Blogging, such a dumb term. Why couldn't it have stayed weblog or internet diary or online thoughts? Those are terms I like just a little better. But I am late to the blogging party so I must cave to the peer pressure and BLOG.
It seems as though everyone blogs and most seem to have a theme to their blog. People blog about raising children that are special needs or gifted or in pageants or are home schooled. People blog about their disease, treating their disease with experimental therapy, conventional therapy, holistic therapy, dog therapy. Or they blog about how they changed their way of life through Christ or trees or all chocolate diets. Some blog about finding fashion for less or make up for more. Others blog about how to turn old coffee cans into reading lamps. There are even those that have turned their blog into guest spots on TV programs or have authored books or created a column for a magazine.
And then there's me and my blog. Kindoflikewriting is not viral nor do I expect it to ever be. You shall not see me in the Best Blog of the Week section of Better Homes and Gardens. I am not going to lead anyone to a better, more fulfilled, Jesus coated life full of vegan recipes and garage sale finds. Nope, you won't find any of that here. What you will find is the openly expressed thoughts of a middle aged woman that is looking at three grown children, an aged puppy and a best friend of nearly 26 years.
Let me break it down for you. Middle aged- I am forty four. I am assuming that I will live to be eighty eight. So this is a realistic middle age, not those fifty seven year old women that are trying to disguise their age. Who are they kidding, not too many live to 114 so if you are actually middle age, thumbs up to you!
Three grown children- that may be the hardest part. I know that my job as a parent is not over even though they are all eighteen. I know that they will be back for days, weeks, months at a time when life flips them the bird and they just need a safe place to regroup. I know that as they get older, our relationship will continue to shift into new roles. But the truth of the matter is that their decisions are their own and I have to abide by them. I have to watch the boxes get packed, the hearts get broken, the dreams get squashed just a little and can only offer a warm hug, a sounding board, another hug.
An aged puppy-Harlow is eight and a half now. Her muzzle is grey. She struggles to get up and struggles to get down. Her eyesight may be failing. She is beyond middle age. She is golden now and I have pledged to her days filled with dignity.
A best friend of nearly 26 years-ah, Danny. He's much to write home about! I think there will be a lot of weblogs about my fella and me. I may start to document our grand Wednesday night movies or our golf outings. I may even share our tips for a happy life.
So here it is. My well thought out plan for this blog that I have been tinkering with for a couple of years. Will you read it? I hope so. I hope that I generate a thought or two in some one's head. I hope that someone thinks nice things about me and my silly little life. But you know what I really hope, deep down? I hope my grandbabies read this internet diary and they learn through my words about the lives that came before them.
Blogging Blogging Blogging.
man my fingers are dogging
got to keep a logging
Online!
Great, now the Rawhide song is stuck in my head...
Friday, March 7, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
Jacob on Vacation
We took Jacob out of school (gasp) to go on vacation with us. His cousin was getting married and it seemed like a good idea that someone should represent the cousins so he got the gig. The wedding was in New Zealand, did I mention that. That's why we didn't have a problem taking him out of school and that is why he was happy that he got to represent!
This might be our last vacation with Jacob for a while. He graduates this May and has big, non parenting plans for the summer. Hopefully he will find himself at University in the fall and then his life becomes his own. Family vacations just might be a thing of the past for now.
So, Jacob on vacation. Well, what would you do on vacation with your parents? How would you spend your days while halls were decorated and cakes were made? How eager would you be to follow your dad on the luge or your mom on the zip line?
Jacob on vacation is pretty remarkable. It all began with a dance in front of Johnny Rocket's at Mall of America. I know that we weren't going to know anyone at that mall, but it didn't matter because I know I would get that dance here at Jordan Creek as well. Jacob was on it in airports. I forget that he is a grown assed man and would constantly ask for his boarding pass and passport, but he had it under control. He never whined or complained and never threw his apple juice about the plane as well.
Jacob on vacation is very similar to Jacob at home. He slept a lot. While Crissy and I created the cake, Jacob slept on the couch with the dogs. The rest of the party was decorating the hall so Jacob should have been there but somehow he missed that and took a very long nap. It was good though because these dogs were so happy to be sleeping with Jacob that they never begged for frosting! Harlow doesn't play that.
At the wedding and dinner the following night, Jacob showed me a side that I don't really get to see. He was representing the American cousins quite well. He worked the room, meeting some fantastic people and hopefully created some lasting relationships. He was an attentive audience when we were treated to a little concert each night. He was courteous, funny and a source of pride for Danny and me.
There was one day when we all traipsed into Wellington on the train. Everyone had separate goals, Duncan and Danny wanted to kayak (too windy), Crissy and Bobby had shopping to do, and Jacob and I had no agenda. So the two of us set out to see the town. We had no idea where we were going but went that direction anyway. I don't know how Jacob would categorize the day, but I would definitely put it in the win column.
