Ever play the kids game seven minutes in heaven? On Sunday I spent twelve minutes in heaven except for the being felt up by some boy in the closet. No, my little bit of heaven was with my husband.
It was my first VTC with him where I actually got to see him, no arguing with the rear detachment, no changing the schedule 60 times and no real problems. This was a complete 180 from last time.
I’ve been having nightmares all week long, fearing that I would some how miss him. I dreamt that I had the wrong time, overslept, and even completely forgot. Even while I was driving to the unit HQ, I had a knot in my stomach thinking that some how I has missed the time and didn’t know it.
I walked into the hallway of the HQ and was met by faces that all had the look that I felt, fear, joy, and nervousness all rolled into one pitiful look. There were chairs in the hall but I chose to stand because there were several little munchkins running about and I wanted them to have a seat if they needed it.
Eventually I got to sit and started talking to a woman who was a fiancé of a soldier. She’s German, quite pretty, and very nice to talk to. She moved from her town up north to our neck of the woods about 4 months before her fiancé deployed. She started to relay some of her own horror stories of trying to take care of business while not being married to the man. I can empathize with her, she was stuck on several occasions and it’s still tough for her to get things done – even getting on post to go to the VTC required someone to sign her on. The things we do for love right?
Finally for what seemed like forever, it was my turn. It was great to see him. He looked good, tan (for a man that doesn’t tan), and even a little thick. His free time is used at the gym and it shows. As with satellites, there was a slight delay with the audio. I am used to that, so I just stared at the image while waiting for the response to come across. I caught myself on the second screen once or twice and I looked the complete grinning idiot. My smile was huge, and plastered on my face. It must have looked like a cheerleader smile during a competition; sans the Vaseline on the teeth (I didn’t need the help keeping the smile).
We giggled often and I mean often. I think it was because we were both nervous. I remember when we were getting our engagement picture taken. He giggled a lot which was out of character for him, until I realized he was nervous and didn’t want our picture going out with him looking silly so he started to giggle. We mostly had small talk, he wanted to bring the “portable Genesh” with him but it was too heavy and decided against it. Mostly we just stared at each other trying to see all the changes that have happened over the past three months.
Cpt F (I can’t call her Gomer anymore, she redeemed herself…mostly) stuck her head in and gave me the one minute warning. We were amazed that 11 minutes had already passed. We said our I love you’s and then the door opened. I had to cut him off so we wouldn’t take away from the next family. As I scurried out the door I heard another I love you and I hollered back that I’d see him soon.
Someone had conveniently placed a box of tissues on the conference table; I grabbed one early on and was wringing it throughout the conversation – that tissue was quite beat up by the time I actually used it to wipe away a tear. I was elated and sad at the same time and I just wanted to flee to the car with my thoughts and the image of my baby in my mind. The young woman I was talking to earlier was in her car and honked at me. I jumped 8 feet in the air. She rolled down the window and we spoke briefly. I was really in my own world that I need to call her and apologize. She probably thinks I was really rude. Besides that since she is not so close to her family now and lives alone while waiting, I should give her a call and make sure she’s doing alright.
I am in seventh heaven today, I float around the office and tell anyone who will listen that I finally got to see him…..Next month I get to see him again and I can’t wait.
Another 12 minutes in heaven just 4 weeks away.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Let's institute national service
I read the Huffington Post blog every couple of days. I like John Cusack and he's posted a couple of blog lines there. It's usually an interesting read, but this blog entry really torqued me up. Mr. Kornbluth called the military a "killing machine". This remark echoes the bullcrap that came about during Vietnam, what's next is he going to spit on soldiers as they come home? Scream babykiller and other idiotic insults?
Okay, fine not everyone wants their child to join the military, to me that's sort of a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) kind of statement but I will give them their opinion and remain off of the soapbox for the moment. So if there's no recruitment allowed, then what shall we institute a draft? I personally do not like that idea for the pure and simple fact that it leaves to much of a chance for a royal cluster screw for those that want to be in the service. Primary example is Vietnam where there were many draftees that were poor soldiers on purpose - this endangers the lives of others and is a stupid method of getting out of the service as it usually meant getting you or someone else killed in the process.
So what's my solution without a draft? Model a program similar to what Germany has for its young adults. Young adults have to do some kind of national service. You may spend 2 years in the military or 5 years (I think 5) working as a civil servant. This isn't a bad plan as far as I can see. Those that abhorrently disagree to the military could become civil servants, or work for say the Peace Corps or Doctors without Borders kind of program. This can give young adults a chance to see the world outside of their own little sphere (Yes Virginia there is a Galileo), as well as give back to society.
I guess these next few generations could stand to learn a little bit about social responsibility as long as it doesn't interrupt their trip to the mall in daddy's BMW SUV, right?
