport goodbye, so the neighbor was driving him. We spent a quiet morning holding hands on the couch watching A Christmas Story. (It was one week before the holiday. Merry Christmas to me!!) When it was finally time for him to go, we held hands as I walked J out to the car. He wrapped his strong arms around me for a final hug and whispered, "See you later, love. I'll call you from the office." A quick kiss, and he was climbing into the car while we could both still see through our tears.

I wouldn't have understood this goodbye when I was younger. Where's the pain? Where's the heartache? Where's the pledge of undying love? Now I understand that the pain is a given--so is the heartache. But I wouldn't dream of sending him off with his last image being one of me broken and falling to pieces. And as far as the undying love goes, I felt it in his embrace, I tasted it in his kiss, and I saw it in his blue, blue eyes that still well up with tears even after 16 years of saying goodbyes.

Lessons from a flower

2005-05-31T19:59:00.000-05:00

We moved to Louisiana three years ago. The climate down here is so different from anywhere else I have lived before...and especially different from my home of Michigan. There are all kinds of plants and flowers that I have never seen before. Even the grass is different.

About two and a half years ago, my husband got deployed in support of OIF/OEF. Needless to say, I was left with a lot of time on my hands. Although I've never grown a plant in my life, I decided to try my hand at gardening as a way of occupying some of my time. I started with my lawn; I wanted all the prickers gone so that I could walk through my yard barefoot. I put in my first flower garden and filled it with 3 varieties of lilies and 4 varieties of roses. I planted jasmine to run up the poles connecting my patio with the balcony above me. As spring turned into summer, I added more and more flowers via two more flower gardens. Turns out that I have quite a talent for gardening. By the time my husband returned home that summer, I had managed to turn our standard-issue-government-quarters yard into a tropical oasis.

Last year, he left for three months for school. This year, he is gone to Korea. Each time he leaves, I do more to the yard. I currently have five different types of lilies (day, canna, calla, Asiatic, tiger) and four different types of roses (tree, standard, climbing, mini). All in all, there are about 500 lilies and 27 roses. Salvia, purslane, portulaca, tom thumb, and double impatiens fill in as ground cover and spill out from 11 hanging baskets and pedestal planters. Quite a lot of planning has gone into it. Each flower is carefully selected for type and color, and all of my plants are within a certain color scheme: shades of white, yellow, orange, red, and salmon.

Except one. As our lawn maintenance crews here at Fort Polk are morons and cut down my beautiful evening glories that were climbing the giant red pine in my yard (don't even get me started on how stupid they can be. they weren't even supposed to be in my yard!), I had to go looking for a new flowering vine to climb my tree. I finally settled on a clematis and chose one in a gorgeous dusty rose color to complement the other flowers. I planted her carefully and have been lovingly tending to her each day awaiting the first sign of flowers. Earlier this week, I noticed buds on her, so I have been paying her special attention. This morning, she finally opened for me. I went out to say good morning to all my plants, and there were two flowers waiting for me on the vine.

Violet. As deep and dark a violet as you can get. I have violet flowers in my yard.

At first, I was so disappointed. All the time and love I have given to this plant. Each day talking to her and gently coaxing her to grow and flower and open for me. And she decides to turn purple. I'm not all that fond of purple in any form. I definitely don't want these dark violet flowers in my yard. They don't go with all the others.

So, I spent quite a bit of time sitting out in my yard today. I was looking at my clematis and wondering what to do. Do I keep her? Do I uproot her and give her to someone who LIKES violet flowers? And all day long, she has stared back at me. Not challenging me--just asking for my consideration. After some time, and after my initial disappointment and sense of betrayal wore off, I noticed just how beautiful she truly was. Although she doesn't quite match all my other plants, or maybe because she doesn't, her flowers have a sort of beckoning presense about them. It's as if she is saying, "I know I look out of place, but give me a chance, and I will only enhance what you have created here."

I'm going to let her stay. I think she is trying to teach me something here. My beautiful, renegade, violet clematis is telling me that things don't always have to be ordered just so. She's reminding me that sometimes the things I work to build will be cut down. And though I may struggle to rebuild, the outcome isn't always what I want it to be. No, indeed sometimes my efforts seem to have been punished rather than rewarded. But if I step back, I might be able to appreciate the beauty that is brought to my life by something that doesn't quite fit according to my plans. And if I are lucky, I may even learn to rejoice each time my garden of life is infused with new color and variety.