Jacob and I bought some shoes, talked to a Amnesty International representative and then had a great conversation together about what she had to say and other political thoughts. We took the cable car to the top and walked down towards the harbor with no plans in mind. I love this kid that is no longer a kid. I love that he spent the day with me when he could have gone off on his own to explore. I know how fortunate I am. I really do.
When the wedding festivities were over and we headed north for some adrenaline based activities, Jacob was ready to go. He slept on my shoulder a lot on the six hour drive. And as uncomfortable as it was, I knew that my shoulder wasn't going to be there in a few months.
We went zip lining, something that scared me a little (a lot). Danny was the first to go and I went second with Jacob behind me. My thought process is that Danny will save me. No matter what, he will save me. And if for some reason he didn't, Jacob would. I was brave and didn't need saving, but it was nice to be in between my two favorite guys in the middle of a New Zealand forest canopy.
Later, we luged. The luge was a little go kart that had two speeds, go and stop. One could go faster if one weighed more or if one got a faster luge. Danny and Jacob went on the faster courses together while figured out how comfortable I was on the luge. Once I got my bearings, it was on and those boys had to make an effort of keep up. At one point, Jacob and I were needing to merge and Danny was fast on out tail (we are all on separate luges). The track was narrowing and neither of us were really giving way so in an instant we both put on the brakes and I slammed into a barricade. It was a whiplash worthy stop and Jacob didn't stop to check on me but with an evil laugh (I might have made that up) continued down the course. Danny was ready to stop and check on me but I urged him to catch the little shit and beat him down the course. Now before you think that Jacob wasn't very nice, he was. I was part of the party and I was giving as good as I got. It was such a great day. We had seven runs down the mountain and we were a trio for almost all of those runs.
Jacob met his Aunty Sarah for the first time and I don't know if she knew quite what to make of him. Jacob does this thing, this hug squeeze move. I notice it most when I am frazzled or frustrated or trying to get something done. I don'r know if he does it on purpose, but it always forces me to stop just for a moment to take the hug squeeze. Well, he gave Aunty Sarah the hug aqueeze and that was a new thing for her. Granted, Aunty Sarah had a lot going on that week with a wedding and Hori Americans staying at her house so I can see where Jacob thought she needed a hug squeeze. Lucky he never played opposum or avalanche of love while we were there.
I think, I hope, this vacation showed Jacob (as it showed me) that he is ready to take on the world. He can navigate his way around. He will ask questions, he will meet new people and he will have fun where ever he goes.
I hope that this vacation stays tucked in his heart as a last hurrah for him and me. I know that it will stay tucked in mine.
He is a wonderful adult. He is a wonderful grown assed man.
Jacob on vacation is a wonderful thing.
This might be our last vacation with Jacob for a while. He graduates this May and has big, non parenting plans for the summer. Hopefully he will find himself at University in the fall and then his life becomes his own. Family vacations just might be a thing of the past for now.
So, Jacob on vacation. Well, what would you do on vacation with your parents? How would you spend your days while halls were decorated and cakes were made? How eager would you be to follow your dad on the luge or your mom on the zip line?
Jacob on vacation is pretty remarkable. It all began with a dance in front of Johnny Rocket's at Mall of America. I know that we weren't going to know anyone at that mall, but it didn't matter because I know I would get that dance here at Jordan Creek as well. Jacob was on it in airports. I forget that he is a grown assed man and would constantly ask for his boarding pass and passport, but he had it under control. He never whined or complained and never threw his apple juice about the plane as well.
Jacob on vacation is very similar to Jacob at home. He slept a lot. While Crissy and I created the cake, Jacob slept on the couch with the dogs. The rest of the party was decorating the hall so Jacob should have been there but somehow he missed that and took a very long nap. It was good though because these dogs were so happy to be sleeping with Jacob that they never begged for frosting! Harlow doesn't play that.
At the wedding and dinner the following night, Jacob showed me a side that I don't really get to see. He was representing the American cousins quite well. He worked the room, meeting some fantastic people and hopefully created some lasting relationships. He was an attentive audience when we were treated to a little concert each night. He was courteous, funny and a source of pride for Danny and me.
There was one day when we all traipsed into Wellington on the train. Everyone had separate goals, Duncan and Danny wanted to kayak (too windy), Crissy and Bobby had shopping to do, and Jacob and I had no agenda. So the two of us set out to see the town. We had no idea where we were going but went that direction anyway. I don't know how Jacob would categorize the day, but I would definitely put it in the win column.
Jacob and I bought some shoes, talked to a Amnesty International representative and then had a great conversation together about what she had to say and other political thoughts. We took the cable car to the top and walked down towards the harbor with no plans in mind. I love this kid that is no longer a kid. I love that he spent the day with me when he could have gone off on his own to explore. I know how fortunate I am. I really do.
When the wedding festivities were over and we headed north for some adrenaline based activities, Jacob was ready to go. He slept on my shoulder a lot on the six hour drive. And as uncomfortable as it was, I knew that my shoulder wasn't going to be there in a few months.
