Just want to take half a second to vent.
It's exceeding frustrating to get a call from my husband, only to have the connection continually crap out on us.
Tonight's tally is two calls. The first one logged in at just over six minutes. The second one at thirty one seconds.
We don't even get to end on an "I Love You."
Garrr!!
I try to be grateful for the little things. At least he calls.
Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? How 'bout now?
The winter holidays are upon us. Winter's chill creeps in and changes the landscape around us. Something different is in the air, and I love this charge in the atmosphere.
While I don't necessarily subscribe to the religious meanings behind Christmas, I look forward to reveling in the holiday mood. Spending time with friends and family and creating memories to share. Basking in the glow of the season and enjoying the music and decorations.
When I was a child, it was so easy. Christmas descended upon us, bringing a specialsomething to life. As I've grown older, the holidays must have found a way to muffle the cheery jingling of bells, because they've snuck up on me before I know what's going on. I would so love to go back to the simple and joyous days of childhood – when Christmas meant magic.
Sometimes it's hard to find myself slipping into the mood. Throughout our time together, Hubby and I have often found ourselves in a state of upheaval during the holiday season. More often than not, we're separated or in the middle of a move, making celebrating the season hard. Two Christmases ago, he was deployed to the Middle East. I decorated a small corner of the apartment and left the decorations up for two months until he came home. I remember spending Christmas night in a hotel last year, eating dinner at Denny's. I told Hubby that next year it would be different – we would be in our very own home and I would be able to cook a fabulous feast for the two of us. Things didn't pan out that way – he's back in the Middle East again, and we're looking to chalk another holiday season up to being apart. Ah, well…maybe next year.
I so desperately want to get into the holiday spirit. I want to revel in the joy of the season and the beautiful decorations. I want to give in to the magic and the music and feel the warmth of the celebration of the season. I would love to spend the holidays ensconced in the warmth of our home and decorate with wild abandon. A tree, lights, wreaths, stockings, garlands and candles all aglow. We have all of these things, patiently waiting in boxes in the attic for us to rediscover them and allow them to shine for that short period of the year that they are allowed.
In the absence of these things, I have vowed that I will do my best to find a piece of the season this year. I've pulled out my shoebox of Christmas CDs and play them in the evenings. I plan to hang lights on the eaves and place some decorations throughout the yard. Maybe these small steps can tide me over this year, and we'll see what next year holds. One day, I hope to rediscover the joy of this glorious season and recapture the magic.
As winter moves in on my garden and the daylight hours creep away before I even make it home from work, I am forced to turn my attention away from this new passion of mine to an old and faithful friend.
Years and years ago, I fell in love with the art of scrapbooking. My best guess is that this passion was born from my desire to preserve the wonderful and fun times that I shared with my friends in the Order of DeMolay. Those days truly are precious to me, and I can trace my fanatical attempts to preserve my personal history through photographs to this period in my life.
Somehow, my passion for simply placing photos in a generic album along with captions blossomed into a desire to do something a little bit artful while preserving my memories. I began transferring my multitude of photos into scrapbooks - taking time to carefully arrange the photos and making sure to preserve every possible memory through my careful journaling.
Eventually, I progressed onto other scrapbook albums as well - there's the first vacation that my husband and I took together to Washington, DC and through the mountains of Tennessee, our trip to Pennsylvania to visit my family, Hubby's basic training graduation, our lives in Alabama, and most recently, our time spent together in Europe.
Admittedly, I've allowed this passion of mine to slip to the sidelines. I've neglected my scrapbooks for the past five years or so, and am now paying the price. You see, while I haven't been scrapping my photos, I've still been takingphotos. Lots and lots of photos. So many photos that I sometimes wonder if I'll ever be able to scrap them all!
But I will. I so very firmly believe in capturing my life through photos. These are the best mementos - precious memories stored on a sheet of paper. Pictures truly do tell a thousand words, and I want to convey every one of those words through my personal history books. I consider my memories to be sacred- something so special that I want to always be able to recall them and share them as I wish. And I can do that through these books.
This mission of mine has taken on a deeper meaning - I am documenting not only my life, but the life that my Hubby and I share together. This is a legacy that we can hope to pass down to our children, as I also plan to capture their little lives in scrapbooks of their own. Through these volumes, our memories and sacred moments can be passed down and shared through the generations. In this way, I can hope to achieve immortality for us.