No such thing as a happy ending

2005-05-31T01:21:00.000-05:00

I am watching a friend make the decision to end her marriage. It's heartbreaking for me. Heartbreaking because I don't believe in divorce. Heartbreaking because these are two great people with four great children who just haven't figured out how to make it all work. Heartbreaking because she is making this decision on her own while her husband is away for school for two months.

I struggle over what my role should be. I want to be there for her and to be someone she can turn to and confide in. But I don't agree with her decision. I think it's the wrong one. And I can't support her at the expense of my values. So, I'm struggling to find a way to be the friend that she needs. Then again, maybe what she NEEDS is to have someone she can talk to who will challenge her and not just agree with whatever she says.

The other hard part of this equation is her husband. He has been so kind and generous to me since my husband left for Korea. I feel that it would be a betrayal of his kindness to know that his family is leaving him and to not tell him. My friend made a comment that I could call and tell her husband everything but it wouldn't make any difference. I'm not going to call him. But I AM going to send him an email. Then, it's up to him.

As of tonight, my friend is convinced that the only thing left to do is end this marriage. It's the only way she can be happy, she says. But when it comes to marriage, there's no such thing as a "happy" ending.

Seven--NOT a lucky number

2005-05-29T22:55:00.000-05:00

I was thinking the other day about the seven deadly sins. I'm not so sure that they are seven separate sins but maybe all kind of entwined together. Kind of like a cookie. There are many separate ingredients, but they all work together to form one thing. Sometimes, you taste more of one ingredient than another, but they are all still in there.

Take for instance...gluttony. What must we think or feel or do to be gluttonous? First, we have to see something and want it. That's lust. Often, it's something someone else already has. That's envy. We decide that it should be ours and that we should have a lot of it. That's greed. We even convince ourselves that we deserve to have it. That's pride. We overindulge (gluttony) and are sloppy about taking care of what we worked to get. That's sloth. Then we are upset at others for saying that our gains were ill-gotten or undeserved. That's anger. And there it is. All seven of the deadly sins right there. It certainly didn't take long to run through them.

I wonder how many times each day I cycle through all seven.

Stuck

2005-05-29T22:40:00.000-05:00

It's just another day in this waiting game. I feel...stuck. I get up each day and go about my life and routine as best I can, but it doesn't really feel like mine. I guess because I know it's temporary, but I don't know when it will change. I work in my yard almost everyday. It's really quite lovely, but I don't get all the joy out of it that I should. I know that I will be leaving. It's hard to know how much to do and when to quit. As long as I'm here, I want my yard to be beautiful. But how much (time, money, and effort) do I invest in it when I know that I will be leaving it soon? I feel that way about many things lately.

My husband wants me to come to Korea. I want to be with him so badly. It's the in-between time that's getting to me. The knowing that I will be leaving but not knowing when. It can make it rather difficult to get my feet moving and take the next step.

My friend asked me if I was tired. I said no. She asked if I was sad. I said no. She asked what I was doing the rest of the day. I said that I didn't know. I just need a push. I'm stuck.

Hurt feelings

2005-05-29T22:29:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how one misspoken word can ruin a whole conversation. It's not intentional. Sometimes, it's not even the particular word but the inflection it was given when spoken. Or the imagery perceived by the person who heard the word. Once it's out there, though...what then? How does one apologize for the mistake? Oh, it would be simple if it were only a matter of correcting the offending word. Harder, though, is to apologize for the other person's misconception brought about by the error.

Hurt feelings are sometimes hard to heal.

A visit from my sister

2005-05-27T16:36:00.000-05:00

My sister is coming to visit me. Through circumstances and life getting in the way, my sister has never been to one of my houses. Not one. She's never seen me in my home. I've never been able to have her over, cook for her, show her around. This is a big deal to me.

I actually have two sisters: one older and one younger. Yes, I am the middle child. Maybe that explains my need for acceptance by them. Anyway, it's my younger sister that's coming to visit me. R is two years younger than I am. We look so much alike that when we were younger, people used to think we were twins. In school, people would get us confused. Her friends would come up to me, and my friends would go up to her. We would get home each day and exchange which person had confused us and said "hello" to the wrong one of us. That was when I was a senior and she was a freshman. Then...I got married and moved away. We both grew up and, unfortunately, apart. I've spent the past few years rebuilding a relationship with her. And she's coming to see me.