Okay, fine not everyone wants their child to join the military, to me that's sort of a NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard) kind of statement but I will give them their opinion and remain off of the soapbox for the moment. So if there's no recruitment allowed, then what shall we institute a draft? I personally do not like that idea for the pure and simple fact that it leaves to much of a chance for a royal cluster screw for those that want to be in the service. Primary example is Vietnam where there were many draftees that were poor soldiers on purpose - this endangers the lives of others and is a stupid method of getting out of the service as it usually meant getting you or someone else killed in the process.
So what's my solution without a draft? Model a program similar to what Germany has for its young adults. Young adults have to do some kind of national service. You may spend 2 years in the military or 5 years (I think 5) working as a civil servant. This isn't a bad plan as far as I can see. Those that abhorrently disagree to the military could become civil servants, or work for say the Peace Corps or Doctors without Borders kind of program. This can give young adults a chance to see the world outside of their own little sphere (Yes Virginia there is a Galileo), as well as give back to society.
I guess these next few generations could stand to learn a little bit about social responsibility as long as it doesn't interrupt their trip to the mall in daddy's BMW SUV, right?
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
A clockwork orange a la juvenile?
What the hell? When I was 12 the biggest fear we had was who we would play with on the weekend. Now a bunch of 11-12 year olds attempt to murder a 5 year boy.
Where were the parents in all this mess?
Where were the parents in all this mess?
Another MilBlogger is signing off
Unfortunately a GOOD MilBlogger is signing off. This is your war has decided that the new request to register his MiBlog with his command is just too much. Whether he doesn't want to deal with having a PAO read his crap first or the fact that he can't be as truthful as he has been, he is stopping his entries.
I really enjoy his writing. He's truthful, grity, captivating and straight forward about the perils he faces every day during patrols in Iraq. This even includes the personal trials he's enduring with the stresses of being in a combat zone. It's a true shame that he's going off line but, I am glad the man is standing up for his prinicples but this sucks, bigtime!
God bless him, Team MAYHEM and all their families.
I really enjoy his writing. He's truthful, grity, captivating and straight forward about the perils he faces every day during patrols in Iraq. This even includes the personal trials he's enduring with the stresses of being in a combat zone. It's a true shame that he's going off line but, I am glad the man is standing up for his prinicples but this sucks, bigtime!
God bless him, Team MAYHEM and all their families.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Portable Buddha
Although I am a Christian by birth and a Lutheran by baptism, I tend to follow many different Buddhist concepts and precepts. I am by no means an authoritarian in Buddhism, but I read a little bit in college history classes, several books by the current Dali Lama and one or two “Buddhism for Idiots” type books. I found that through a large portion of my reading that there is not so much 'judgment of others' in Buddhism.
I sometimes get discouraged with Christianity when I read or am told about how some folks are going to hell because they aren’t this or that sect of Christianity. Not to start a debate but I can’t even begin to fathom the fact that while sitting at dinner one night a very devout Christian told me the Dali Lama was a great read but was on the fast track to hell because he wasn’t a Christian. Even with his “works” as he called it, even with his openness to all people, his kindness to the world and his teachings of forgiveness and charity the man was still going to hell. I just don’t get that and I honestly believe that God (my God anyway) would not send such a kind, honest and caring man to hell.
So to get to the real point of this, my husband called this morning to say hello and tell me about the gift he bought the house and me. He starts describing this small 1 ½ by 2 foot wooden casing, that opens up to show a small, brass Tibetan style Buddha in it. It’s a small shrine used in the home to be set up in an alcove or some other small niche for meditation and prayer. After he finishes describing this beautiful, ornate shrine, he tells me about haggling for the shrine. Half way through the story he says, “…the closing bell of the bazaar rings and I tell the shop keeper that I have only $40 in my pocket for the portable Buddha…” I spit my drink, shook my head, laughing. “What did you call it?” I asked. He repeated it, “Portable Buddha.”
“Honey!” I say using my admonishing voice, “You can’t call a shrine a portable Buddha. That’s just wrong, really really wrong.” He laughs and tells me that since he can pick it up and move it around the house its deemed portable. I drop my head into my hand propped up on the desk, shaking my head giggling and thinking about what kind of trouble we could get into for making fun of a god of another religion. He then tells me about the portable Vishnu he saw as well but that it looks a bit more like Ghenesh one of the gods Apu from the Simpson’s talks about and prays to. Using his best Apu voice he says, “Ghenesh is not amused.”
In between fits of giggles I tell him he better stop because if we aren’t going to hell for not going to church more than twice a year we sure as shootin’ would for coining the phrases “portable Buddha” and “portable Vishnu.” Let’s anger only one religion at a time please I ask. He promises me not refer to either Vishnu or Buddha as being portable but would take free reign on the fictitious Ghenesh.
I sometimes get discouraged with Christianity when I read or am told about how some folks are going to hell because they aren’t this or that sect of Christianity. Not to start a debate but I can’t even begin to fathom the fact that while sitting at dinner one night a very devout Christian told me the Dali Lama was a great read but was on the fast track to hell because he wasn’t a Christian. Even with his “works” as he called it, even with his openness to all people, his kindness to the world and his teachings of forgiveness and charity the man was still going to hell. I just don’t get that and I honestly believe that God (my God anyway) would not send such a kind, honest and caring man to hell.