We went zip lining, something that scared me a little (a lot). Danny was the first to go and I went second with Jacob behind me. My thought process is that Danny will save me. No matter what, he will save me. And if for some reason he didn't, Jacob would. I was brave and didn't need saving, but it was nice to be in between my two favorite guys in the middle of a New Zealand forest canopy.
Later, we luged. The luge was a little go kart that had two speeds, go and stop. One could go faster if one weighed more or if one got a faster luge. Danny and Jacob went on the faster courses together while figured out how comfortable I was on the luge. Once I got my bearings, it was on and those boys had to make an effort of keep up. At one point, Jacob and I were needing to merge and Danny was fast on out tail (we are all on separate luges). The track was narrowing and neither of us were really giving way so in an instant we both put on the brakes and I slammed into a barricade. It was a whiplash worthy stop and Jacob didn't stop to check on me but with an evil laugh (I might have made that up) continued down the course. Danny was ready to stop and check on me but I urged him to catch the little shit and beat him down the course. Now before you think that Jacob wasn't very nice, he was. I was part of the party and I was giving as good as I got. It was such a great day. We had seven runs down the mountain and we were a trio for almost all of those runs.
Jacob met his Aunty Sarah for the first time and I don't know if she knew quite what to make of him. Jacob does this thing, this hug squeeze move. I notice it most when I am frazzled or frustrated or trying to get something done. I don'r know if he does it on purpose, but it always forces me to stop just for a moment to take the hug squeeze. Well, he gave Aunty Sarah the hug aqueeze and that was a new thing for her. Granted, Aunty Sarah had a lot going on that week with a wedding and Hori Americans staying at her house so I can see where Jacob thought she needed a hug squeeze. Lucky he never played opposum or avalanche of love while we were there.
I think, I hope, this vacation showed Jacob (as it showed me) that he is ready to take on the world. He can navigate his way around. He will ask questions, he will meet new people and he will have fun where ever he goes.
I hope that this vacation stays tucked in his heart as a last hurrah for him and me. I know that it will stay tucked in mine.
He is a wonderful adult. He is a wonderful grown assed man.
Jacob on vacation is a wonderful thing.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Sometimes I think I shouldn't think
So is God really monitoring every moment of my day? Is He seriously watching me walk up and down the stairs, keeping me from tripping? Is He steering all the other cars not in my direction? And if He is, then why are other people tripping and getting hit and all kinds of other not so great things? I struggle with this all the time. I don't think God has a hand in my day to day crap. I would like to think that He is busy with the Ukraine and Venezuela. They need the help more than I do. I have God's minions (if you will) to help me. St. Christopher helped us with a safe flight, driver's ed teachers helped with a safe commute, builders helped with the properly installed hand rails for a safe accent and decent.
I know that God is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. I know that at any moment I can call out to Him and ask for guidance and peace. But should I be? Should I be expecting Him to make it all right or should He be expecting me to make it all right because He made me in His image so I should be able to do this on my own with the skills He gave me. Is that the wrong way to think? Am I sinning for thinking that I can do it on my own because He gave me the tools to do it on my own?
What would Jesus do?
I don't know. Jesus was part God or all God or anyway, He seemed to have it pretty together except when He lost it in the temple and started tipping tables and flinging gold coins. I like that in Jesus, though. I like that He got fed up and took care of the business! I like that WWJD does not always mean turning the other cheek but that it means doing the right thing based on your beliefs. Because it wasn't the right thing as far as the merchants were concerned but it was Jesus' right thing and I am not going to argue with that!
And am I completely contradicting myself with this blog as I have LET GO LET GOD tattooed on my calf. How does that jive with what I am saying? I think I have a respectable answer for that. I think that I have been given or blessed or endowed with gifts or skills. I think everyone has these or similar gifts or skills. God given? Sure, unless you don't believe that they are then I don't know where they came from, but you got them so use them. I digress (a lot). SO God has given me the gifts or skills to deal with the majority of life's crap. And if He didn't give me the direct skills than he gave me the ability to find the skills. It is when a situation is so big that I let go and let God. Death, deployment, cancer. Well, I didn't let go and let God on the deployment one and He sent in Barron as I didn't have the skills but the dog did.
Good Lord, I ramble. And here is another point, how can He possibly listen to me ramble all the time? I know He can because He is God and He has the capacity to hear me, but how can He listening to the constant whining and complaining that I do? How can He not just reach down from heaven and thump me on the head and say "get your act together- I gave you the skills. I made you in my image and you don't see me whining and complaining!" Wouldn't that be awesome? Pity parties would be over pretty darn quick as people pulled themselves up by their Jesus sandals and got on their way.
So anyway, back to my original thoughts, does God have a hand in everything or is some of it just the way it goes? I can't imagine that God would allow for the suffering and pain. I cannot imagine that He chooses for one child to live and the other to die. Does everything happen for a reason? Or does shit just happen? Do these questions make me less of a Christian?
I don't know, I don't know if anyone does. I would be interested in knowing what others think. I know there are some out there that will delete me from their friends list because they don't want to be associated with me in any way come Judgement Day and I get that. I don't think mine is a name that will open pearly gates.