I sit in my office, so proud of the thirty pages that I've managed to get scrapped since picking up my pen again this weekend. I've finally carved out a niche in my busy life, and a space in my office, so that I can pursue this passion again. Thirty pages covered six months. I've been forced to send my memory back five years and recall the stories behind these images that have sat neglected in shoeboxes over the years. I've had to dust off the boxes as well as my memory. I'm playing catch up - looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. Only just over three more years of our grand European adventure to preserve, then I can move on to the story of our lives since returning to our home country.
As I embark on this new journey in my personal life, I find myself setting new and grander goals for myself. I've accumulated a multitude of photos from my childhood that are in desperate need of preservation. I've got photos and photos and photos of my time with Rainbow. I can't hope to recall what each photo documents, but I can hope to get them into a cohesive collection for reminiscing. I want to preserve our most recent trips, our home, my garden, our passions in life. It is a long road ahead of me. But I plan to meet this challenge head on - after all, it is a mission that I am passionate about.
It was a mere month after the September 11 attacks on America. My soldier husband was pulling guard duty on our small base overseas. I was sitting outside our building with friends, basking in the fading warmth of summer and the oncoming crispness that autumn was bringing.
Hubby came home for a quick stop to pick something up at the apartment. When he pulled up in his humvee and stepped out, I walked over to see what was going on. He looked at me with such excitement as he told me that he knew someone that was looking for a new home for their dog. And not just any dog, he assured me – it was a black lab. I just looked at him. A dog.
My husband loves dogs. Any dog. He doesn't hesitate to make friends with any dog that happens to cross his path. When I see my Hubby and the man he has become, kneeling down and scratching behind a dog's ears, I see the little boy inside of him. It's very sweet.
I am a cat person. Dogs are too rambunctious for me. They jump and lick and run around. Cats are quiet, independent and come cuddle and purr.
But my husband knew that there is only one breed of dog that I really like. Labs have a spot in my heart – burrowed there by the labs that my brother has raised. Sweet, intelligent dogs that look at you with that look. I couldn't say no. Especially since my dear Hubby is allergic to cats, yet he let me get two. For the first year of our kittens' lives, Hubby sneezed and wheezed and popped allergy pills until he overcame this allergy, just to make me happy. How could I say no?
So the next day, we went to "look at" this dog. And there he was – a bundle of energy that bounded towards us when we walked in the door. He came to us with a smile on his face and that long tail just swinging from side to side. I'm pretty sure that my husband knew that if he could get me out the door with the dog, then he would be home free.
And so it was that we took him home. And he was so excited to just be there. It wasn't until the next day that Hubby settled on a name for this new addition to our family – Fred.
Fred.
And so our lives moved on. Fred moved in, and turned our lives slightly upside down. It is a fortunate thing for both Fred and Hubby that I was well aware of what was ahead for us with this little bundle of energy. He was somewhere around six to seven months old when we adopted him. I worked quickly to establish dominance over the pup. If he was going to live in our home, there had to be rules, and he had to be made well aware of them. We were lucky in that he was mostly housebroken. But he was still a puppy, and Labrador puppies are notorious for their teething.
Ah…the chewing stage. I knew about this one. And I came at it prepared. We worked out a method for confining Fred in the apartment in such a way that he would not be a danger to himself or our possessions. I would become fanatical about putting things away. My husband had to learn this lesson the hard way. He lost shoes to the gnawing machine that was our dog. Every remote control in the house was eaten within the period of a week. Pieces of furniture met their fate at the jaws of Fred. The baseboards in our apartment fell prey. TV Guides and magazines didn't stand a chance. It would appear that Fred was a fan of Stephen King, as "reading" The Talisman wasn't enough, Fred had to "read" Black House to know how the story ended.
We became accustomed to coming home and opening the door with trepidation. As the door opened, our eyes would quickly scan the room to see what had fallen prey this time. When my favorite pair of shoes were lost to the dog, I remember the first words out of my husband's mouth, "Don't kill him…I'll buy you a new pair!" Right. Those shoes were from two seasons ago…good luck with that! All I could do was shake my head.
Our neighbors would laugh at us – they always knew that Fred had been up to no good when we opened the door and the first words out of our mouths were, "Oh, Fred!" But that's OK – their day came when they, too, brought home a dog.
Yet somehow, even though I kept telling Fred that he was only with us on a trial basis, he burrowed his way into my heart. Time passed and he outgrew the bothersome chewing phase. He became free to roam the apartment in our absence. We tried to keep him off the furniture at first, but he quickly did away with that rule. I think that the turning point was when Hubby walked in and found Fred sprawled on the couch, his head buried under pillows to block out the light and sounds from the TV.
Fred does this to us often. In his own goofy way, he endears himself to us just by making us laugh at him. And it's not just us that fall victim to this ploy. Everyone that meets Fred falls in love. He makes an everlasting impression on everyone.