So to get to the real point of this, my husband called this morning to say hello and tell me about the gift he bought the house and me. He starts describing this small 1 ½ by 2 foot wooden casing, that opens up to show a small, brass Tibetan style Buddha in it. It’s a small shrine used in the home to be set up in an alcove or some other small niche for meditation and prayer. After he finishes describing this beautiful, ornate shrine, he tells me about haggling for the shrine. Half way through the story he says, “…the closing bell of the bazaar rings and I tell the shop keeper that I have only $40 in my pocket for the portable Buddha…” I spit my drink, shook my head, laughing. “What did you call it?” I asked. He repeated it, “Portable Buddha.”
“Honey!” I say using my admonishing voice, “You can’t call a shrine a portable Buddha. That’s just wrong, really really wrong.” He laughs and tells me that since he can pick it up and move it around the house its deemed portable. I drop my head into my hand propped up on the desk, shaking my head giggling and thinking about what kind of trouble we could get into for making fun of a god of another religion. He then tells me about the portable Vishnu he saw as well but that it looks a bit more like Ghenesh one of the gods Apu from the Simpson’s talks about and prays to. Using his best Apu voice he says, “Ghenesh is not amused.”
In between fits of giggles I tell him he better stop because if we aren’t going to hell for not going to church more than twice a year we sure as shootin’ would for coining the phrases “portable Buddha” and “portable Vishnu.” Let’s anger only one religion at a time please I ask. He promises me not refer to either Vishnu or Buddha as being portable but would take free reign on the fictitious Ghenesh.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Let's Roll
My grandfather was a WWII veteran. He landed on Omaha beach with his unit on D-Day. I finally got to hear his stories of being a soldier, slowly one at a time starting about two years before he died of emphysema. Several years after his death, recalling a story for my husband is when Memorial Day started to have meaning for me.
As my understanding, pride and respect for those who serve grew so did my patriotism. I started to get angry at those that I saw who didn’t stop at 1700 when they retired the colours for the day. Ft Lee, VA is a training base (not all bases do this) so every morning and every evening you would hear the cannon fire and revelry or taps play. If you were outside, it is expected that you face the sound of the cannon (or where the flag was if you knew) and waited at attention or with your hand over your heart for the ceremony to finish. If you were driving, you are expected to pull over, get out of the car and do the same. I just wanted to smack these people who tried to cut up side roads in the hope of no one noticing what time it was as paying respect for the flag was “inconvenient” for them. I started getting rebellious and would park the car more into the road and stepped out into traffic if someone didn’t pull over.
When Memorial Day really hit home for me was that day, that blood curdling, bad temper evoking day on September 11, 2001. My life changed, our lives changed, nothing was what it was. I now had to change the way I drove to work, make my driving patterns erratic to stave off being a possible target. Now I have to remove my shoes and x-ray them at the airport. Now I have to read about my friends and relatives who were lost as a casualty of war in Iraq and Afghanistan.
In an effort to do something for those that serve, I became a mini version of Lady Liberty, “Give me your tired, your hungry….anybody that needed a ride between one post and the next who were dressed in desert uniforms.” I made it a habit to offer strange men rides as the waited at the bus stop. I convinced the hubby one night to give a ride to this poor Major who was walking with a cane, struggling to get his luggage off the belt and at midnight was wandering around Frankfurt airport in woodland BDUs. This man was recalled to active duty. He was medically retired to Israel and had to get back to somewhere on the East coast to report in. This was right after a bunch of violent protests had gone on outside of Rhein-Main airport right next to Frankfurt airport. We made sure he got to Rhein-Main without incident.
Beyond that I went to work in the ID card section. Since I was supervising I got the emergency missions at all hours of the day and night. These are critical folks that need to get back on a MEDAVAC flight but can’t manifest unless they have an ID card. One soldier that broke my heart but had me laughing at the same time reinforced why we have Memorial Day.
On a last minute manifest I had two pictures emailed to me to produce cards. Their notice of what flight they were taking was really short. So I was driven out to the flight line and got to crawl around a C-140 looking for these guys to have them sign their ID card. As I am calling out the names, listening for a “here” or a hand move I spot my first person. His arm is in a cast but he signed it pretty well cast and all. The second fellow was on the litter right below. He had the unfortunate luck of running into some shrapnel and was pretty battered, covered in what skaters would call “road rash”, arm in a sling and one foot wrapped in an ace bandage. I smiled as asked him if he could sign his John Hancock for me and he started flirting with me! Here’s this young man no more than say 25 coming back from a stressful, tense environment, got tore up doing it, yet has the courage to flirt with the ID card lady. I nearly busted up laughing, he was so adorable. I of course flirted back figuring the husband would be okay with it as long as I really didn’t give him the number he asked for.