I know that God is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. I know that at any moment I can call out to Him and ask for guidance and peace. But should I be? Should I be expecting Him to make it all right or should He be expecting me to make it all right because He made me in His image so I should be able to do this on my own with the skills He gave me. Is that the wrong way to think? Am I sinning for thinking that I can do it on my own because He gave me the tools to do it on my own?
What would Jesus do?
I don't know. Jesus was part God or all God or anyway, He seemed to have it pretty together except when He lost it in the temple and started tipping tables and flinging gold coins. I like that in Jesus, though. I like that He got fed up and took care of the business! I like that WWJD does not always mean turning the other cheek but that it means doing the right thing based on your beliefs. Because it wasn't the right thing as far as the merchants were concerned but it was Jesus' right thing and I am not going to argue with that!
And am I completely contradicting myself with this blog as I have LET GO LET GOD tattooed on my calf. How does that jive with what I am saying? I think I have a respectable answer for that. I think that I have been given or blessed or endowed with gifts or skills. I think everyone has these or similar gifts or skills. God given? Sure, unless you don't believe that they are then I don't know where they came from, but you got them so use them. I digress (a lot). SO God has given me the gifts or skills to deal with the majority of life's crap. And if He didn't give me the direct skills than he gave me the ability to find the skills. It is when a situation is so big that I let go and let God. Death, deployment, cancer. Well, I didn't let go and let God on the deployment one and He sent in Barron as I didn't have the skills but the dog did.
Good Lord, I ramble. And here is another point, how can He possibly listen to me ramble all the time? I know He can because He is God and He has the capacity to hear me, but how can He listening to the constant whining and complaining that I do? How can He not just reach down from heaven and thump me on the head and say "get your act together- I gave you the skills. I made you in my image and you don't see me whining and complaining!" Wouldn't that be awesome? Pity parties would be over pretty darn quick as people pulled themselves up by their Jesus sandals and got on their way.
So anyway, back to my original thoughts, does God have a hand in everything or is some of it just the way it goes? I can't imagine that God would allow for the suffering and pain. I cannot imagine that He chooses for one child to live and the other to die. Does everything happen for a reason? Or does shit just happen? Do these questions make me less of a Christian?
I don't know, I don't know if anyone does. I would be interested in knowing what others think. I know there are some out there that will delete me from their friends list because they don't want to be associated with me in any way come Judgement Day and I get that. I don't think mine is a name that will open pearly gates.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Steve and Ata Got Married
I wanted to write about this wedding while it was still so fresh and bright in my mind, but you know how sign on's can be when across the ocean. So I hope that I can give my feelings justice and I hope that my feelings give that day justice.
So to begin with, I don't know the groom and really don't know the bride. She is my niece, the only child of my oldest brother, Bob and his wife, Sarah. They live in New Zealand. New Zealand is a country in the Southern Hemisphere near Australia but not part of it though a billion, zillion years ago, it was. But that was before we named any of the land masses. Anyway, my brother was a Marine guard for the American Embassy in New Zealand. He fell in love, moved back to New Zealand to woo Sarah. It worked, she married him and he had the good sense to stay in Wellington. He has been there for thirtyish years. And, New Zealand is a first world country, no shots required to visit. There aren't kangaroos or koalas there, unless they are in the zoo and they do speak English and Maori, but let's not get into that.
Atareta is twenty three. She attended my wedding so it only seemed fair that I attend hers. She was in her mom's belly at the time, but was there, none the less. In her twenty three years, I have seen her all of five times, the wedding being the fifth. We are Facebook friends so I know how cute she is, but I don't know her and man, I wish I did because I am quite certain that she is amazing.
And Steve, I don't know him at all. I am beginning to think he is quite amazing as well.
So here we are in New Zealand for the wedding. Danny, Jacob and I along with my sister, Cris and her husband, Duncan. It has become a family affair on that Friday with the men folk helping set up the reception hall. It turns out my husband is a hell of a flower arranger and punch maker. Cris and I stayed home to decorate the cake. Jacob slept on the couch with the dogs. That may not seem like much, but keeping the four dogs asleep while we decorated was a job well done!
So the wedding hall and reception hall were decorated to reflect the bride and groom. I have always been a fan of church weddings, but this hall decorated with empty beer bottle vases filled with flowers from Sarah's yard was beautiful in such a understated way. It was not some long ago architect's idea of reverence, but their own. And I have always said that it was important to have God in the wedding ceremony and blah blah blah, but I take that back as well. There was no reading from the bible, but instead, a reading from A.A. Milne and though it was a conversation between a stuffed bear and toy pig, it perfectly expressed what love, friendship and marriage should be about. And Steve's mom read it standing between them. She, being from Great Britain, had the perfect voice for that reading. A Yank would have ruined it! I don't know what Ata and Steve's religious beliefs are, but in that room on that day between the two of them there was something indescribable and oh, so beautiful. That wedding was all theirs, as it should be. Did I mention that Barney the dog was ring bearer. The pianist was a friend of the couple and the celebrant had known Ata for years.