Fred has been with us for five years now. I don't remember what life was like before he trod into our lives with his big, clumsy paws and that crazy tail that serves as a meter for his emotions. How did we cope without having someone anxiously awaiting our arrival at the door every evening – jumping and cheering at us for remembering to come home. And where were we before we had someone that would hang his head so low in sorrow and tuck his tail low every time we would walk out the door?
He truly is a great dog. There have certainly been times when I've had my doubts about bringing him home. Most of those times have been when he would bolt out the door of our tiny apartment in search of the open outdoors. Chasing Fred across open fields was not in my contract.
But I wouldn't trade Fred for anything.
As the time approached for my husband and I to start planning our return to the States, people would ask us if we were taking Fred with us. This question always shocked and appalled me. I was suddenly met with a vision of Hubby, the cats and I at the Frankfurt airport – clearing customs and turning around to wave goodbye to Fred. Thanks for being a great dog and good luck to you. He would be standing there, hanging his head and looking up at us, tail tucked between his legs.
No – of course Fred would be coming with us. We would have to make arrangements on our own to get him back with us and figure out where we would all be living upon our arrival, but Fred is family. Where we go, he goes.
When Hubby and I moved out to California from our beloved Florida, we had to leave Fred and the cats behind, if only temporary. Living in a hotel is no life for animals, and we wanted to be in our house before bringing the critters out to live with us again. For the first time in years, we were living in a home without animals, and it was lonely.
Eventually, Fred and the cats were ferried out to us, and the house wasn't so empty anymore. Personality and warmth were restored to our home lives. Fred, true to character, greeted his new home as he greeted every new home – by charging in the door and running in circles, his little nose working overtime to try and figure out where he was and how all of his stuff got here before he did. He would turn out to be a much better house dog than an apartment dog. Having a fenced in area for him to roam has made all the difference. He knows which door is his, and which doors he cannot cross the threshold of without permission. My days of chasing him across the neighborhood seem to be over.
Fred has changed our lives in so many ways. His influence is ingrained in us – we've bought a bigger bed so that he can sleep with us. Our furniture is large and dark in color – to accommodate both his size and his shedding habits. When we were looking for a house to buy, it couldn't be on a busy road, it had to have a yard, we preferred the yard to be fenced and we preferred carpet to wood floors. All because of Fred.
Since opening our home to this stray – we're his third family - he has opened my eyes and my heart to new possibilities. As time has progressed and our relationship has grown, I can't imagine living in a home without him. Faithful Fred. He's always there, happy to see us come home, sorry to see us go. Our own personal cheering squad. He offers comfort and companionship. An ear that is always listening and the sweet face of intelligent kindness. All he wants to do is make you happy, and maybe persuade you to throw his ball for him.
I don't know if I'll ever be able to warm up to another dog quite like I have Fred. He has been so patient with us – training us to be the perfect people for him. I hope that we manage to live up to his expectations.
I stumbled across a memory of a favorite poem of mine. I fell in love with this poem years and years ago, and throughout my life, I have found it's words to be truer and truer as the years pass.
Old Friends
There are no friends like old friends
and none so good and true,
We greet them when we meet them
as roses greet the dew.
No other friends are dearer,
though born of kindred mold;
and while we prize the new ones,
we treasure more the old.
There are no friends like old friends
where ere we dwell or roam,
in lands beyond the ocean
or nearer the bounds of home.
And where they smile to gladden,
or sometimes frown to guide,
we fondly wish those old friends
were always by our side.
There are no friends like old friends,
to calm our frequent fears,
when shadows fall and deepen
through lifes declining years.
And when our faltering footsteps
approach the great divide
we long to meet the old friends
who wait on the other side.
(I conducted a search, but was unable to uncover the author's name to give credit.)
I am thankful for my wonderful Hubby. Wonderful in so many ways that are obvious, and others that are not. Thoughtful and caring, predictable yet full of surprises. A good heart, decent human being. Hearts full of love.
I am thankful for this wonderful life. Adventures and quiet times. Experiences. Security and surprises. Comfort and joy. Full of friendship and love.
I am thankful for my furry critters. Warmth and unconditional love. Quizzical looks. Cuddling on the couch. Huddled in bed. Companionship.
I am thankful for family. Always a connection. Somewhere to turn. Love. Memories. Crossing distances to be together. Security.
I am thankful for long lasting friendships. Withstanding the test of time. Support and love. Good memories and fun times. Overlooking the distance and staying close. Getting back in touch.
I am thankful for our lovely home. Security and comfort. Shelter from the storms. Warmth.
