Vivacious

She barely topped 5 feet and her characteristic red hair was your first warning that she was a firecracker. She never met an opinion that she didn’t hold, but you were welcome to disagree with her, it wasn’t her fault that you were wrong. She knew who she was and what she wanted from life and she wasn’t afraid to go get it.

We didn’t always get along so well, and certainly had our clashes. We were two strong women, both too young to know the importance of a good ally and devil’s advocate. She was more set in who she was, I was still searching. I’ll never forget the night we sat around a table and had a full blown discussion with a huge group over changing last names after marriage. Her opinion was that he could take her name or shut up about it already. I wonder if that ever changed. Another time, near the elections, a friend was going down a very conservative path (not too surprising, we were a church group) and she was getting riled. I stepped in and turned the conversation off of politics with the comment that we probably didn’t all hold the same views. She thanked me for it later. Yet another time, we shared our fears of getting older without a significant boyfriend, especially once her younger sister got engaged.

She graduated college at 20 and moved across the country to join Teach for America. After her two years in the Corps, she stayed on as first a stewardship coordinator for the school and then their director of development. She met her fiance and they changed each other’s lives. She tried to help me get a job with her school district. I’ll never forget her follow up call when she found out the interviewer hadn’t ever called me back. She was furious. She apologized for me and then made the other person call and apologize to me.

She lived life, pardon the expression, balls to the wall. If she wanted something, she went after it. She was as enthusiastic about having fun as she was about working, helping people, and being a good person. Possibly my favorite quote of hers was, “just because the gospel is offensive, doesn’t mean you have to be,” because it just sums up her belief system.

I don’t think I’d spoken to her since early in 2010. There were a few tweets sent to each other. Adding to google+ circles. But the drifting that comes from two people who weren’t overly close that have moved to different places. I did tease her about becoming a Duke Blue Devil this past fall. After all, she’d been pretty adamantly anti-Duke during our days together.

There is a vacuum in the universe without her. I truly cannot comprehend her not being alive somewhere here on this Earth. After all the death that has surrounded me this year, hers is hitting me the hardest. She was my age. They’d just gotten engaged the night before. She lived life with such vivacity that she cannot, should not, just not be here.

All across the spectrum, we who have known her are hurting, mourning, broken in pieces on the ground. The hole she leaves is huge. I see her face when I close my eyes. I know we have to pick up the pieces, gather the scattered remnants of our hearts, and carry on. She’d probably have a quip for us about moping about if she was alive to share it with us today. I will do my best to honor her memory and live life with the vivaciousness that drew people in towards her.

My friend, we may not have always seen eye to eye and we may not have been the best at keeping in touch; but you changed my life. You have always been someone who has inspired and amazed me. I do not like this world without you in it. The world is a dimmer place without your bright light, your spark. Until we meet again on the other side, know that you are loved and you are missed.

~The Countess~

Missing Beer

I never thought that I would say this; but, I miss beer. Not mass produced American beer, the swill that tastes like water gone bad and gives me a headache without the buzz. No, I miss better beer than that.

I miss a good, dark German herbal beer. I miss ordering a meter board of it to share around the table. I miss the camaraderie of the first drink, where you had to drink as much of it in one go as you could, with the goal of getting as close to the “line” of the meter board holding the glasses as you could. Going under the line was an automatic loss, otherwise whoever was the furthest away would be the loser. And of course the loser always bought the next round. Each board cost about 15 euros, and for the amount of beer you got, it was a fabulous deal.

I miss a good German Weissen. Light, crisp, refreshing. I miss sitting at a table full of handballers and watching them order, one after another Colaweissen, Colaweissen, Radlerweissen. See, in Germany it’s perfectly acceptable to mix your beer with Cola, Radler (lemonade), or even fruit juice. B tried all types of Weissen mixes while we lived there. You can even by both Colaweissen and Radlerweissen in bottles from the stores. And they do both mixes with Pils too. Most handball games that were won, ended with a victory celebration that involved this oh-so-German drink.

I miss the Belgian Lambic beers. Those were the first “real” beers that I tried. A good friend in Houston talked me into trying a Framboise out one night. Another time, two Scottish business men bought me some half-pints of a couple of different lambics to try out. And then there’s going to Belgium and actually drinking them. Long nights up in Bruges drinking with friends and friends of friends. Laughter abounded. We bounced from bar to bar and passed the drinks around as we tried Honey, cherry, mango, peach, strawberry, raspberry, and chocolate lambics. Personal favorites were declared, but it didn’t matter we still shared them all anyway. There was no fear in Belgium of being made fun of for drinking a light, crisp, and fruity beer. It’s part of who they are.

Sometimes I wonder if I miss beer so much or if I really just miss the people and experiences. Or if it’s some part of both. Sometimes it seemed in Germany that you couldn’t separate the people from the drinks. Weekends involved nights out at a favorite pub or bar and sharing rounds with friends. My memories of the beers are irrevocably intertwined with my memories of the people. Our first night out with Coach and our last night out with Coach involved many rounds of Colaweissen. Our nights out with some of our closesst friends almost always involved a meter board of beer. And the lambics? Well, I’m pretty sure that I bleed Framboise, or would if I was given my druthers.

These people, these places, these drinks, have left an indelible mark upon my soul. I wouldn’t have it any other way, but tonight? I am missing beer.