So it’s for these guys that I remember the service and sacrifice. It’s for those that are still there, those that have gone and returned, those laid to rest giving their life and the families for waiting for their soldier to return. It’s the courage of a soldier to flirt with a girl knowing he didn’t look his best, soldiers like SGT Devore who go out on patrol day after day, and PFC Maupin (MIA).
I will remember the courage and strength of these people. And to quote Todd Beamer, “Let’s roll.”
As my understanding, pride and respect for those who serve grew so did my patriotism. I started to get angry at those that I saw who didn’t stop at 1700 when they retired the colours for the day. Ft Lee, VA is a training base (not all bases do this) so every morning and every evening you would hear the cannon fire and revelry or taps play. If you were outside, it is expected that you face the sound of the cannon (or where the flag was if you knew) and waited at attention or with your hand over your heart for the ceremony to finish. If you were driving, you are expected to pull over, get out of the car and do the same. I just wanted to smack these people who tried to cut up side roads in the hope of no one noticing what time it was as paying respect for the flag was “inconvenient” for them. I started getting rebellious and would park the car more into the road and stepped out into traffic if someone didn’t pull over.
When Memorial Day really hit home for me was that day, that blood curdling, bad temper evoking day on September 11, 2001. My life changed, our lives changed, nothing was what it was. I now had to change the way I drove to work, make my driving patterns erratic to stave off being a possible target. Now I have to remove my shoes and x-ray them at the airport. Now I have to read about my friends and relatives who were lost as a casualty of war in Iraq and Afghanistan.
In an effort to do something for those that serve, I became a mini version of Lady Liberty, “Give me your tired, your hungry….anybody that needed a ride between one post and the next who were dressed in desert uniforms.” I made it a habit to offer strange men rides as the waited at the bus stop. I convinced the hubby one night to give a ride to this poor Major who was walking with a cane, struggling to get his luggage off the belt and at midnight was wandering around Frankfurt airport in woodland BDUs. This man was recalled to active duty. He was medically retired to Israel and had to get back to somewhere on the East coast to report in. This was right after a bunch of violent protests had gone on outside of Rhein-Main airport right next to Frankfurt airport. We made sure he got to Rhein-Main without incident.
Beyond that I went to work in the ID card section. Since I was supervising I got the emergency missions at all hours of the day and night. These are critical folks that need to get back on a MEDAVAC flight but can’t manifest unless they have an ID card. One soldier that broke my heart but had me laughing at the same time reinforced why we have Memorial Day.
On a last minute manifest I had two pictures emailed to me to produce cards. Their notice of what flight they were taking was really short. So I was driven out to the flight line and got to crawl around a C-140 looking for these guys to have them sign their ID card. As I am calling out the names, listening for a “here” or a hand move I spot my first person. His arm is in a cast but he signed it pretty well cast and all. The second fellow was on the litter right below. He had the unfortunate luck of running into some shrapnel and was pretty battered, covered in what skaters would call “road rash”, arm in a sling and one foot wrapped in an ace bandage. I smiled as asked him if he could sign his John Hancock for me and he started flirting with me! Here’s this young man no more than say 25 coming back from a stressful, tense environment, got tore up doing it, yet has the courage to flirt with the ID card lady. I nearly busted up laughing, he was so adorable. I of course flirted back figuring the husband would be okay with it as long as I really didn’t give him the number he asked for.
So it’s for these guys that I remember the service and sacrifice. It’s for those that are still there, those that have gone and returned, those laid to rest giving their life and the families for waiting for their soldier to return. It’s the courage of a soldier to flirt with a girl knowing he didn’t look his best, soldiers like SGT Devore who go out on patrol day after day, and PFC Maupin (MIA).
I will remember the courage and strength of these people. And to quote Todd Beamer, “Let’s roll.”
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Street Fests
Of all the cultural differences between the states and Germany there are many that I actually enjoy. For one, I love the fact that there is assigned seating in movie theatres. I thought this was a silly thing until going to a crowded showing and instead of rushing about to get a good seat you could take your time, get your goodies and stroll to your seat. Not having to fight with a bunch of teenagers who run, push and shove in line to get a seat is so nice.
The second thing is the street fest. K’town has one every year over Memorial Day weekend. It’s usually meant to celebrate spring (or the beginning of summer) for them and just happens to fall over our Memorial Day. I went to the fest on Friday with Miss A’s brother, his wife and her mom who is on holiday for 2 weeks.
I love these fests. They are similar to a county fair but quite different as well. You have your midway with games, you have your food tents and of course you have the rides (which are cheesy sometimes but some are complete puke-nators). What’s different is that amongst all these rides, food stands and games are the Beir Gartens. Open containers are not against the law here. In fact I stood promptly at 1900 under the arch waiting for my friends to show. After about ten minutes I gave them a call. They were 5 minutes away and still needed to park. This translated to about another 20 minutes especially to find parking. So what did I do? Yep, I went to the nearest beir garten ordered a pils and walked back to my spot under the arch. Other folks started to gather as well, waiting for friends and family to arrive. A small mass of people all with beers, most smoking a cigarette waited and drank patiently on the sidewalk at the corner .