I am thankful for time. Fleeting and everlasting. Moves too fast, yet has the ability to stand still. Gifted to have it to share together. Never seem to have enough.
I am thankful for our health. Not to be taken for granted. Strong and solid. Can change at the drop of a hat. Lucky to have it so good.
I am thankful for so many things. This life is a gift - treasure what you have been given. It changes every day and you cannot predict what the future will bring. Enjoy it now.
Living a nomadic life can be very trying. It can be very hard on tender psyches to constantly uproot your life and move into a new situation. I never envisioned that I would be where I am today.
What would life be like if we had just stayed where we were so many years ago? We would be ensconced in our old lives, living the day-to-day. I would certainly be a very different person. As a result of our life events, I am much more accepting of change than I used to be. I have also learned to lean on those that are closest to me for support while at the same time to look inward for strength.
Constantly uprooting your life has certain consequences - some you see in advance, others you don't. Friends have been left behind. Others moved on without us - victims of their own nomadic lifestyles. Lives of those that we care most about have gone on without us in them…we pop in every now and again to see how things are going and are happy for the changes that have taken place, while at the same time we suffer from a nagging feeling of loss that we weren't there to share in the joy, too.
This is how things are. Life goes on, with or without us. There is no magic pause button that promises to preserve things for us just as we left them. The best we can hope for is to come back every so often and see what has changed for the better and what has stayed the same.
Perhaps the hardest thing is landing on your feet. Moving and changing your life can be earth-shattering. The ground under you feet literally changes. You have taken such pains to get to know where you've been, and just as you've gained a foothold you're faced with a new and unfamiliar landscape to master. Your personal finances take a beating and you wonder how long it will take to recover this time.
Assimilation eventually happens. The new landscape becomes the familiar. New bonds are formed, and life returns to normal. You develop new routines, build new roots and take what you can get until something better comes along. And something better usually does…you just have to be patient and wait. Maybe you have to look for it a little, too. But it's there.
I've learned patience. I've learned persistence. I've learned to sacrifice. I've learned to live modestly. I've gained strength. I've strengthened bonds. I've gained inner peace. I've learned the value of old friendships. I've learned to make new friends. I've learned to embrace change. I've learned to look for the positive.
I mourn for what was, while turning my gaze to what will be, all while living in the now.
I am a better person for it all.
Here it is…Thanksgiving again. It is time for the onslaught of advertisements – retailers pumping information into our heads. Convincing us that now is the time to buy…spend money…give in to excess…more more more.
The day after Thanksgiving is often viewed as the busiest shopping day of the year. (It's not...the Sunday before Christmas is, actually.) People give in and contribute to the hype. Lemmings running out to the stores to catch the best deals. Lining up in the wee hours, surging forth as the doors open early, stampeding into the stores to be the first to grab the holy grail of gifts.
None of that for me, thank you. From now until well after Christmas, I'll be doing my best to avoid the stores on the weekends. I won't set foot near the mall. If I do need to get out and purchase something, it'll be on a week night. Less chance of crowds then.
I actually have the bulk of my Christmas shopping done. Just a few items remain, and those can easily be purchased online, saving me from having to brave the mayhem that will surely be taking place in the malls and shopping centers.
Perhaps I've been spoiled. I spent almost five years living overseas. It was a bit of an eye-opening experience for me. In that time, I learned that America truly is a consumer's paradise. If you want it, you can easily find it almost anywhere here. Not so much in the small villages in Europe. And while the pendulum is slowly swinging towards consumerism over there, it's not nearly as bad as it is here.
I guess I just don't see the sense in rushing around trying to compete against everyone else. Maybe I'm a scrooge. No – I think that it stems more from my dislike of crowds. They are worse this time of year, and I have no desire to try to navigate through parking lots and crowded store aisles trying to get those last few items that I need to round out my list while everyone else is just starting on theirs.
I took the easy road this year – I went out a couple of weeks ago and ordered most of our gifts to be shipped directly from the store to our families back home. That is ahuge convenience for me, as anyone that knows me knows that I am notoriously awful about mailing packages on time. I've got a couple of odds and ends at home to send out, and the remaining gifts can be ordered online, and shipped directly to the recipients. It's that easy for me this year, and it feels so good to be so far ahead of the game. Even my Christmas cards are already done – addressed and stuffed into envelopes, just awaiting postage.
So you won't find me rushing to the stores the day after Thanksgiving. Not even this weekend, as I have what I need at home already. I'll spend my holiday where I feel that I should be – at home with the California branch of my family enjoying the holidays.
I love my home. Of all the houses that my husband and I have shared, this one is by far my favorite.