~The Countess~

Four Days

In 17 hours or so, B should be off of work and we should have four, fabulous, whole days off together. He’s getting them as some special day off because he and his guys just rocked the shit out of their big inspection. Seriously, I’m so incredibly proud of them. He’s the only officer to get the outstanding performer notice from the inspectors, and his flight counted for 12 of the 20 overall outstanding performer’s for the base. That means that he commanded 60% of the base’s top guys during this inspection. It’s huge; freakingly, awesomely, huge. And I can’t brag about it yet too much publicly because they still haven’t done the press release for it.

But still, four days off. I still haven’t started work yet. It’s a nightmare of paperwork that I can’t even do. Evidently the government switched to a new system for starting out new employees and they’ve gotten majorly backlogged with it. So, they can’t even guarantee that I’ll be working a month from now. It’s frustrating, but mostly because another organization on base refused to finish processing my paperwork with them when I received this job offer. Now I’m going to be out 4-8 weeks of work that I could have done with them while waiting for the other to go through. Oh well, more their loss than mine.

And if I was, I might not get the next four days with B. This will be the first chance we’ve had to just relax and draw away since we moved here. We’ve been going nonstop since 14 February when we finally got our orders here. I’m looking forward to the rejuvenation, the ability to go out with friends, and probably way too much time spent playing video games. It’s going to be divine.

We’re taking one of those days, Saturday, to go see Tarsus and the sites that we had to cancel back on that fateful day in April. I’m excited to escape base and go play tourist somewhere that I can actually take pictures without feeling awkward. I’m really happy about this.

I’m looking forward to making dinner with him and not having him fall asleep on my lap on the couch half an hour later. I’m looking forward to cuddling in bed in the mornings while telling our puppy he can wait to be fed. I’m looking forward to running errands in the afternoon with him and taking the dog for a walk together instead of alone. I’m looking forward to just sharing my daily moments with another soul.

Four days. I cannot wait.

~The Countess~

Finding

I’m standing in the middle of a field of flowers. My hands trail at my sides and just brush the top of the grass and flowers as I soak in all that is around me. There is the sun, beating down in that South Texas way, warming my face and skin, brightening all around me, and a focal point with my eyes open or closed.  There is a soft breeze, hot and lazy that stirs around me. It lifts my hair, slightly damp from the heat, and teases. It feels of the promise of a cooler time, but none of that promise is delivered. There is the smell, oh the overwhelming smell, of wildflowers, berries, the country. It is damp and soft. It is bright and bold. It is soothing, because it is the smell of home. I am 5, 8, 13, 18, 22 and none of it matters because I feel the same at each moment: loved, safe, warm, at peace, at home.

In a flash, I am no longer there. Gone are the flowers, gone the warm sun and the accompanying lazy breeze. Gone the safety, peace, and familiar. I stand now ankle deep in water. Murky water, that swirls and pulls at my feet. I cannot see the bottom, I cannot see the opposite shore but I step ever deeper away from the past, away from the familiar. The sky overhead is angry and dark. The clouds are roiling, fighting, tumbling; each one a bruised and heavy purple. The wind whips at my hair, at my clothes, pulling, pushing, tugging me along. My face is damp with tears, fear – of what I’m not even sure – surges through me, racing my heart on and on. The air smells of electricity and change. It is frightening, it is alien, it is in transition. Onward I step, one foot in front of the next, until the water closes over my eyes.

I stand now with my eyes closed tight. My arms are wrapped around my own body, hugging away the loneliness and emptiness. It is cold, so cold around me. I know, instinctively that even if I open my eyes that all I will see is the pitch black of night. My feet are bare, and beneath them is treacherous ground. It is rough, like old concrete, strewn with glass, rocks, sticks to cut, trip, and bruise me. My walk is a shuffle, careful steps unseeing, unknowing. It is so cold that I can scarce breathe and I cannot place any scent that assaults me with each breath. The hair at the back of my neck stands up, I know that here is not a good place to be, I have to leave and as quickly as I can. And yet, how do I leave when I cannot see? How do I move when each step brings agony? The wind is like a gale force, pushing me, making me stumble, driving me to my knees. I lack the strength to stand again, and so I crawl, blindly, painfully forward.

I stand at the side of the water. I am bruised, bleeding, heartsick, and alone. The sun seems weak and ineffectual on my skin. It cannot warm the clammy place that is my heart. It cannot dry the tears that streak down my face. I have come through, but to what purpose. Behind me is turbulent water that will not be crossed, behind me is the darkness that I will not return to. But ahead? Ahead is a bleak horizon; flat, bare, uncompromising in it’s emptiness. The breeze that comes is stale and old, filled with the desperate sighs of the dying and those that wish they were already dead. I just want to quit, sink down, not move; but that has never been an option. And so I limp forward, broken but not defeated, wilted but craving life, alone but spurned toward the promise of a better day and a better place.

I stand once more in a field of flowers. They are not the same as they once were, but neither am I so how could they be? I am no longer alone. His hand is clasped firmly in mine, warm against the coolness of my skin. I bask in the sun, remembering what peace felt like so long ago. His thumb caresses away the shadows of the tears I once shed, his arms wrap tight around me to cease my shuddering gasps. I feel the breeze and welcome it like the old friend it is, and let it wash over us both. His scent is the comforting familiarity of home. I turn my face to the sun and open my eyes. Around me everything has changed. And for the first time, I am okay with the new and different. It does not pull or tear at me, instead, it welcomes me gently into it’s fold.