So, as I said, I don't know this newly married couple beyond the few conversations that I had with them over our stay. I know they are head over heels for each other- that is obvious in the way that they look at each other, especially when the other doesn't know it. I know that Steve may or may not be a hipster. I know that Ata was very nervous as her beloved was strapped into the SWOOP gear. I knew that look on her face quite well. I would like to think I have learned to hide it when my own beloved was being strapped into the BUNGY gear. Though my love is twenty four years older, I have not lost that feeling.
I hope, through Facebook and such, that I get to know these two better. I hope that our home is a stop on their tour of the States. I hope that Danny and I are a positive example of captain and navigator (Danny is both, I would crash the ship while getting us lost). He would steer us in the right direction while arranging flowers. I hope that when my own get married, they don't listen to what is expected of them and create a day that they expect for themselves. And I hope that Danny still looks at me the way Steve looks at Ata and I hope that Ata knows how lucky she is as I know how lucky I am.
Congratulations and a lifetime of joy! XOXO Anne
So to begin with, I don't know the groom and really don't know the bride. She is my niece, the only child of my oldest brother, Bob and his wife, Sarah. They live in New Zealand. New Zealand is a country in the Southern Hemisphere near Australia but not part of it though a billion, zillion years ago, it was. But that was before we named any of the land masses. Anyway, my brother was a Marine guard for the American Embassy in New Zealand. He fell in love, moved back to New Zealand to woo Sarah. It worked, she married him and he had the good sense to stay in Wellington. He has been there for thirtyish years. And, New Zealand is a first world country, no shots required to visit. There aren't kangaroos or koalas there, unless they are in the zoo and they do speak English and Maori, but let's not get into that.
Atareta is twenty three. She attended my wedding so it only seemed fair that I attend hers. She was in her mom's belly at the time, but was there, none the less. In her twenty three years, I have seen her all of five times, the wedding being the fifth. We are Facebook friends so I know how cute she is, but I don't know her and man, I wish I did because I am quite certain that she is amazing.
And Steve, I don't know him at all. I am beginning to think he is quite amazing as well.
So here we are in New Zealand for the wedding. Danny, Jacob and I along with my sister, Cris and her husband, Duncan. It has become a family affair on that Friday with the men folk helping set up the reception hall. It turns out my husband is a hell of a flower arranger and punch maker. Cris and I stayed home to decorate the cake. Jacob slept on the couch with the dogs. That may not seem like much, but keeping the four dogs asleep while we decorated was a job well done!
So the wedding hall and reception hall were decorated to reflect the bride and groom. I have always been a fan of church weddings, but this hall decorated with empty beer bottle vases filled with flowers from Sarah's yard was beautiful in such a understated way. It was not some long ago architect's idea of reverence, but their own. And I have always said that it was important to have God in the wedding ceremony and blah blah blah, but I take that back as well. There was no reading from the bible, but instead, a reading from A.A. Milne and though it was a conversation between a stuffed bear and toy pig, it perfectly expressed what love, friendship and marriage should be about. And Steve's mom read it standing between them. She, being from Great Britain, had the perfect voice for that reading. A Yank would have ruined it! I don't know what Ata and Steve's religious beliefs are, but in that room on that day between the two of them there was something indescribable and oh, so beautiful. That wedding was all theirs, as it should be. Did I mention that Barney the dog was ring bearer. The pianist was a friend of the couple and the celebrant had known Ata for years.
So, as I said, I don't know this newly married couple beyond the few conversations that I had with them over our stay. I know they are head over heels for each other- that is obvious in the way that they look at each other, especially when the other doesn't know it. I know that Steve may or may not be a hipster. I know that Ata was very nervous as her beloved was strapped into the SWOOP gear. I knew that look on her face quite well. I would like to think I have learned to hide it when my own beloved was being strapped into the BUNGY gear. Though my love is twenty four years older, I have not lost that feeling.
I hope, through Facebook and such, that I get to know these two better. I hope that our home is a stop on their tour of the States. I hope that Danny and I are a positive example of captain and navigator (Danny is both, I would crash the ship while getting us lost). He would steer us in the right direction while arranging flowers. I hope that when my own get married, they don't listen to what is expected of them and create a day that they expect for themselves. And I hope that Danny still looks at me the way Steve looks at Ata and I hope that Ata knows how lucky she is as I know how lucky I am.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Operation Desert Storm
Today is the 22nd anniversary of the start of Operation Desert Storm. I did not remember. What was once the most momentous of moments in my life has now become an interesting blip. But that evening in my little apartment in Oceanside, California, Operation Desert Shield was done and no one knew what was coming.
War, for me, was a lot of movies. I had known people that were in wars, but I didn't know them while they were there. I wasn't in love with them and I certainly wasn't carrying their baby. War was many years ago, it wasn't right now as I stood in my kitchen looking down on the only family I had with me, my two little kitties. War was also drawn out and news of it was sporadic. It was not a hundred hours and shown live on CNN.