We've shared five different dwellings, and this one is the first one that is trulyours. It's the first home that we've actually purchased, and it is absolutely liberating. Once I got past the gut-wrenching realization that I'm more in debt than I ever thought I would be now that we've taken on a mortgage, and my blood stopped running cold at the thought that we are the ones that will be responsible for what happens in and around the house, I found myself in awe. This is our new home. Ours!
I immediately took on the task of stamping our own personal signature on the house. After years of living in rented places, and being restricted by the rules of others, the stark white walls throughout our house have been banished. Gone in favor of warm caramels, sunny yellows, bold reds and the tranquility of greens and creams. If you want to find a white wall in our house, you'll have to look in the closets. Even the walls in the garage have been painted – though not by me…I'm not that obsessive! But if they hadn't already been painted a light cream, I very well may have started allowing my eye to wander to those walls as well.
Filling the house with our styles and tastes has been a joy for me. I've agonized over decisions, changed some plans that I've got stored away in my head, and remain undecided on a few items. I'll hammer out a final decision when the time comes, but in the mean time, I'll visualize all the possibilities in my mind.
We've made some minor changes to the house – changing out dated light fixtures in favor of more contemporary styles, discarding outdated ceiling fans in favor of newer styles, hiding the cookie-cutter white mini blinds behind colorful drapes and warm wooden blinds. Hubby has personalized the garage to suit his needs – adding more storage, cutting an access to the attic and removing some shelves to make room for equipment that was vying for wall space. We're making small changes now, with more major changes on the way. When I look at the physical appearance of our home, I don't see it for what it is, I see it for what it has the potential to become.
Over the years, we've selected pieces of furniture for our home that serve not only functional purposes, but also express a desire to create a cohesive design that reflects our style of living. Having traded out mish-mashed hand-me-down furniture that merely served a purpose, if only temporary, for these newer pieces helps to contribute to the sense of satisfaction that I feel when I look around our home. This space reflects who we are. It is our home.
I've worked hard to make our home warm and inviting. I've rallied the troops (myself and Hubby) to clear away clutter in order to make our home more streamlined. And I am absolutely in love with the results! We have a warm and cozy living and dining area, a bright and sunny bedroom that easily darkens to block out the sun for lazy afternoon naps, a cheery guest room and a functional and efficient office.
Our hallway and a prominent wall in the living area are filled with a gallery of favorite photos that highlight our families and our travels, as well as souvenirs collected on our many adventures. When people enter our home, they naturally gravitate to these displays of our favorite memories. We're always happy to share the story behind whatever picture has caught someone's eye. It's a way of sharing our lives…inviting someone in.
I feel that I have truly created a nest for myself, Hubby and our furry critters to snuggle in and enjoy our time together. Sometimes, when given the choice of spending a quiet evening at home or going out and spending an evening out on the town, I prefer to choose staying home. This is our sanctuary, our own personal space and I revel in spending time with my husband and our furry ones behind these cozy and protective walls.
Hope, Expectation, Bright Promises.
The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.
The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.
For six years, I was a Military Wife. It was a role that would fundamentally change me forever. As a Military Wife, I learned many things about myself. How to be strong, how to let go, how to be self-sufficient. In my role as a Military Wife, I grew and matured.
My husband is no longer in the military. But I believe that once you are a Military Wife, you are one for life. It is a badge of honor that I am proud to bear.
Our time with the military made us stronger, and proved to us that our love is going the distance. I don't recommend it for everyone. Military life is trying, and not everyone's marriage makes the cut. I'm proud to say that ours did.
Following is an article that I found early in our marriage, and early in our military lives. Throughout my husband's time in the military, it hung in a frame in every one of our homes. The words have always rang true to me, and I'd like to share it.
Military Home Has A Special Kind of Love
By Tammy Dominski
You know, they say love is a friendship that has caught fire.
But what is love? Sometimes love comes on strong, and you recognize it right away, and other times it sneaks up behind you and whispers in your ear when you least expect it.
You don't find love. It finds you. And when a spark ignites between two people, it's magic.
But is loving someone in the military any different? Oh, I think so…
It's easy to love someone that comes home at a normal hour every night, when you have predictability in your life, and plans are not easily changed.
Loving a soldier takes something extra, and takes a lot out of you. As military spouses, as it is with wives of policemen, firemen and others, you become unflappable, somewhat of a superwoman. You have to be when you have to live with a cloud of daily uncertainty over your life. It makes you stronger and makes you grow up, whether you want it to or not. And you learn that love comes in a whole new array of new forms.