It will never be the same again. I will never be the same again. But I will find my fields of flowers, stand in them, and remember. I will remember the warmth, peace, and love of home. I will remember the dark, fearful night of depression. I will remember that not all change is bad and not all new things are terrors. I will hold fast to the love that envelops me and give freely of the warmth which I have received.

I stand in a field of flowers; I am loved, warm, and whole once more. I am not alone and never have been, though I couldn’t open my eyes to see it at the time. I stand in my field of flowers, take a deep breath, and simply live.

~The Countess~

All About B

There are things going on at this exact moment that I want to shout from the rooftops, but I’m going to exercise a little caution and restraint for now and wait to share anything once everything is official. Needless to say, if things pan out, then I have a lot to look forward to over the next few months and things should start to get easier here too. At least if we can keep people from dying on us when we go to a certain off-base restaurant. We are three for three on our last three trips there. Yeah, gallows humor, it’s what I get being married to a cop right now. Today’s change of pace post is stolen from here and I found her blog randomly and just thought this quiz looked like fun. And I wanted something happier than all the downer posts I’ve been putting up lately.

1. Where did we meet?
We met on 28 November 2009. It was a Saturday night, the one after Thanksgiving and we were both out dancing at Cowboy’s Dance club in San Antonio. I was there with a cousin and a dear friend, and he was there with two really good buddies. Our groups joined up and once he was by my side I didn’t let him slip away all night. At the end of the night, I gave him my number before driving my friends home.

2. Where was our first date? 
Our first date was on 29 November 2009. No, he didn’t believe in the three day rule and I’m so glad. He texted me (yeah, we always did text more than talk) that Sunday around lunch and asked if I remembered him, wanted to get together, and what there was to do in SA on a Sunday afternoon. Three hours later we met up at the San Antonio Zoo and spent the next 6 hours walking, looking at animals, talking, and just having fun. I was smitten and luckily so was he.

3. What was my first impression of him?
He was wearing a burgundy red button up, faded denim jeans, boots, and a black cowboy hat. I saw him before they came up to us and I flashed a smile and he smiled back and I loved how it crinkled his eyes. I know people will say it’s just hindsight, but I really did just have a feeling about him from the beginning. I knew he was charming, sarcastic, intelligent, and in the military.

4. When did he meet my family?
He met my family on 15 February 2010. At this point we’d been long distance since mid-December and when he decided to fly in for Valentine’s Day he offered to meet my folks. The original plan was for him to fly in on the 13th, go to dinner with my family that night, and then have the 14th and 15th to ourselves. Well, February 2010 hosted a freak snow storm in Atlanta that caused his Saturday flight to be cancelled. He ended up landing about 2 hours before our dinner reservations on the 14th. We thought about just scrapping his meet the family gig, but ended up eating lunch for them at a Whataburger in my hometown.

meet the family

5. Does he have any weird obsessions? What?
Beyond video games? He owns a PS3, XBOX360, Wii, and a really nice computer. Our tv is a 50 inch Plasma, HD, etc, etc, etc. But I don’t think it’s that weird, pretty typical for a guy and he’s nice enough to let me game with him too.

6. How long have we been together?
Almost 2.5 years. Or 29 months to be exact. And married for 20 of those. How crazy are we? That should answer it right there.

7. Do we have a tradition together?
Sushi Sundays were our much beloved traditions while we lived in Germany. But probably our strangest one is that we never give gifts on actual events. We give Christmas and Birthday gifts super early, namely whenever it’s convenient to buy them and then give them because neither one of us waits well. We also celebrate our anniversaries (we celebrate both the dating and the marriage ones) with trips instead of gifts.

8. What was  our first road trip?
Just under a month after we got married, we drove from North Dakota to Michigan and then Michigan to Maryland to ship our car and board the plane to Germany. We actually had a blast driving together and plotting out our itinerary along the way. While we lived in Germany, road trips were our thing and we visited Belgium, the Netherlands, Switzerland, and various parts of Germany all by car trips.

9. What was the first thing I noticed about him?
I sort of already answered this one, but it was his smile.

10. What is his favorite restaurant?
Red Robin for their endless fries and campfire sauce. He’s a simple man.

11. What do we argue about the most?
Arguing implies to me that there are raised voices and we never do. Honestly, we don’t disagree about the same things twice. We’re pretty good at resolving things the first time through.

12. Who wears the pants in the relationship?
Again, this to me implies that one of us is in control. If anything is in control of our lives, it would be his job. That tells us where we live, for how long, and all that goes along with it. But he doesn’t tell me what to do, I don’t try and manipulate him into doing things. We’re pretty relaxed in that regard.

13. If he’s watching TV, what is he watching?
Community, Archer, How I Met Your Mother, or a rented movie

14. What is one food he doesn’t like?
Onions and with a passion. Even if they’re cooked up, I have to blend them or he won’t eat them. One time, his Mom decided to trick him into eating them and so she put onions in a dinner muffin and didn’t tell him. I didn’t know she’d done it and had just met his family 2-3 days earlier. So, he grabs one, breaks it in half and pops one half into his mouth – the whole thing. He went from happy to disgusted to what do I do all while his family laughed. I handed him my napkin and he spit it out. The story is a fun part of family history now.

15. What drink does he order when we go out to eat?
Water or Coke Zero for the most part. Colaweissen in Germany if he was drinking. Otherwise he’s a mixed drink guy when we’re out at a bar.

16. What size shoe does he wear?
13. We both have big feet that make it hard to find shoes while living in foreign countries.