I remember feeling so incredibly helpless because I had no idea. Really, who does. We had all waited so long for something to happen that I don't think we thought anything really would. I had gotten pretty good at the waiting part. Danny had left in August. I read some books, rented some movies, bought some furniture, started sewing and grew 5/6ths of an Ashlyn. I remember knowing nothing about the middle east, especially Iraq. We had all heard of Iran in the '80s but this was a new place, new bad guy, new weapons. And I was a new wife and almost new momma. And Danny, not even old enough to drink but out in the sand somewhere firing mortars.
I thought this was the hardest it was ever going to be because it was the hardest it had ever been. And now, I don't even remember the day.
The nation learned where Kuwait was. We learned what a SCUD was. We learned who Schwartzkof and Powell were. We took advantage of the soldiers return to honor the last group of soldiers that returned without any fanfare. I learned that I was pretty damn resilent.
Danny came home seven weeks after that 100 hours. Ashlyn came six weeks after that. There we were still in that little apartment with the two little kitties, but we were tested now, and we had passed. I don't know how Danny felt, but me? I felt like the real deal. I was a marine wife. I had done what no one I knew had done. I had waited it out without any major catastrophes.
I think Desert Shield and Storm has become a paragraph in the history books. It has become that in my own history. But without it, who knows. I learned how to be a grown up while Danny learned the finer points of being a Marine.
War, for me, was a lot of movies. I had known people that were in wars, but I didn't know them while they were there. I wasn't in love with them and I certainly wasn't carrying their baby. War was many years ago, it wasn't right now as I stood in my kitchen looking down on the only family I had with me, my two little kitties. War was also drawn out and news of it was sporadic. It was not a hundred hours and shown live on CNN.
I remember feeling so incredibly helpless because I had no idea. Really, who does. We had all waited so long for something to happen that I don't think we thought anything really would. I had gotten pretty good at the waiting part. Danny had left in August. I read some books, rented some movies, bought some furniture, started sewing and grew 5/6ths of an Ashlyn. I remember knowing nothing about the middle east, especially Iraq. We had all heard of Iran in the '80s but this was a new place, new bad guy, new weapons. And I was a new wife and almost new momma. And Danny, not even old enough to drink but out in the sand somewhere firing mortars.
I thought this was the hardest it was ever going to be because it was the hardest it had ever been. And now, I don't even remember the day.
The nation learned where Kuwait was. We learned what a SCUD was. We learned who Schwartzkof and Powell were. We took advantage of the soldiers return to honor the last group of soldiers that returned without any fanfare. I learned that I was pretty damn resilent.
Danny came home seven weeks after that 100 hours. Ashlyn came six weeks after that. There we were still in that little apartment with the two little kitties, but we were tested now, and we had passed. I don't know how Danny felt, but me? I felt like the real deal. I was a marine wife. I had done what no one I knew had done. I had waited it out without any major catastrophes.
I think Desert Shield and Storm has become a paragraph in the history books. It has become that in my own history. But without it, who knows. I learned how to be a grown up while Danny learned the finer points of being a Marine.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Open Thanksgiving
So it is pretty obvious that the Christmas shopping season is upon us. For the past month or more I have been listening to people complain about the Christmas products on the sales floor. I am guessing that these people have never worked retail. They don't realize that the Christmas products have to get out of the stockroom because the Valentine's Day products will start rolling in. That's because the warehouse is receiving the Easter and summer products off of big ole cargo ships from China. I kid you not.
I don't want to set Christmas in October but I will have people ask me about product in September. If people did not buy it in October, it wouldn't be available to buy in October. Granted, at least one of my early Christmas product sales is bound for a deployed service member and that makes setting in October all worth while. So while I may complain a bit, packing up a santa that is desert bound reminds me to shut my mouth.
Anyway, back to my rant. I will be working Thanksgiving Day. So will a lot of other people. Doctors will be staffing emergency rooms. Nurses will be on the oncology floor, at labor and delivery, waiting to board a life flight. Cafeteria staff will be preparing a Thanksgiving meal for all those at the hospital, staff and patient. And thank the Lord for those people that are providing a real service. I have had a Blank Children's Hospital Thanksgiving meal. I know what that is like and I know how much I appreciated people being there to feed my family. To take care of my girl.
But I am not saving lives.
I will be working Thanksgiving Day. So will a lot of other people.
The streets of my town will be protected like they always are by West Des Moines finest. Every other city will be protected just the same. The firehouse three blocks over will be fully staffed and ready to rush to the first house to have an overly deep fried turkey on fire in the driveway. There will be taxi drivers ready to ferry the drunk and the tow trucks ready to pull out the unlucky on the road.
But I am not providing an important service.
I will be working Thanksgiving Day. And unfortunately so will a lot of other retail people. We will be there for the shopper that didn't plan ahead, that wants to get out of the house, that is sick of football, that wanted to get a jump on the shopping. I will have to keep the very fake smile plastered to my face when someone comments that it is "too bad" that we are open Thanksgiving Day. I will have to act like I am delighted to be there. I will not be saving a life, protecting a home, stopping a crime. I will be selling the beer, the sour cream, the board game, the make up kit.