Love military-style isn't always apparent. It doesn't have to be in roses, or tiny gold heart-shaped boxes of Godiva chocolates. Saying "I love you" is easy. The challenge is in showing it.
Because you care
Love is in a funny card, sent as an afterthought for no special reason, or a cup of coffee brought to you by loving hands. It's a poem written on tattered paper, perhaps smudged with the soil of a foreign country, scribbled while on a bunk a million miles away. Love waits on the green ramp at Pope Air Force Base for the return of a loved one.
Love is in a phone call before a field exercise to say goodbye. It's in a call when the training is over to say, "We're back."
Love holds you when you're sad and claps the loudest when you achieve a goal for yourself. It doesn't hold you down or back, or put you on a pedestal. Love isn't about finding the perfect person. It's about seeing an imperfect person perfectly.
Love is a wink across a crowded room, a joke only two people in love would find amusing and a smile that warms the heart. It's the excitement of going to the all-ranks ball, finding the perfect dress and anticipating the night like you were going to the prom. It's in the way your breath stops when he steps out of the bedroom in his dress blues and you realize just how handsome your soldier really is.
Love is respecting each other's boundaries and accepting each other's faults as though they were your own. It understands when the candles on the dining room table burn down, illuminating a dinner gone uneaten because "duty called." Love realizes that marrying a soldier takes an extra bit of consideration.
Sharing Life
Love is an evening spent on the patio long after the kids have been put to sleep, talking well into the night about places you're going, goals you want to achieve or simply laughing at the craziness of life. It's in a shared sunset with only the sound of artillery between you, no words spoken at all.
Love is in a kiss, brushed against a sleeping cheek before going to work, or a hug in the kitchen at the end of the day. It's in the cookies baked to send overseas, made with tenderness and care. It's in pictures sent to a faraway land with the hope that they will bring a little sunshine to someone's life that day. It's in the moon, looking at it and knowing that even though you might be away from the one you love, he's seeing that same moon.
Love is your support system and your shoulder to cry on, yet at the same time it lets you make your own mistakes. Herman Hesse once said, "Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it's letting go." Love allows for that.
Love is an adventure shared by two people that have found each other.
Being associated with the military in any way is just one big adventure after another.
Remember, you never lose from loving, you lose from holding back. So as the most romantic day of the year approaches, show those special people in your life you love them. And if you don't have anyone special in your life right now, watch out, love happens when you aren't looking. As always, until my next adventure, hoo-ah.
Okay…one of my biggest pet peeves is people that whine. Especially people that whine about being separated from their loved ones.
I get totally turned off about someone if they can't stand a little separation. And I think that my feelings here are justified. My husband just left for his second tour in the Middle East. This one was voluntary.
My husband and I have been married for almost seven years. We've been together as a couple for over nine years. In the time that we've been together, we've dealt with our fair share of separation.
The entire first year that Hubby and I dated, we lived hundreds of miles apart, and only saw each other on weekends. We made every weekend but two during that first year. Then we moved in together. You might think that we would get to see plenty of each other while sharing the same space. No such luck…I worked days, he worked nights. This went on for eight months…then his employer sent him to another state to work. I remember randomly bursting into tears throughout the weekend when he told me. We arrived for a magical weekend at Disney on Friday, and he sprung the news to me that he was leaving on Sunday. We were reduced to only seeing each other for one weekend every month after that.
This went on for four months. Then Hubby made the fateful decision to join the military. He came home for one month, and then went off to basic training.
Prior to this, our separations had been easy. We were able to communicate pretty much at will…and this was well before we had cell phones. We would communicate online often, and he would call me all the time.
This luxury ended when he joined the military. Freedom of personal choice was gone. We could no longer talk to each other whenever we wanted to. We were reduced to fleeting calls that would happen unpredictably, and they were short. He rarely left a message on our answering machine when he called and I wasn't home. When he called my parents' house on Thanksgiving day and I wasn't there to talk to him, I cried when I found out that I missed his call. We exchanged letters through the mail - I went to great lengths to make sure that I sent him something every day while he was gone.
His basic training was interrupted for two weeks at Christmas, when he got the opportunity to come home and we eloped. Then he returned to finish up his training. A month later, I traveled with his parents to spend some time with him at his graduation. It was bittersweet - our time together after this new type of separation would be shared with his parents, so our time alone would be fleeting. And the time that we did get to spend together was bound by new rules - he was in the military now, and under the watchful eyes of Drill Sergeants.
It was at this short lived reunion that I told Hubby that I was tired of not being with him. He would be on his way to his new school, and he would be there long enough that the military would pay to move me from Florida to be with him. I told Hubby that I didn't care what it took, I wanted us to be together, so make it happen. I was tired of separation - especially this new kind that was burdened with rules and unpredictable communications.