17. What is his favorite kind of sandwich?
It changes regularly. He loves grilled cheese with tomato soup, roast beef with horseradish sauce, a turkey ranch club, or a BLT.

18. What is one talent he has?
He has many. But my personal favorite, is his ability to make me smile, no matter what else is going on.

19. What would he eat every day if he could?
Pizza. And I’ve seen him do it on shift days. It’s the one thing he can pack for lunch that he can eat hot or cold as needed. Which is important in his job where he’s often away from an office for hours at a time.

20. What is his favorite cereal?
He eats whatever is on sale that still has a decent amount of fiber and health benefits.

21. What is his favorite music?
I don’t know if I could name his favorite band or song. But he loves finding new songs.

22. What is his favorite sports team?
He doesn’t care much for conventional sports. And we live overseas without much access or ability to watch them, so I really don’t know. He mostly just reads up on the sports news so that he can still talk about game day stuff with the hardcore fans in his flight.

23. What is his eye color?
Brown.

24. Who is his best friend?
Hrmm, he has two friends from high school Sparky and the Pianist that probably tie for old, school friends. And then he has his military buddies and they’re more like family than just friends.

25. What is something he does that I wish he didn’t do?
Leave his jeans on the floor of our bedroom and his work clothes hanging over a chair in our living room. The work clothes I can forgive, because hey, the man goes to work at 0445 every morning, so whatever he can do to make it easier on himself is fine by me. The jeans we are working on and I plan on changing it once our new bedroom furniture gets here. Funny aside, one thing he does that doesn’t bother me? He leaves the toilet seat up. I just can’t bring myself to getting upset or worked up over that. I mean, I need it down so I put it down, he needs it up so he puts it up. Not that hard.

26. Where is he from?
Grand Rapids, MI

27. What kind of cake would I bake him on his birthday?
Whatever he requested. He loves my brownies and cookies, though I’ve made some pretty impressive cakes recently too. He likes chocolate – but no nuts or coconut. And he likes pretty much all of my experiments.

28. Does he play any sports?
He was a football and baseball star for his high school. And he played Team Handball for Team USA during their 2012 Olympic qualification attempt. Yeah, I might be just a touch proud on that one.

29. What can he spend hours doing?
Playing with our dog, reading, writing, playing video games, exploring somewhere new, researching something random that he’s decided he should know more about.

30. If he could live anywhere, where would it be?
Colorado or Texas.

Bumpy Roads

I know I’ve turned sporadic in posting, but things have been rough around here, and they aren’t looking like they’ll be looking up anytime soon. Right now I’m just buckling my seat belt and holding on for the ride. All I really know at the time is that we can make it through anything together. That and whatever doesn’t kill us will make us stronger, right?

First off, B’s hours here are ridiculous. He’s supposed to work a 10 hour shift from 0500-1500 M-F and then be on-call for the weekends. Unfortunately, most days he works until well after 1600 and is lucky to be home before 1700. We’ve had a few 14 hour days since this started and it’s not easy. He’s not getting enough sleep at night which means that he’s really struggling on that front. And then there’s the work he’s doing. He loathes it. He feels useless and redundant and that is not helping the long hours. All that to say that it means that he’s really depressed about the work situation and hours.

Second, back in March we had a death in our squadron. A kid, enjoying his day off, made one not so smart choice and it cost him his life. We were all stunned and shocked. This is a non-deployable location for our career field, which should mean that we’re safe. Still, we did what Defender’s always do, we pulled together and kept at life. B was in charge of the young man’s belongings and getting them home to his parents. That is not an easy task. Then, just over a week ago, there was a work place accident and we lost another young man. Neither of these guys had seen their 21st birthday and now they’re gone. Our whole squadron is reeling right now and unfortunately, due to inspection schedules, we get no break. We have to hold together to pass an inspection that is a week away now. B is once again in charge of the disbursement of the deceased member’s belongings.

Then, this past Friday night, B’s grandfather died. He’s really old, and they’ve known it was coming for some time, but that doesn’t make it any easier to not be able to be there right now. It just isn’t feasible to try to get leave right as his squadron is reeling from the other deaths, right as the inspection is coming, just to go home for a funeral and then come right back. And so here we are, thousands of miles away from where we want to be right now.

Like I said, the roads are bumpy right now. We’re just holding on for dear life.

~The Countess~

Crawling Together

When you can’t run, you crawl. And when you can’t crawl, when you can’t do that, you…You find someone to carry you.

I sit and stare off into the day, my eyes are blinking back tears. I’m having a hard time breathing properly right now and thinking of anything at all hurts. Wave upon wave of pain washes over me. The pain of the family, the pain of the friends, the pain of the coworkers and buddies, the pain of the bosses, and even my own pain. The eyes around me are shell shocked and haunted. How could this happen, again, so soon?

Life may be fragile, but we’re supposed to be safe here. This is a non-combat zone. We don’t deploy. You’re supposed to come here, do your time, sight see, work long hours, and go to a location of your choosing afterward. It’s hard because you’re far from friends and family, isolated from civilians, and on a tough work schedule. But dying is not something you’re supposed to worry about.

The door to his room is blocked by flower arrangements. Notes cover the door itself, promising to remember, asking him to watch over them, telling him that he is missed. Today, they laughed quietly, played video games, looked for something, anything to tease others about. Last night, they gave him his final salute as they put him on a plane home. Tomorrow he will receive his final guardmount, his farewell. Last night there were tears, tomorrow there will be more. Today is just a brief respite from the grief and insanity that is around them.