I'm planning a trip while she's down here. I want to take her to New Orleans for a couple of days and show her around. I think it will be fun to have a couple of nights away at a hotel where we can just be girls. I'm just so looking forward to this.

It's just stuff

2005-05-27T16:21:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to move to Korea this summer to be with my husband. It will be hard because he is in an area that does not sponsor families. In civilian speak, this means that if I decide to go to Korea to live with my husband, I am on my own. I have to buy my own ticket. We have to find our own place to live on the Korean economy. We won't be able to take any of our furniture or things unless we can afford to pay out of pocket to have it all shipped. (And of course, we can't. No one can.) So, now I'm in the process of going through my house and cleaning out closets. I have to decide what to keep and what to put up for sale. My friend doesn't understand. She says it's a waste to get rid of all the things we have spent collecting and putting in our house. She thinks that since I've made it through the first five months, what's another 13? It will fly by, she says.

It's just stuff. Things. I can always get more stuff and more things. HE is my family, my heart, and my life. And I would gladly give up all of my possessions to be with him.

She says no man is worth getting rid of all my things for when I can just wait a little longer to have both him and my things.

It's just stuff.

I feel sorry for her husband.

My monster chaser

2005-05-26T21:49:00.000-05:00

There is only one thing in life that truly scares me. There are many things that I don't like or that make me nervous. But only one thing instills fear so deep inside me that I would do bodily harm to myself to get away from it...a spider. In my house, they are called monsters. Why? Because I am so afraid of them that I can barely stand to even say the other word. So, we stick with "monsters" or "bad things."

Everyone always asks me why I live in terror over such a small thing. After all, I'm much bigger than the monsters and can kill them. But see, I CAN'T. I just can't. I know in my heart of hearts that the monsters come for me because they want to kill me. Is this logical? Of course not. It's ridiculous to even suggest such a thing. And yet, I feel deep inside that it is true. The why part of my fear is pretty simple. I grew up in a farming community, and my back yard was surrounded by corn fields. One summer when I was young, the farmers switched pesticides. I don't know the details, and they don't really matter. What does matter is that for that one summer, I was trapped inside my house. I was not able to go outside to play because all the monsters from the fields were driven into my back yard. Thousands of them. We called them banana spiders because they are black and hairy and have a yellow banana shape on their backs. And that year, if you tried to go outside, they would start climbing up your legs as soon as you touched the grass. There was no way to kill them all or brush them off--there were simply too many. I don't know how old I was. But I remember that summer. I remember sitting inside the house and staring outside. I remember wanting to be outside so badly. I remember trying to walk through the yard and being covered by a living blanket. And I remember the side of our white garage was not white at all but black and moving. So I sat inside looking out while the monsters dared me to venture into their midst. That summer, I knew evil. And it's something I cannot forget.

However many years later it is now, I still feel the nauseating prick of evil whenever I see a bad thing. My darling husband knows this. He doesn't just know...he understands. He has seen my terror and never goaded or chastised me for it. That doesn't mean it never frustrates him, but he never holds it against me. He is my monster chaser. He goes about it quietly and quickly. He tries to eliminate them without my ever knowing they were there. If I am the one to spot it first, he stops whatever he is doing and immediately removes it for me without a word.

Why am I writing about this? It's a beautiful night tonight. It's a cool 78 degrees (hey, it's Louisiana, and that's as cool as it gets). In the corner of my yard, I have built a deck/patio that has a sitting area with comfortable chairs, a table, and a music system. It is surrounded by flowers and tiki torches for lighting. It was so lovely outside once the sun went down that I decided I would go out and light my torches and enjoy the night air. As I stepped outside, however, I saw a large monster hanging from the balcony above me just daring me to walk past it. And I couldn't.

I called a neighbor who was kind enough to come over and remove it for me. He was so nice while he did it. I will be able to leave the house tomorrow now. But I won't be going out to enjoy the night tonight. There's just no way I would be able to walk through the grass now and make it out to the corner of the yard. What darkness hides my fear and imagination reveal clearly. So for the rest of the night, and I'm sure it will be a long one, I am once again trapped inside looking out. But what makes it even worse is knowing that I will battle these demons alone tonight. I am left unguarded and on the run without my monster chaser. I pray for the strength to make it through my fear and find sleep.