Two months later, I was on my way to this new life. We would finally be together, but the path would be difficult. During the eight months that I would live in Alabama, he would live at the house with me for awhile, and then at the whim of the Drill Sergeants, he would be pulled back into living at the barracks. He would be required to put in late nights at school. I was with him, but not really getting to be with him. And for a young newlywed, that was hard.
When our time in Alabama ended, we had a month or so to loaf around with our families before reporting to our new duty station and our new life - in Europe. As the time to leave crept even closer, problems would crop up and I couldn't leave with my husband. It would take two weeks before the paperwork would be fixed and I could join him. We had now been married for over a year, together as a couple for three and a half years, and the vast majority of that time had been spent separated.
At this point, things calmed down. We settled into life together - reallytogether for the first time. He had a job that kept him home with me for the most part. He would occasionally have to pull duty, or go for training for a few days, and after all that we had been through up to this point, it would be easy. We would even go on trips separately - something that would amaze our friends. I spent a week or so traveling around Germany with an old friend of mine and her parents, and Hubby stayed home. He flew back to Florida to see his family, and I went to Spain. He even spent a month training in Poland, and it wasn't so bad.
The turning point, and I believe the true test, came after the terrorist attacks on New York, Pennsylvania and Washington DC on September 11th. I knew that when those attacks happened, our lives would be changed. Sure enough, most of the soldiers on the base that we lived on deployed for a year or more. By a strange twist of fate, Hubby was not among them. He was in all actuality attached to another unit that wasn't slated to go. But our time would come.
In February of 2004, he and his unit departed for the Middle East. The months leading up to this departure were a little bit trying. We knew that it was coming - and there was a lot of preparation that came beforehand. He was selected to go on a special training mission that took him away from home for a few weeks. Just what we needed - separation before separation. Late nights would be on hand as he and his unit prepared for their departure. I took it all well. I knew that all of this was part of the obligation. We were in it - for better or worse, and we were prepared. After all, we had become old hats at this game of separation. We would be fine.
But when he departed, and I saw the buses leaving the post with all of our soldiers on them, I was suddenly hit with it. These busses were full of people that I knew - and I was standing among their loved ones - and my husband was driving away - and I wasn't one hundred percent sure that I would see him again. This wasn't him flying off to Maryland to go to work…he was headed off to war. Would I be OK if he didn't make it back?
All told, from his departure in February of 2004 to his return in February of 2005, we would be separated for 49 weeks. We returned to a life of intermittent phone conversations - but this time, we were better able to communicate via email and instant messaging. I got information from his chain of command and knew that things were going OK for the soldiers downrange. We reunited for two weeks in the middle of his deployment - back in Florida among our families. Other military spouses thought that I was crazy for "sharing" my precious little bit of time with my husband with our families. But truth be told, they don't get to see him often enough. For all of the separation that we endure, sharing him with those that share a relationship with him isn't so bad. They are family, after all.
Now we're separated again. I find myself in a situation that is so similar to the one that I was in back in February of 2004. Hubby is again gone - he's been away from home for a week and a half now, and stepped on a plane this evening that will ferry him back to the Middle East. This time, I don't have the close-knit community that I had before. No friends going through the same situation, no family nearby to lean on. It's almost uncharted territory, except that we've lived this life in so many incarnations. The phone calls will be intermittent, he will never have much to say, there will be email and instant message communications, and again the burden will be mostly on me to keep the conversation going. What can I say - he's not a gabber. But it's OK. He'll be on the other end of the line, and that's all I can really ask for.
We hope that the separation won't be for as long this time. And, as always, we hope that he makes it home safe and unchanged. These separations and sacrifices make us stronger. We know that the other will be there for us.
So don't come to me expecting sympathy because your boyfriend is leaving town for a week. Or because you're leaving town for a few days and don't know how you'll be able to make it without him. You won't find any sympathy here. If I hear someone on TV crying because they can't stand to be separated from their boyfriend or girlfriend for a few weeks or months, I'm likely to change the channel. I have before. Try saying goodbye to the single person that means the most to you in the whole world, not being able to be sure that you'll see them alive again. A few days here and there is nothing compared to that.
We make the sacrifices now, so that we can be assured of a better future…together.
Hubby and I found out recently that our property is infested with Black Widow spiders. That's right...infested!
We had noticed a lage amount of spider webs in the shrubs in our yard, along the fence line, around the foundation of our home. We didn't really think too much of it, really. It was spring and summer, after all.