We cannot make it alone. Each one of us has to support the other. The troops watch out for each other, make the ones taking it harder stick around. The officer’s – both commissioned and noncommissioned have their eyes on everyone. They cajole, harass, and give directives to take care of their guys. The wives stand behind their husbands, hug them tight behind closed doors, and try to save their tears for later. For me the most comfort is in the presence of the troops – their antics and laughter lift me from dwelling on the death. And so we come full circle, linked together by tragedy.

How much more can we take? I don’t know the answer to that, but I will say that even if none of us can run, we’ll all crawl together.

~The Countess~

Second Best

As a young girl and woman, I spent a lot of time day dreaming about what life would  be like when I was older. Most specifically about my romantic life, about meeting my significant other, falling in love with him, and eventually marrying him. I never pretended about what married life would be like. In my childlike innocence, I assumed that getting married meant you were old and dead and that was boring. Much more exciting to be falling in love somewhere fabulous and maybe a bit dangerous. And of course, I was always number one in my love’s life and eyes. Nothing was more important to him, than me and my happiness. To be fair, it went the same way for me, he was always number one on my list.

And then reality hits.

It’s never really going to be true. At least, not as long as he is in the military or any other form of government service like he wants to be. Being a military wife, especially a military cop’s wife, is all about the broken dinner plans, the cancelled trips, and the long months alone. It’s about learning to survive the disappointment about yet another bailed on plan, but even more, it’s about learning to accept your place in his life. Second best.

Normally, this military thing only minimally intrudes on our out of work lives. Yes, I say that as I’m sitting in my military provided housing on a base in Turkey. But I’m serious, work stays at work and I stay at home and ne’er do the twain meet.

This week, this week though, has upended that nice little fantasy too. He’s had to work late every day and those 12+ hour days start to wear on everyone after a while. He comes home tired, cranky, and ranting about work and all he wants to do is sit on the couch and play video games to blow off steam. Being the good, supportive type wife, I let him. What’s good for him is good for both of us, right? Then he gets the news that he has to work on Saturday. No one can say for how long, but the meeting starts at 0900. He tells me this and combines it with the paper he has due on Sunday, the one he hasn’t written yet due to the long hours and video game playing, and tells me that I need to cancel our planned trip for Sunday.

I’m disappointed obviously, who wouldn’t be? But, I suck it up because that’s what a good wife does. And I just try to be supportive. But if it weren’t for this job thing, I’d be sitting in Mersin, eating lunch on the Mediterranean right now. He got up early this morning to finish his paper. Asked me what I wanted to do for lunch. For once, instead of shrugging and saying I didn’t care, I told him I’d like to eat off base at my favorite little restaurant nearby. So we bike there, walk through security off-base, and across the street and up the stairs to the little restaurant that I like so much. Just as we sit down and they come to ask for our drink orders, his on-call phone rings. He answers and immediately gets up and leaves, I trail in his dust. Back through security onto base, around to the bikes. Someone’s been hurt and he has to go in. No idea how long. As we’re unlocking the bikes, I tell him that I know he needs to get there and that I’ll go straight home to wait for a call from him on how long it’s going to take and if I can bring him any food. No thanks, no I’m sorry’s, just a single I have to now.

So here I sit. Second best. Bummed.

Not about the interrupted lunch, at least not entirely. Not about the cancelled trip, at least not exactly. But about being second best, and trying my best to just be supportive, and to get cut down for my efforts anyway. Sometimes, all it would take is a small little mention of being sorry to have to run and that the gesture to bring lunch is sweet and that a call will come as soon as it can. That way, I can know that even if I do have to come in second, that I’m still appreciated too.

Sometimes, this military wife thing is hard.

~The Countess~

Of Bouquets and Blowjobs

There should probably be a disclaimer up here about being sensitive to certain endeavors and the fact that I’ll be blunt and not necessarily tactful in the following, but this is based on a conversation between B and I that I have found too delightfully entertaining to not share. So, yeah, there will be discussion of blow jobs and flowers in the following. If you don’t want to read about it, well, you have been warned.

When B and I first started dating, way back when, I was given advice by a dear lady that I worked with to always have fresh flowers in the house when he came by. She told me that this finishing touch, even if he never commented on it, would be noticed by him and appreciated. I’m not sure if this advice was just based on a different generational experience, or if my dearest beloved is merely immune to the enticements of floral buds, but he never noticed nor cared if I had flowers or not. Which wasn’t a problem for me, I bought flowers that helped me anticipate his arrival and then that brightened my days after he left with memories of stolen kisses and gently whispered love.

When B and I got married, there were no flowers. I spent my days leading up to the wedding trying to make sure the logistics would work and was barely able to spare the time to find a dress. Which, I couldn’t even find one to buy and got married in a dress that I detested and have never and will never wear again. All because it was blue and not black and that, at least, was acceptable. My Mom told me to buy flowers for a bouquet, I told her I didn’t want Walmart flowers and it would be fine. His Mom told him to buy me flowers, he told her that the Target flowers were ugly, and besides, he barely had time to marry me , much less buy flowers.

And then came the day that I came home from teaching and a trail of rose petals lead around the house. My husband had crafted a surprise for me and left me with two roses in a vase to remember that afternoon. He was proud of that moment. Quite proud, in fact, and referenced it often, especially if I hinted that I wanted flowers. I, being me, was amused that this one time occurrence of flower-buying and gifting was so highly touted by my darling husband. Which somehow, eventually, led to the following conversation.