My family will be at home with the cold beer and sour cream (what do people use sour cream for on Thanksgiving?) that I bought previously because I knew Thanksgiving was coming. They will be playing the board game we got for Christmas last year. They will be waiting for their family to be together to celebrate just enough before I have to go to sleep to get up at 5a.m. to do it all again.
My mom, the nurse, and my siblings, the hospital cafeteria employees, worked many holidays. They knew it going into the job. My husband, the protector of world, nation and city, had one year that he worked every holiday and every day in between, but again, knew that was part of the job. This was not part of the retail job when I started. There was some respect still for families. Granted, my particular place of employment now, has always been opened on all holidays, but it used to be shortened hours so that the shifts were covered by a reduced staff. Now it is open regular hours, like a regular day. When I worked at the hardware store, we were regular hours on Black Friday. We weren't trying to lure you in with $1.99 table saws. We were there to provide the nuts and bolts of your weekend project. Now days, a true DIYer will stay home that weekend just to avoid the maddening crowds.
I don't want to hear about your great Thanksgiving Day deals. I want to hear that you stayed home, hung out with the family. Said an extra prayer of gratitude for all those that had to work, to heal, to protect, to sell beer and sour cream. I want to know that there are more people that want to take back the holidays from the retailer, from the deal mad shopper. I want to see the retailer spread the sales around to other days throughout November. I want to see retailers give a damn about people. The people that work for them and shop from them. I always thought it would take a death to make retailers change their ways, but it only made them push the opening hours earlier.
It is truly up to the consumer to decide. Put your money where your heart is. Please don't shop on Thanksgiving. Buy your sour cream today.
I don't want to set Christmas in October but I will have people ask me about product in September. If people did not buy it in October, it wouldn't be available to buy in October. Granted, at least one of my early Christmas product sales is bound for a deployed service member and that makes setting in October all worth while. So while I may complain a bit, packing up a santa that is desert bound reminds me to shut my mouth.
Anyway, back to my rant. I will be working Thanksgiving Day. So will a lot of other people. Doctors will be staffing emergency rooms. Nurses will be on the oncology floor, at labor and delivery, waiting to board a life flight. Cafeteria staff will be preparing a Thanksgiving meal for all those at the hospital, staff and patient. And thank the Lord for those people that are providing a real service. I have had a Blank Children's Hospital Thanksgiving meal. I know what that is like and I know how much I appreciated people being there to feed my family. To take care of my girl.
But I am not saving lives.
I will be working Thanksgiving Day. So will a lot of other people.
The streets of my town will be protected like they always are by West Des Moines finest. Every other city will be protected just the same. The firehouse three blocks over will be fully staffed and ready to rush to the first house to have an overly deep fried turkey on fire in the driveway. There will be taxi drivers ready to ferry the drunk and the tow trucks ready to pull out the unlucky on the road.
But I am not providing an important service.
I will be working Thanksgiving Day. And unfortunately so will a lot of other retail people. We will be there for the shopper that didn't plan ahead, that wants to get out of the house, that is sick of football, that wanted to get a jump on the shopping. I will have to keep the very fake smile plastered to my face when someone comments that it is "too bad" that we are open Thanksgiving Day. I will have to act like I am delighted to be there. I will not be saving a life, protecting a home, stopping a crime. I will be selling the beer, the sour cream, the board game, the make up kit.
My family will be at home with the cold beer and sour cream (what do people use sour cream for on Thanksgiving?) that I bought previously because I knew Thanksgiving was coming. They will be playing the board game we got for Christmas last year. They will be waiting for their family to be together to celebrate just enough before I have to go to sleep to get up at 5a.m. to do it all again.
My mom, the nurse, and my siblings, the hospital cafeteria employees, worked many holidays. They knew it going into the job. My husband, the protector of world, nation and city, had one year that he worked every holiday and every day in between, but again, knew that was part of the job. This was not part of the retail job when I started. There was some respect still for families. Granted, my particular place of employment now, has always been opened on all holidays, but it used to be shortened hours so that the shifts were covered by a reduced staff. Now it is open regular hours, like a regular day. When I worked at the hardware store, we were regular hours on Black Friday. We weren't trying to lure you in with $1.99 table saws. We were there to provide the nuts and bolts of your weekend project. Now days, a true DIYer will stay home that weekend just to avoid the maddening crowds.
I don't want to hear about your great Thanksgiving Day deals. I want to hear that you stayed home, hung out with the family. Said an extra prayer of gratitude for all those that had to work, to heal, to protect, to sell beer and sour cream. I want to know that there are more people that want to take back the holidays from the retailer, from the deal mad shopper. I want to see the retailer spread the sales around to other days throughout November. I want to see retailers give a damn about people. The people that work for them and shop from them. I always thought it would take a death to make retailers change their ways, but it only made them push the opening hours earlier.
It is truly up to the consumer to decide. Put your money where your heart is. Please don't shop on Thanksgiving. Buy your sour cream today.