So once they arrived, the night was a small version of a pub crawl. We went from food tent to beir garten to shopping stand through out the entire evening. You just carry your glass with you (after paying a deposit) and travel on to the next place. They fill your glass for you or will of course give you a new one (after paying another deposit – dirty glass is fine with me thank you). We watched fireworks being shot off outside one tent later in the night. Trying to be a sweetheart, one of the beer maidens quietly told Miss A’s brother not to get caught with those beer steins outside of the tent. She didn’t want him in trouble, it was really sweet of her to hand the steins to us through the open window of the tent. Beer maidens here aren’t always young pretty things – it’s usually a cute little old lady that makes you want to call her “grandma” and ask for a big hug and a cookie.
Over all it was a nice evening. I think we left around midnight stuffed with brautwuersts, beer, ice cream, bretzels and I had roasted cashews as a treat to take home with me. I really enjoyed the company and had a great time. Only two improvements could have made my night better
1) Having the hubby there (yep, that's a given)
2) Dancing and singing with Krip’ie in the main beer tent like we did the year before. Krip’ie and I were the only Americans singing German drinking songs while standing on the table arm in arm with other complete strangers. I think we were the only ones that knew the words.
The second thing is the street fest. K’town has one every year over Memorial Day weekend. It’s usually meant to celebrate spring (or the beginning of summer) for them and just happens to fall over our Memorial Day. I went to the fest on Friday with Miss A’s brother, his wife and her mom who is on holiday for 2 weeks.
I love these fests. They are similar to a county fair but quite different as well. You have your midway with games, you have your food tents and of course you have the rides (which are cheesy sometimes but some are complete puke-nators). What’s different is that amongst all these rides, food stands and games are the Beir Gartens. Open containers are not against the law here. In fact I stood promptly at 1900 under the arch waiting for my friends to show. After about ten minutes I gave them a call. They were 5 minutes away and still needed to park. This translated to about another 20 minutes especially to find parking. So what did I do? Yep, I went to the nearest beir garten ordered a pils and walked back to my spot under the arch. Other folks started to gather as well, waiting for friends and family to arrive. A small mass of people all with beers, most smoking a cigarette waited and drank patiently on the sidewalk at the corner .
So once they arrived, the night was a small version of a pub crawl. We went from food tent to beir garten to shopping stand through out the entire evening. You just carry your glass with you (after paying a deposit) and travel on to the next place. They fill your glass for you or will of course give you a new one (after paying another deposit – dirty glass is fine with me thank you). We watched fireworks being shot off outside one tent later in the night. Trying to be a sweetheart, one of the beer maidens quietly told Miss A’s brother not to get caught with those beer steins outside of the tent. She didn’t want him in trouble, it was really sweet of her to hand the steins to us through the open window of the tent. Beer maidens here aren’t always young pretty things – it’s usually a cute little old lady that makes you want to call her “grandma” and ask for a big hug and a cookie.
Over all it was a nice evening. I think we left around midnight stuffed with brautwuersts, beer, ice cream, bretzels and I had roasted cashews as a treat to take home with me. I really enjoyed the company and had a great time. Only two improvements could have made my night better
1) Having the hubby there (yep, that's a given)
2) Dancing and singing with Krip’ie in the main beer tent like we did the year before. Krip’ie and I were the only Americans singing German drinking songs while standing on the table arm in arm with other complete strangers. I think we were the only ones that knew the words.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
The three ducks
These three ducks walk into a bar and up to the bartender behind the counter.
"Say, what's your name?" the bartender asked the first duck.
"Huey," was the reply.
"How's your day been, Huey?"
"Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day. What else could a duck want?" said Huey.
"Oh. That's nice," said the bartender.
The bartender smiles and places a beer on the counter in front of the duck.
He turned to the second duck, "Hi, and what's your name?"
"Dewey," came the answer from duck number two.
"So how's your day been, Dewey?" he asked.
"Great. Lovely day. I've had a ball too. Been in and out of puddles all day myself. What else could a duck want?"
Again the bartender smiles as he sets the beer down in front of the second duck.
The bartender turned to the third duck and said, "So, you must be Louie?"
"No," she said, batting her eyelashes.
"My name is Puddles."
Thank you Kara that made my day....
"Say, what's your name?" the bartender asked the first duck.
"Huey," was the reply.
"How's your day been, Huey?"
"Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day. What else could a duck want?" said Huey.
"Oh. That's nice," said the bartender.
The bartender smiles and places a beer on the counter in front of the duck.
He turned to the second duck, "Hi, and what's your name?"
"Dewey," came the answer from duck number two.