One day, I came home from work to find Hubby in the garage, camera in hand. Turns out that he noticed a huge web that ran from the washing machine, to my pantry cabinet, to a basket on the floor. On this web was a black spider, and upon closer inspection, he recognized the freakish red hourglass on the spider's body. So he ran for his camera to get some close-up pictures before smashing the critter into oblivion with a rubber mallet.
Thank goodness he knew how to identify the Black Widow. Little did we know just how many of these things were lurking in our midst.
I am terr-i-fied of spiders. When I see one scurry into my line of vision, I shudder and supress a scream. Usually, a sound of shock and disgust escapes, though. Then I call on Hubby...my knight in shining armor...to come dispose of the beast. I certainly never get close enough to identify it - eight legs means spider...that's all I need to know.
We went about our business living in our house...gardening and working outside. We did a little cleaning in the garage...and opening up our camping chairs revealed more little black spiders. We removed some shrubs. I began eyeing the cobwebs alongside the foundation of our house, along the walkway that connects the front driveway to the back patio, and vowed to do something about them. I would spray the webs that kept popping up among my prized Jasmine bushes with the water hose, and they would come back. We avoided the cypress trees in the front of the house because of the webs that ran between them.
In a stange twist of fate, one Saturday I noticed a few ants scurrying around the kitchen sink. There weren't many...these were obviously scouts, on a mission to find something worth writing home to all of their little friends about, leading them into our home, our kitchen, our pantry. I took care of these initial invaders, and as the weekend progressed, I'd keep finding a few ants here and there on the kitchen counter. These guys obviously weren't taking the hint! So when Monday rolled around, Hubby again came to my rescue...calling and scheduling an appointment to have an exterminator come out to the house and spray. These inconvenient little ants turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
The following weekend, with the pup spending a fun-filled day at the kennel and the little fatties (my cats) sitting in the back seat of my car, we welcomed the exterminator into our home to spray for the offending ants. He moved to the outside, spraying the garage and moving on to the yard.
Before we left to drive the fatties around town in the air-conditioned comfort of my car, the exterminator came rushing to the front of the house. His words still ring in my ears, "You guys have a lot of black widows around your yard, so you really need to be careful. I keep seeing them all around in your back yard...and watch out for those little white egg sacs...you don't want those to hatch!"
O
M
G
We have a bonafide infestation of black widows! My mind raced...all the times we've stuck our hands in the bushes to remove or prune them...without gloves! The little black spiders in the camp chairs...the black spiders in our entry way...the egg sac and black spiders that I took out with my gardening spade....the webs alongside the foundation on the side of the house where we walk...my dog, roaming freely about the yard, innocent and unaware of the dangers lurking...summer evenings spent sitting on our patio furniture (surely there are spiders there!)...the feeling of webs brushing up against my hands as we would roll our garbage and recycling bins out to the curb every week...I can't handle it!
We left the house, and returned a few hours later when it would be safe to release the fatties in the house and go collect the pup. The exterminator removed all of the webs that he saw (including the ones along the foundation of the house and in the cypress trees), but he missed a few. There were some behind my seasonal redwood planter in front of the house. I gingerly pulled it away from the house, and there they were...two of the offending black widows clinging to life. In the back yard, I found two more in the area where we had just removed a shrub the week before. Under our patio furniture, another one. Now I have a picture of them burned into my mind...I will forever be able to identify a black widow spider.
Days passed, and I wouldn't step outside without a can of spray for killing spiders. Did I mention that I'm scared to death of them? Suddenly, I was convinced that giant spiders were waiting around every corner, poised to leap out at me, and if I didn't have my trusty can of spray, I would be defenseless.
Time has passed. I've found a few more spiders outside (yes...more black widows), and depleted my spray on them. One spider was huge...brown with black markings. I sprayed him with so much spray that when I clubbed him with my gardening spade, he left a little wet spider print on it. shudder
Now Hubby is gone. I have to be a big girl when I see a spider around the house. Just this week, I've seen three. Two brown ones (one was huge) and a dead black widow. All three were inside the house. I took care of them...although I wasn't happy about it. So the exterminator is coming back this weekend. I have specific areas in mind to have him spray...areas that I will be working in outside, and I don't want to see any more unwelcome guests. He'll be giving the inside of the house a thorough treatment as well.
Spiders on my turf. I can't handle it.
| You Are A Lime Tree |
You are intelligent, hard working, and innately successful. You try to change what you can in life - and you accept what you can't change. Tough on the outside, you are actually soft and relenting. Jealous at times, you are extremely loyal and giving to those you love. You have many talents, but you don't have enough time to use them. |