Saturday, November 9, 2013
Today I am thankful for
November 10, 1776. The birth of the Marine Corps. Yes, I am so very thankful for this. It may sound odd as I was never a marine, never considered being a marine. But the United States Marine Corps has been awfully good to me and without the legend of Tuns Tavern and the men that drank there that November 10th, my little life would be very different indeed.
My love affair with the Corps began when my brother joined in 1978. My other brother followed in 1982. This blog isn't fact checked, but I think I have those dates right. But it wasn't until the summer of 1989 that I began to see my future with the USMC. I wasn't joining, just marrying into it. Just.
In November of 1989, Danny went to MCRD San Diego. He graduated boot camp on 9 February and I married him and by extension, the Corps, the very next day.
I will not even try to describe what being a Marine meant to and continues to mean to Danny. But being a marine's wife meant the world to me. And these feelings would have probably have been the same if Danny were in another branch, but having been the Marine Corps wife first, I will say that I don't think I could have been more proud of the branch Danny chose.
I got to live in Southern California. I got to drive on the I5. I got to navigate the military system. I learned how to live on my own. I learned to appreciate the mail man in ways I would never thought imaginable had we never chose this adventure. The Marine Corps gave me two daughters for around $50.00. I did most of the work, but they paid most of the bill.
The Marine Corps gave Danny and me the chance to move onto the US Army. And the Army gave me Germany and Jacob, who did not cost me anything.
The Marine Corps celebrates their birthday with a ball and cake and much pomp and pageantry. I have attended two balls, one while Danny was sitting in the desert of Saudi Arabia and the second one was two years later when Danny was sitting next to me.
Tonight I will go with Danny, not to a ball, but to a bar. Limey's off of Grand. We meet there every year and I generally bring the cake. After the formal cutting by the oldest and youngest marine present, it is sliced up and eaten in random bites by the drunk marines that walk by the table. They thank me for the cake and call me ma'am. They gather because they are thankful in different ways for what this branch has given them. I will hear the parts of a million different stories, all heavily peppered with swear words. The stories will not be about honorable causes or fights worth fighting. They will be about that one time that someone got drunk in France or Guam or Lejeune or Pendleton, a fight broke out, and the MP's showed up or all hell broke loose etc. There will be marines that fought in WWII and marines home on their first leave after boot camp.
Most of these guys are all out now, some did their four year tour and got out, returned to civilian life and went from there. Some stayed longer, some retired. Some are battle tested and some, well, some are full of shit. But they all have a few things in common, they all know how to adapt and overcome, they all know that Ronald Reagan was right and they all know that once a Marine, always a Marine. Semper Fi and thanks for letting me come to the party.
My love affair with the Corps began when my brother joined in 1978. My other brother followed in 1982. This blog isn't fact checked, but I think I have those dates right. But it wasn't until the summer of 1989 that I began to see my future with the USMC. I wasn't joining, just marrying into it. Just.
In November of 1989, Danny went to MCRD San Diego. He graduated boot camp on 9 February and I married him and by extension, the Corps, the very next day.
I will not even try to describe what being a Marine meant to and continues to mean to Danny. But being a marine's wife meant the world to me. And these feelings would have probably have been the same if Danny were in another branch, but having been the Marine Corps wife first, I will say that I don't think I could have been more proud of the branch Danny chose.
I got to live in Southern California. I got to drive on the I5. I got to navigate the military system. I learned how to live on my own. I learned to appreciate the mail man in ways I would never thought imaginable had we never chose this adventure. The Marine Corps gave me two daughters for around $50.00. I did most of the work, but they paid most of the bill.
The Marine Corps gave Danny and me the chance to move onto the US Army. And the Army gave me Germany and Jacob, who did not cost me anything.
The Marine Corps celebrates their birthday with a ball and cake and much pomp and pageantry. I have attended two balls, one while Danny was sitting in the desert of Saudi Arabia and the second one was two years later when Danny was sitting next to me.
Tonight I will go with Danny, not to a ball, but to a bar. Limey's off of Grand. We meet there every year and I generally bring the cake. After the formal cutting by the oldest and youngest marine present, it is sliced up and eaten in random bites by the drunk marines that walk by the table. They thank me for the cake and call me ma'am. They gather because they are thankful in different ways for what this branch has given them. I will hear the parts of a million different stories, all heavily peppered with swear words. The stories will not be about honorable causes or fights worth fighting. They will be about that one time that someone got drunk in France or Guam or Lejeune or Pendleton, a fight broke out, and the MP's showed up or all hell broke loose etc. There will be marines that fought in WWII and marines home on their first leave after boot camp.
Most of these guys are all out now, some did their four year tour and got out, returned to civilian life and went from there. Some stayed longer, some retired. Some are battle tested and some, well, some are full of shit. But they all have a few things in common, they all know how to adapt and overcome, they all know that Ronald Reagan was right and they all know that once a Marine, always a Marine. Semper Fi and thanks for letting me come to the party.
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