Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Fringe


Ahh..the military life. There is something to be said for those of us caught up in 'life on the fringe.' Where our existence is known "out there" but no one really knows what goes on "in here". There are definite differences. For instance: we become friends much quicker than civilians. We move somewhere, start unpacking and before the kitchen is filled with steins, plates and strange looking utensils from all over the world, there is a knock on the door from our new (best friend) neighbor, dropping off a bag, basket, or dinner. Because she has been there. She has been up to her neck in moving boxes, every other year for the past ten years. She has moved to a neighborhood site unseen, trusting her husband (or his buddy, or -- God forbid -- the lady at Housing) to okay the house and all if it's glory.

Another example, we sign up our kids for anything and everything since we don't know how long we will have the chance to learn: wrestling, bowling, basket weaving, princess wand making, horse back riding or a plethora of other MWR classes. Not much research into any of these sports...not enough time to do that! Sign them up, hope they like it and hope the times work with the rest of the family.

Church? Welcome one and all! By the way, I see you in church...could you be my kid's Godparent? We have no family nearby. Or....can you be my Sponsor? I am converting...and I see you around Church and the mess hall. The wonderful thing is: no one even hesitates. Sure! No problem! Do you need me to pick up Grandma from the airport?


The Military Life is a complex system of emotional highs and lows (a lot of lows!) that many outsiders don't get. I am still trying to get it all. I've only been at it for ten years! (My husband has never known anything else) I am beginning to learn that once it is in your blood, it is hard to get over it. Witness my husband, who is supposed to be retiring in two years...and is now hemming and hawing about staying in for a while longer. Which means another deployment. Which means some more moving around, unpacking and all the rest that follows.

Luckily there will be that knock on the door from my future new (best friend) neighbor .

Monday, September 14, 2009

Standing


I don't get people sometimes. People who treat others like dirt, just because they can. People who talk down to, or patronize others are so annoying, and really not anyone I would want to hang with. And yet, there are a few people like that in my life that I can not seem to get away from! Does everyone have "one of those" in their life? And do you run into him/her everywhere you go? EVERYWHERE?


It is really quite embarrassing when the attitude flares when you are "with" this person, or even just standing near them. Everyone around just assumes you are the same way. I try to smile and look away, like I have NO idea what this person is talking about as she bitches and talks as if everyone was so very beneath her. Oh, the nerve.


I remember the male nurse who still haunts me to this day. I have fake conversations with him in my head -- now that I am healthy and able to defend myself. He was one of those types. Attitude, degrading...you know. As I sit there in his little pod of an office, my hands holding my head, tears streaming down my nose, dripping onto my sweat pants... I get, "You should really figure out who is going to manage your health care." I was in so much pain at the time I couldn't defend myself, so in shock that someone would think that of me, I couldn't respond at all. Now...now I review that conversation in my head every now and then and I have all sorts of replies.


But what good is it now? What is it with us polite, nice people who sit in shock when the male nurses of the world have the upper hand in banter? Why can't we just tell them to shove it? To stop talking that way to others? Why let them get away with it over and over?

And why...why must I always be standing in line with them when it is happening?

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Looking


This time of year always calls upon a memory of mine. A little girl from 30 years ago awakes in me and her body gets dug up again and again. I don't remember her name. Lisa, Jennifer... one of those 1970's names. The crisp fall air, the sounds of kids playing outside, the noise of a helicopter nearing, then leaving, then nearing again. Where is Lisa? Anyone....anyone....where is Lis-- and then nothing.

It happened while my cousin and I were playing "Love Boat" (I was Vicki, she was Julie) in her backyard in Connecticut. My how our imaginations worked back then! All there was: a field, a bunch of trees, a garden of some sort. But we turned it into a luxury ocean liner on its way to Alcupulco, ready and filled with guests from all over the world. My brother would skimper his way to the back yard, and he was suddenly Gopher. Or Isaac. Didn't matter, he never stayed around long enough to play.

We were trying to solve some water bound problem of one of our guests when we heard the helicopters in the distance. This was a foreign noise to the sleepy town. A town that had one flashing light in the one intersection on the one main road. Fump, fump, fump, fump, fump. We shaded our eyes to the sun, looking to see where this noise was coming from, where it was heading. Suddenly, over the tops of the trees, the helicopter. We waved, jumping up and down...hoping that the people on board could see us! Maybe they would land and tell us what they were doing! They were so low to the ground...maybe they were looking for something fun to do! WE were fun!! Wait for us!!!!!!!!!

Fump fump fump fump fum.......off they went. We stood with our eyes still shaded. Looking towards the dying sound. But then...the sound started getting closer again! They are coming back! We ran inside this time -- surely our Moms would want to witness this extravagant event! A helicopter wanting to land in our story land backyard. We told our Moms, they looked out the window at the returning copter. They exchanged glances. We were so excited...they were not.

"Girls. That helicopter is looking for a little girl who has been lost." Lost? What? Like can't find her way home (like I got lost in Jamesway and the nice lady lead me out of the sock isle and stood by me like a soldier whilst calling "if you are missing your little girl wearing a blue shirt please come to Guest Services" over the mushy sounding speakers)? My cousin and I suddenly are not wanting the Helicopter to land. We want it to find the little girl. WE want to find the little girl. We went looking.

For what seemed like hours we went looking, but probably was only a few minutes. We sunk the Love Boat, put on our hiking boots and searched for Lisa or Jennifer. We couldn't find her in the area of our house. Poor girl. Poor poor girl. How we wished she had wandered into our yard and we could help her get home.


They did end up finding her (we found out the next morning). She had drowned in a grain silo a few towns over. I couldn't comprehend how someone could drown with no water involved. Since then, I have always looked at silos as nothing but dangerous and foreboding. But beautiful nonetheless.

I think of the little girl this time of year. She has been living with me for the last thirty years, this Jennifer, Lisa. We never saw another helicopter fly so close to my cousin's yard after that day they found the girl's body. Yet, somehow, I never stopped looking for her...