"So how's your day been, Dewey?" he asked.
"Great. Lovely day. I've had a ball too. Been in and out of puddles all day myself. What else could a duck want?"
Again the bartender smiles as he sets the beer down in front of the second duck.
The bartender turned to the third duck and said, "So, you must be Louie?"
"No," she said, batting her eyelashes.
"My name is Puddles."
Thank you Kara that made my day....
Monday, May 23, 2005
Blue Man Group
This was not a great weekend. I was finally hit with a nice bout of the blahs, woe is me. It didn't start out as a bad weekend, in fact it was a really looking like a great weekend. Friday was a day off of work for me and I had accomplished a large number of little things I needed to get done.
It was Friday night that seemed to drag me into the land of unhappy bunnies. My sensei left for a week in the states and myself along with a few blackbelt students were left to run classes. Just about 4 hours of teaching and training was more than enough to make anyone person mad as a hatter. Most of the kids ignore you because they don't know you and that is frustrating. Especially the little kids because you can't quip off some remark about how they need to pay attention to the adults running the class - as a parent may get upset and tell sensei that you are an evil teacher. I already made a child cry once in class so I try hard to make sure I use "happy lady voice" to keep the peace. (Its another story for another day but it was his fault - he just never got called to the carpet for endangering another student before).
The specialty (blackbelt club) class and the adult class was "torture the ookie night" and guess who was ookie? Not only do we practice the forms required to gain rank but we also practice self defense. I am talking Marine Corps get the bad guy kind of self defense. So I as the exercise unfolds you hear..."okay, you deflect the first punch, grab them here, knee here, elbow here, groin shot.....and then wham sweep to the floor drop your knee into their neck and start hitting the kidneys." I breath a sigh as J's knee pushes into my neck - he believes in realism (so do I) so I wait patiently while he answers questions, knee still crammed into my neck. After a second demonstration we are told to practice ten times each with out partner - but of course J says the two demonstrations don't count. So twelve times in a row I end up on the ground knee in the neck thinking about when will it be my turn.
By the end of the night I am actually thinking that I really need to go buy a bottle of wine before going home. I really don't drink much (compared to college) and have never drank alone in my life. I was so beat, so tired, so just bleh that I finished two glasses of wine and was asleep by 2200.
I apparently wanted or needed sleep as I didn't wake until noon. I was supposed to drive to Belgium early in the morning to change a furniture order but didn't leave until 1500. I had a lack luster attitude but was craving people interaction. I made it back to Germany in record time as my friend called and invited me to dinner. They preordered for me, about 5 minutes after I arrived my food ended up on the plate. T wasn't having a good day either. We blame it on the weather since my husband isn't here to be the source of my trials. I listened while they spoke about going and getting a drink afterwards - mom needed a break from the kids. I finished eating my dinner and didn't say much. I was wondering if I could tag along but didn't want to ask. I wanted to be in a bar - which is odd. I am not a bar hopper, I am a pub crawler. Darts, pints and long, deep discussions about politics, religion and family are more my speed than the traditional European disco. But strangely I still wanted to go.
We parted ways and they kindly paid for my dinner. I made a quiet protest, they have a large family and in typical Sicilian fashion I was told "shut up, we're paying for your dinner." I love her some days -its a mirror image of me except I'm Irish and taller (snark). My night ended early with me watching two movies and being in bed by midnight.
Sunday wasn't much better. I felt more isolated than the day before. Again I didn't move until noon from the bed - the dog didn't either which is really sad. I made a vain attempt to see Toby Keith but nobody would answer their phone. I break out in a sweat just thinking about large crowds so attempting to navigate my way through people I don't know in an attempt to find folks I thought would be there was just not an option - so I passed. I ended up seeing Star Wars instead. That movie was so dark it just drug me down farther into feeling sorry for myself.
I spent the rest of my day on the couch, staring mindlessly at the TV. I didn't clean, I didn't do laundry, I just sat. The only time I moved was when the dog insisted that I take her on a walk. Her method of insisting is to go find and get every single toy she has and throw it at me. Yes, throw it. She's learned how to bounce the ball for herself by raising her head, throwing it forward and releasing the ball. She threw almost all of her toys at me and I finally gave in and took her out.
That walk was the best part of my day. Our pound puppy is greatly interested in other animals. She just wants to be social and play with them all - and I mean all! While walking she tried to entice a cow to run up and down the fence line with her in the fields. The cow just looked like they normally do while chewing cud and never moved. She tried again with a yearling and got a better response. The horse followed for about 2 runs and then got bored because I had no food. We returned home after about a hour and I resumed my silent protest with my arse firmly planted on the couch, remote in one hand, soda can in the other.
I've been lucky, I really haven't had any kind of low point until now. I've been angry, frustrated, annoyed and proud (TP roll holders) but I hadn't hit low like, this not really. I hope to have a better week and drag my arse out of this funk, away from the blue man group.
Maybe I need to find a purple man group instead?