So far away

2005-05-26T02:11:00.000-05:00

My husband is in Korea now. He's been gone just over five months. Next month, 17 June, is our 15th wedding anniversary. 15 years. It's gone by in the blink of an eye, and yet it's a lifetime...for us, anyway. We were just babies when we got married. I was 17 (3 weeks before my 18th birthday), and he was 19. What were we thinking? How do people that young make such a decision as to spend their lives together? I guess because when you're young, you don't really think things through--you just act. I would NEVER tell anyone that young to consider getting married.

And yet...here I am about to have my 15th anniversary. With J being gone, I have so much time to think. More time than I would like, sometimes. I have a hard time sleeping without him next to me, so nights are a game of "tag" with the bed. First, I fall asleep watching television, then I wake up and move to the bed. Fall back asleep there, then wake back up because his side is empty. Next, it's out to the television or computer until the eyes hurt and start to close involuntarily, then it's back to bed for a few more minutes of sleep. Should be about time for the middle of the night bathroom break from drinking too much water earlier. The dogs want outside to use the bathroom, too. The fresh air wakes me up, so it's back to reading or playing a game on the computer. Eyes are still sore from earlier, so I just go curl back up in bed and try to tell my mind to shut up so that I can just sleep. That normally starts an argument with myself which lasts anywhere from ten minutes to an hour. Eventually, I grow bored with the internal dialogue and drift off. Wake up again briefly at 530 as neighbors start slamming their car doors as they leave for work. Just a few more moments of sleep before the internal alarm clock wakes me at 700. One more lonely night down!!

I think about J so much at night. Days are easy to fill with errands and chores and hobbies and friends. Evenings are different. There's cooking dinner for one (not much fun...might as well microwave something), washing one dinner plate or bowl (looks pretty lonely sitting there in the drainer), sitting alone outside to catch the evening breeze (the crickets are having more conversation than I am). I like to read, but I also like to discuss what I'm reading--and while the dogs are great listeners, they don't give much in the way of feedback. I finally give up and turn on the television to old reruns of M*A*S*H or Everybody Loves Raymond. If cable is playing episodes I've seen too many times, I switch to QVC. There's something about their friendly voices that relaxes me. Then I fall asleep and start the cycle of another night.

It's not easy being apart. I try not to complain--it doesn't do me any good, anyway. I can shout from the top of my lungs, but he will still be gone, and I will still be here. I try instead to find things I can accomplish while we're apart. I set little goals: putting in a new garden, redecorating a room, reading from my list of must-read books. Of course, there's the ever-present goal of getting into perfect shape while he's gone (like that's really going to happen. 15 years and it's still on the list!). I also try to really take stock of where I am in life and in my role of wife. What can I do to work on me? How can I be a better person and wife? Husbands say all sorts of silly things when they are gone. Mine does, anyway. But if I really listen, I can hear him saying (through the dribble) what things about me he really treasures...and which ones he can do without. Then I try to figure out how to be more of the one and less of the other.

Just in case a feminist happens to read this, I know this offends. At one point in my life, it would have offended me, too. But I'm somewhere else now. I used to think that I had to assert my independence and prove J and I were equals. Now, I realize that we are partners--which is very different. It's like when we are riding in the car: J is normally driving, but I'm helping him navigate and pointing out things I would like to stop and see along the way.

I'll try to fall asleep tonight even as I'm still thinking about this man that I've married and this life that I'm living. It's all so much more than I ever imagined it would be. I hope I get to talk to him tomorrow. And I hope that I'm able to express to him that even though he's so far away, in love I keep him home at heart.

Just starting

2005-05-26T01:18:00.000-05:00

I started reading blogs not too long ago. I actually kind of stumbled upon them by accident. I've read some good ones...and some not-so-good ones. Some are funny; some are sad. Some are honest; some are fiction. But I wondered about all of them what made the people start writing them in the first place. How does one wake up one morning and decide to publish his or her thoughts and feelings out on the internet for anyone and everyone to read and, worse yet, criticize? The more I read, the more I thought about it. Then I decided that maybe it's because somewhere inside we are all storytellers. We do it everyday--whether it's telling a joke to a friend or recounting our day to a loved one. I think it's in our nature (and perhaps even a NEED) to tell the story of who we are. And even though it's kind of scary at first to think about putting it all out here in cyber-space, it's kind of safe, too. I can't hear if anyone laughs at me or thinks this is all a waste of space. In a way, it doesn't even matter if anyone reads my story; it only matters that I get to tell it. So, if anyone does decide to stick with me as I tell my tales...thanks, and I'll try to keep it interesting.