I’m not sure what started it. But somehow we got on the subject of this one time (and at the time the only time) instance of him buying me flowers. He was pointing it out like it was the pinnacle of a relationship for him to have done so. And something inside of me snapped, what I said then, I still stand by now. For once in my life I managed to be witty and on the point in the moment and not just thinking of the thing to say three hours later after everyone else had forgotten what was going on. He brags about buying me flowers. And I respond.

You know, you and your flower moment. It’s like a girl giving a guy a blow job one time, and then always talking about how awesome she is for that one time that she blew him. No matter how many times he wants her to blow him again, she always refers him back to that moment that she did blow him. It’s her pinnacle. She won’t ever let him forget the one time she gave him a blow job and she will want major accolades for the one instance of the blow job. But she’ll ignore all future attempts to get her to blow him again. Because, you know, she did it that one time, for that one thing. 

He was silenced. This isn’t entirely unusual with B, so I waited. And then it came, the huh,  you’re right, I guess flowers should be more than a one time thing. I reveled in my triumph. I had managed to get my non-romantic husband to see that flower giving should be a regular occurrence, just like the other event that he enjoyed so much. (sorry friends, you were warned)

I wish this story had a fairy tale ending. That the prince brought the princess flowers at quirky-perfect times and remembered they had a great importance to her. But, the truth is that he even tried to get the gardener here in Turkey to rip out all the flowers. I had to protest to save the rose bushes over bare grass seed. He bought me flowers one other time as a sort of grand apology. Still, I’m hopeful that he’ll remember that to me, flowers are a nice symbol of him remembering something important to me. Failing that? I’ll just buy them myself. It’s easier than giving a blow job.

~The Countess~

Employment Endeavors

When I was a kid, I used to dream of being a stay at home mom, I’d clean the house, take care of my offspring, and eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. Funny how the reality of life never matches up with the fantasy. I cannot stand staying at home now, the days stretch on way too long and I get bored after the first 15 minutes of being awake in the morning. Even right at this moment, surrounded by boxes to unpack, and I just want to get out of the house. Finding employment has been at the top of my to-do list since we first found out we were moving. It hasn’t been easy. Still, after much work I have finally managed to get an offer for a job requiring just a high school diploma. Hopefully something better turns up soon, but until then, I’ll do my drudge work. Just in case you ever find yourself applying to work for anything involving the American Government’s big, fat fingers, here are some tips.

1. Avoid at all costs. You may think I’m joking, but the system of employment out here is so screwed up that it’s not even funny. You have to work 52 weeks, time in grade to be considered for a promotion, if you work 51 weeks and 3 days and your husband is moved so you move, you’re screwed unless you can find a new position within 150 days of the move. That may sound like a lot of time, but it isn’t. At all.

2. It will take forever. When they first contacted me about this job, I couldn’t even remember the position it was. It was one that applied to back before we moved. Yeah, almost two months ago now. For an hourly, part-time position. That only requires a high-school diploma. Two months from application in to interview. It will take at least another 2 weeks for me to complete the hiring process, since I need a physical, and a hefty background check. Hopefully by the time I’m actually employed by these people, I’ll be leaving to work for the same people under a different job title, payment system, and so on.

3. The red-tape is ridiculous. There was this position. I used to do the same job back in SA. Almost exactly. It required either experience or education or a combo of the two. I had the combo of the two. The problem is that the person reading the applications for approval (not located remotely close to here) evidently doesn’t know the meaning of the word pedagogy. And therefor disqualified my application for not having any education related classes on my transcripts. Other positions require you to hold your breath while hopping on one foot to check off the box with the right word order, even though all three options say the exact same thing.

4. Everyone will tell you not to work. I’m not sure what it is about mil-spouses, but it seems that they think no one should work. When I tell people I’m job hunting, the first thing they all seem to ask is why. Then they warn of never getting time off and spending all my time working. We won’t even get in to the comments that my schedule will never line up with my husband’s. Well, no duh. He’s a cop, he works the craziest hours on this base. But that still doesn’t mean I can sit at home, all day, by myself and not work. Oh yeah, and the number of people who tell me to just have a kid instead…it’s a crazy culture here.

5. It’s worth it in the end. At least, I hope it is. Check back with me in a few weeks to see if I’ve ever actually started working. If I haven’t, I might change my mind on this one.

~The Countess~

50 Questions: Part Three

 

1. You’re having lunch with three people you respect and admire.  They all start criticizing a close friend of yours, not knowing she is your friend.  The criticism is distasteful and unjustified.  What do you do?

I stand up for my friend. Always. Not speaking up is implied agreement to their statement. Maybe I just change the subject, maybe I clarify who they’re talking about so that they know she’s my friend, maybe I call them out on it being wrong. It would honestly depend on what they’re saying. I’ve been the victim many times of people saying things about me and others just sitting by and listening to it and I won’t do that to anyone else.

2. If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?

That’s so hard. Not knowing the challenges they’ll face in life, the pains they’ll learn, the joys they’ll experience. Such a blank slate in life. I think I would tell them to love themselves for who they are. I’ve heard it said that until you learn to truly love yourself that you are crippled from being able to love others unconditionally. I would want this new child to know that they are beautiful and wonderful and perfect just the way they are, with all of their flaws.