It was Friday night that seemed to drag me into the land of unhappy bunnies. My sensei left for a week in the states and myself along with a few blackbelt students were left to run classes. Just about 4 hours of teaching and training was more than enough to make anyone person mad as a hatter. Most of the kids ignore you because they don't know you and that is frustrating. Especially the little kids because you can't quip off some remark about how they need to pay attention to the adults running the class - as a parent may get upset and tell sensei that you are an evil teacher. I already made a child cry once in class so I try hard to make sure I use "happy lady voice" to keep the peace. (Its another story for another day but it was his fault - he just never got called to the carpet for endangering another student before).
The specialty (blackbelt club) class and the adult class was "torture the ookie night" and guess who was ookie? Not only do we practice the forms required to gain rank but we also practice self defense. I am talking Marine Corps get the bad guy kind of self defense. So I as the exercise unfolds you hear..."okay, you deflect the first punch, grab them here, knee here, elbow here, groin shot.....and then wham sweep to the floor drop your knee into their neck and start hitting the kidneys." I breath a sigh as J's knee pushes into my neck - he believes in realism (so do I) so I wait patiently while he answers questions, knee still crammed into my neck. After a second demonstration we are told to practice ten times each with out partner - but of course J says the two demonstrations don't count. So twelve times in a row I end up on the ground knee in the neck thinking about when will it be my turn.
By the end of the night I am actually thinking that I really need to go buy a bottle of wine before going home. I really don't drink much (compared to college) and have never drank alone in my life. I was so beat, so tired, so just bleh that I finished two glasses of wine and was asleep by 2200.
I apparently wanted or needed sleep as I didn't wake until noon. I was supposed to drive to Belgium early in the morning to change a furniture order but didn't leave until 1500. I had a lack luster attitude but was craving people interaction. I made it back to Germany in record time as my friend called and invited me to dinner. They preordered for me, about 5 minutes after I arrived my food ended up on the plate. T wasn't having a good day either. We blame it on the weather since my husband isn't here to be the source of my trials. I listened while they spoke about going and getting a drink afterwards - mom needed a break from the kids. I finished eating my dinner and didn't say much. I was wondering if I could tag along but didn't want to ask. I wanted to be in a bar - which is odd. I am not a bar hopper, I am a pub crawler. Darts, pints and long, deep discussions about politics, religion and family are more my speed than the traditional European disco. But strangely I still wanted to go.
We parted ways and they kindly paid for my dinner. I made a quiet protest, they have a large family and in typical Sicilian fashion I was told "shut up, we're paying for your dinner." I love her some days -its a mirror image of me except I'm Irish and taller (snark). My night ended early with me watching two movies and being in bed by midnight.
Sunday wasn't much better. I felt more isolated than the day before. Again I didn't move until noon from the bed - the dog didn't either which is really sad. I made a vain attempt to see Toby Keith but nobody would answer their phone. I break out in a sweat just thinking about large crowds so attempting to navigate my way through people I don't know in an attempt to find folks I thought would be there was just not an option - so I passed. I ended up seeing Star Wars instead. That movie was so dark it just drug me down farther into feeling sorry for myself.
I spent the rest of my day on the couch, staring mindlessly at the TV. I didn't clean, I didn't do laundry, I just sat. The only time I moved was when the dog insisted that I take her on a walk. Her method of insisting is to go find and get every single toy she has and throw it at me. Yes, throw it. She's learned how to bounce the ball for herself by raising her head, throwing it forward and releasing the ball. She threw almost all of her toys at me and I finally gave in and took her out.
That walk was the best part of my day. Our pound puppy is greatly interested in other animals. She just wants to be social and play with them all - and I mean all! While walking she tried to entice a cow to run up and down the fence line with her in the fields. The cow just looked like they normally do while chewing cud and never moved. She tried again with a yearling and got a better response. The horse followed for about 2 runs and then got bored because I had no food. We returned home after about a hour and I resumed my silent protest with my arse firmly planted on the couch, remote in one hand, soda can in the other.
I've been lucky, I really haven't had any kind of low point until now. I've been angry, frustrated, annoyed and proud (TP roll holders) but I hadn't hit low like, this not really. I hope to have a better week and drag my arse out of this funk, away from the blue man group.
Maybe I need to find a purple man group instead?
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Girls don't cry
I am a fiercely independent person. I loathe being told what to do or that I can't do something. My mother swears that my mantra as a child was "I can do it myself mother." I have always wanted to fix problems or be allowed to fall on my face without be told step by step what to do. This mentality of course does really well when you have a mother in law who seems to think that you need a step by step instruction on how to tie your shoe - snarky thing to say, I know.
As I grew older of course I learned how to take advice and then use it to fall on my face or to accept advice once I stood up from that face plant position. My biggest motivator was my father's consistent quiet reminder that I could do anything a boy could do and to not let a single person tell me otherwise. Last night was a true test of my conviction and 'can do' attitude.