3. Would you break the law to save a loved one?

Knowing that my first answer to the question is, “it depends on the law needing to be broken,” I suppose I would have to say yes. I would speed to get them to the hospital on time without hesitation and to hell with whoever gets in my way. But I wouldn’t steal and I wouldn’t premeditate murder. I choose premeditate, because if someone broke into my house and threatened to kill me or my family, I would have no problem making sure they didn’t walk out of my house alive, but I consider that self defense and not even breaking the law.

4. Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?

The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results each time. It would be real easy to say that the same is true of practicing an instrument or even working on a piece of art. You repeat the same patterns, the same processes again and again and each time expect a different result from your craft. I guess that is to say, that I see creativity in a lot of life.

5. What’s something you know you do differently than most people?

I read faster than anyone I know. Seriously. I read the last Harry Potter book in less than 2.5 hours. And speed reading is my normal speed. I actually have a hard time slowing down when reading. This was first discovered when my Mom sent me to my room to read a chapter book for school. I think I was supposed to read one, or maybe two, of the chapters. I came out after twenty minutes and told her I had finished. She doubted me and voiced that, especially when I indicated that I’d finished the entire book, not just the chapters assigned. So she asked me all of the comprehension questions from the book and I nailed every one. She never assigned another book to me to read, but just let me read whatever I wanted. She also never doubted me when I told her I had finished a book again.

~The Countess~

 

1. aYou’re having lunch with three people you respect and admire.  They all start criticizing a close friend of yours, not knowing she is your friend.  The criticism is distasteful and unjustified.  What do you do?
2. If you could offer a newborn child only one piece of advice, what would it be?
3. Would you break the law to save a loved one?
4. Have you ever seen insanity where you later saw creativity?
5. What’s something you know you do differently than most people?

Being Involved

At our last base, we weren’t really involved. In fact, we were about as uninvolved as you could be. Part of this was by choice – we were newlyweds when we moved there and for the first few months we really didn’t care that we didn’t have any friends because we just wanted to spend time together. Part of it was by situation – B’s program where we were was so specialized that there were only three of them there (and less than 20 in all the AF) so it’s not like we had a lot of people to interact with regularly. Like I said, at first it was great, but as it went on, I started to get lonely for friends. And we did make friends, but not many.

I’m pretty sure that we’ve already met more people here at the new base than we knew the entire time at the old one. I’ve been to a bingo night and joined the Spouses club, we’ve gone to a “prom” with other CGO’s, my neighbor and I here in lodging have spent several afternoons/evenings together, and we’ve spent weekends out with new friends.

Someone asked last week on facebook if our base was close knit or not. There were a variety of answers from the spouses. They ranged from having only met one other person to those who found it super tight knit. My response was that this base has plenty of opportunities, but it’s all in what you make of it.

Any base will suck if you sit at home and never do anything. If you don’t volunteer, work, get involved, and meet people than the chances of you hating a location are high. I don’t want to feel that way here. I’m applying for jobs right and left. I’ve joined the spouses club, I’m going to game nights and making plans with people I don’t really know. All to be involved. All to make a home here.

B and I have learned, that especially with military families, that you have to be willing to make the first move. If you see someone and say hi and they don’t ask for your number, than make them give you their number. Call and invite them out once and you’ll have a new friend. Especially at our rank, everyone is on their first or second base typically. We’re on our third. So we’ve been around this block. We know how important it is to get to know people early on and as fast as you can. It’s important to build up the Friday night partying friends, the Saturday night dinner friends, and the Sunday afternoon lunch and shopping friends.

Amazingly enough, we already have started the process of building those crowds here. We’re really putting ourselves out there and pulling people together around us. We both want this base to be different. We want this base to be home.

Even if it means putting on silly dress clothes to go to someone’s military housing and have a “prom.” Even if it means giving their kids piggy back rides while waiting for the food to cook on the grill. Even if it means being the one to call and arrange things every Sunday so that no one is spending the afternoon alone. Even if it means asking the other new girl to go to the spouses event where neither of you will know anyone.

It’s how you get involved. And when you only have two years, you have to make every day count.

~The Countess~

A 1.5 Mile Run

We were sitting in the middle of the newcomers briefing when she said it. It hit me like a ton of bricks and it was all I could do to not react. Not cry. Not scream. Not run from the room. Just sit there, like it was all normal, like everything was okay, like she hadn’t just voiced my inner darkness. Later, much later, B asked me what I was thinking, and I told him I was thinking about a 1.5 mile run. He immediately asked if I needed help, to see someone, anyone. The answer then, as now, is no. I am okay. I just wasn’t expected to be so poignantly reminded of what the trenches felt like so soon.

I suppose I should back up and explain.

The USAF has a fitness test that every member must pass at least annually. If you score in the 90th percentile or above you only take it once a year, but everyone else must run it every six months. If you fail, you get 90 days to re-pass or they are booting you from the AF these days. The test is comprised of several components; waist measurements, situps, pushups, and a 1.5 mile run.

It’s the run that seems to get most people. Guys are supposed to run it in under 10 minutes. Girls in under 14. They either run it on a straight stretch of ground out and back and out and back until they’re done, or they run again and again around the track. It doesn’t seem to matter how good of shape someone is in, none of them like this run. Maybe because they’ve already spent a minute doing as many pushups as they can and a minute doing as many situps as they can. You only get so much rest and then you go. They train for this regularly.