I study martial arts, Okinowan Goju Ryu Karate to be specific. I've been practicing for over three years now and am quite close obtaining my blackbelt. I like this style because it works well with my shortness (I am 5'4") and my sensei has a good sense about seeing a student's strengths and weaknesses using them to the student's advantage.
Of course a physical sport like this is not without its injuries. I have been punched in the nose, kicked in the back of the head (several times), elbowed in the jaw (full force - thanks Chris!) and dropped to the ground without the use of my limbs to lessen the fall (I really love you Chris). I am okay with this stuff, I like to spar and am an aggressive, scrapper of a fighter - just think Jack Russell Terrier and that's me! I enjoy fighting people better than I as it helps you to improve (especially for not getting kicked in the back of the head). With these minor injuries of course comes one or two major ones. I tore a ligament in my foot about two years ago. This last November I had the torn ligament repaired. Yes, yes I know how come it took so long? That would be the military health care system. That and well the guys down range needed the surgery before me, they're just a little bit more important than I (And I don't mind). About mid February I started back to classes and to condition myself back up to where I was.
Well last night was absolute hell for me. We were testing and although I can do the requirements and execute them well, it kills me to do them repeatedly (6 times in a row is hard physical labor here folks). I am just not there yet, but I refuse to let on. I must have had a horrid look on my face because I was asked during testing if I needed to stop- of course I said no, "I'm fine." In the meantime my foot is on fire. It's burning, tingling in a bad way, strangely it feels wet when there's nothing to making it feel that way. Being a stubborn mule, I refused to stop and refused to cry - I kept going. I was feeling ill, like I wanted to hurl that's how much pain I was in.
I finished the testing and passed to the next kyu, but this whole situation kills me. Is this because I am still not where I need to be physically? Or, is this because the doctor screwed up during surgery? My foot is still a mess if you look at it. The scar is still red and swollen in places, where the sutures were "spitting" out (being rejected) there is a small mass of soft, smooshy something that I can't seem to massage out as scar tissue. According to the doc I don't need physical therapy even though now my foot hurts on the opposite side than the original place of pain. It doesn't hurt the way it did before the surgery but now it hurts a different way. I am sure that I won't be able to go off post because the surgery has been within the last year, but I really think I need second opinion about the mess I think he made.
At least I didn't cry while testing, hence the title.
As I grew older of course I learned how to take advice and then use it to fall on my face or to accept advice once I stood up from that face plant position. My biggest motivator was my father's consistent quiet reminder that I could do anything a boy could do and to not let a single person tell me otherwise. Last night was a true test of my conviction and 'can do' attitude.
I study martial arts, Okinowan Goju Ryu Karate to be specific. I've been practicing for over three years now and am quite close obtaining my blackbelt. I like this style because it works well with my shortness (I am 5'4") and my sensei has a good sense about seeing a student's strengths and weaknesses using them to the student's advantage.
Of course a physical sport like this is not without its injuries. I have been punched in the nose, kicked in the back of the head (several times), elbowed in the jaw (full force - thanks Chris!) and dropped to the ground without the use of my limbs to lessen the fall (I really love you Chris). I am okay with this stuff, I like to spar and am an aggressive, scrapper of a fighter - just think Jack Russell Terrier and that's me! I enjoy fighting people better than I as it helps you to improve (especially for not getting kicked in the back of the head). With these minor injuries of course comes one or two major ones. I tore a ligament in my foot about two years ago. This last November I had the torn ligament repaired. Yes, yes I know how come it took so long? That would be the military health care system. That and well the guys down range needed the surgery before me, they're just a little bit more important than I (And I don't mind). About mid February I started back to classes and to condition myself back up to where I was.
Well last night was absolute hell for me. We were testing and although I can do the requirements and execute them well, it kills me to do them repeatedly (6 times in a row is hard physical labor here folks). I am just not there yet, but I refuse to let on. I must have had a horrid look on my face because I was asked during testing if I needed to stop- of course I said no, "I'm fine." In the meantime my foot is on fire. It's burning, tingling in a bad way, strangely it feels wet when there's nothing to making it feel that way. Being a stubborn mule, I refused to stop and refused to cry - I kept going. I was feeling ill, like I wanted to hurl that's how much pain I was in.
I finished the testing and passed to the next kyu, but this whole situation kills me. Is this because I am still not where I need to be physically? Or, is this because the doctor screwed up during surgery? My foot is still a mess if you look at it. The scar is still red and swollen in places, where the sutures were "spitting" out (being rejected) there is a small mass of soft, smooshy something that I can't seem to massage out as scar tissue. According to the doc I don't need physical therapy even though now my foot hurts on the opposite side than the original place of pain. It doesn't hurt the way it did before the surgery but now it hurts a different way. I am sure that I won't be able to go off post because the surgery has been within the last year, but I really think I need second opinion about the mess I think he made.
At least I didn't cry while testing, hence the title.
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