The AF is also currently dealing with major resiliency issues. For those that don’t speak AF jargon, we’ve had a massive spate of suicides since the beginning of the year. B and I lost a friend from our first base back in November, three members of B’s field were all lost within a week of each other in January. And there have been 5 more deaths since February.

The following is how I remember what she said.

If you don’t know what it’s like, I want you to imagine training for the 1.5 mile run. You work at it, you attack it from every angle, you prepare as best you can. And then you’re running it. And you’re on the second to last lap, your legs are burning, your feet feel like lead weights, you can barely breathe. You just don’t know what you can do to keep up the run. You’ve tried everything you can think of and it still seems impossible to finish that 1.5 miles. You’re desperate and ready to just quit and not do anymore. When someone runs up behind you and taps you on the back, ‘come on, you’re almost there, I’ll pace you,’ they say. And just like that there is hope.

There’s more that she said. All about being a good wingman and keeping your eye out for people struggling on their 1.5 mile run. But I couldn’t get past what she had said. The part about no matter what you’d tried, you just couldn’t seem to finish. To make it. To succeed.

I sat in the conference room blinking back tears. The memories are still raw. And yet they are memories. I’ve finished my 1.5 mile run. It may haunt me for some time, but the pains are becoming old pains, the fears are dulling to old fears. The shadows are lurking once more beneath the bed. And the next time I have a 1.5 mile run looming, I’ll know that I’ve finished it, beaten it, before and I’ll just keep running.

If you see someone struggling, pace them. Encourage them. Listen to them. You never know when you’ll keep someone from bailing on their 1.5 mile run.

~The Countess~

Blur

Sometimes it feels like life slows to a crawl. You hang poised, waiting for action but frozen from making any progress on your own. You pull against the reins that are holding you back to no avail. The struggle leaves you exhausted and frustrated, but still not moving.

And then? Life snaps into action. Everything blurs out as you race from essential task to essential task. There is hardly time to sleep much less eat or relax. The fury springs up and rushes you along with it, threatening constantly to overwhelm you.

This is where I’ve been for the last little bit. First, we were waiting. We found out 3.5 months ago that we’d be moving and it’s been a long wait to get here. 2.5 months ago I quit teaching in preparation for the move. My life was put on pause as I waited for the orders that were always coming at the end of the week. Then, two weeks ago today, they came. And the flood of things to do began. We had two lists in my iPhone notes, a calendar event for every item we needed done, and a main folder each with the important papers we needed with us at all times.

Seriously, I’ve barely had time to sit down and unwind. And what little free time we had was spent cramming in every last second of time with friends that we could. From a trip away to Switzerland just for us to late night dinners and drinks. We embraced the last of our life in Germany.

Today was the culmination of the chaos. 0400 wake-up call. On the shuttle by 0500. Navigating an airport with a 50lb dog and his 20 lb kennel and 4 other 30-50 lb bags. Clearing security and having them search my bag due to the dog toys. Flying. Buying my first ever tourist visa and clearing more security (this time the dog leash was the culprit that had to be re-x-rayed). Flying one last time. Clearing customs. Clearing base security. And settling in.

And if you think I’m tired? You should feel bad for my puppy who spent 10 long hours in his kennel and had to fly for the first time. He was amazing. No poop or pee in the kennel at all. He’s crashed out on the floor of our apartment right now.

Speaking of which, these temporary quarters? They’re amazing. I was expecting a hotel room with maybe a small kitchenette. We have a 2 br apartment with a kitchen/living/dining area and a laundry room. Not to mention the wifi. It will be a great pace to call home until we get an actual house.

Life was at a crawl and then a blur. I’m hoping that it will settle into a more normal pace for the next little while.

~The Countess~

Crazy Changes

This morning was supposed to be fairly relaxed. We’d decided that we would sleep in, have B go to his meeting and then run our only two errands in the afternoon. Then we’d pack for Switzerland, have dinner with a friend, and escape the chaos until next week. Someone, somewhere is cackling mercilessly at my naivete. After we lazed in bed until the last possible moment, I was taking a decadently long shower when B stuck his head into the room. He told me that the guy doing our pre-move walk through would be there in 15 minutes. I sort of gasped but wasn’t too worried, until our buzzer rang. B threw clothes into the bathroom and I hurriedly dressed while he let the guy into our house. And that’s where it all changed.

Remember yesterday’s schedule? It looked something like this:

17-20 Feb: Vacation

21-22 Feb: Prep everything for move

23 Feb: Moving Day one

24 Feb: Moving Day two

27 Feb: Final out

28 Feb: B and Loki fly to Turkey

2 March: Kendra flies to Turkey

It was rushed, but it was a relaxed rush. We had plenty of days to figure out shipping the car, clearing with housing and the landlady, and all those fun things. Not so much anymore. The new schedule, after some haggling to keep from having to cancel our vacation for the movers is:

17-20 Feb: Vacation

21 Feb: Moving Day

23 Feb: Military reclaims loaned appliances

24 Feb: Ship car, vet appointment, and clear housing

27 Feb: B takes test, clears base, go to Frankfurt via shuttle

28 Feb: Fly to new home

I mean, it’s not a huge change. But we’ve lost several free days to organize the house. We’ll do some this afternoon and some Monday night once we’re home. And the rest? Well, they’ll just have to pack up our chaos. Their own damn fault for changing everything on us anyway.

Anyway, I have a lot that I should be doing. And another blog to update in order to have a touch more down time.

~The Countess~