Surprise

So I got a text from my husband the other day that his det was ending early.  Since he had mentioned a few days prior that they were getting so many X’s (completed flight syllabus events) that they might wrap up a day early, I thought that’s what he was talking about and perked up at the thought of getting to see him a day ahead of schedule.  It wasn’t until I got a call that he had made it through airport security and was waiting for his flight that I realized he had meant the det was ending right then and he was on his way home.  Surprise!

Now, our house had suffered the fate of many post-holiday spaces and looked a meteor shower of clutter had rained down upon it.  One of my goals for this det was to whip things back into shape so my husband could come home, marvel briefly at my sparkling organization skills, and promptly dump his boots and sea bag full of laundry on the floor.  I was pleased with my progress — the transformation in our bedroom was particularly notable — but I had expected to have several more days to sort through piles of papers and really make things look finished and together.  Hell, I hadn’t even started on the guest room/office/place we throw everything when we can’t think where else to put it.

I spent the next few hours with, ah, strongly renewed housekeeping motivation.  By the time I was ready to quit so I could catch a few episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, I’m pleased to say that things looked pretty darn good in spite of the Navy’s insistence on sliding my whole cleaning schedule to the left by a few days.  Even though it was one in the morning by the time he walked in the door, my husband was appropriately impressed and appreciative of my efforts.  He even waited a couple days to dump his sea bag all over the floor.

I was, naturally, thrilled to see my husband a little sooner than expected, but it is kind of a bummer that they weren’t able to get in a couple more days of flying out there.  Everyone had been doing so well and knocking out more events in a low-stress, highly efficient sort of way, so it’s a shame they couldn’t squeeze in just a little more before it was decided that the airplanes were needed elsewhere.  Still, it was a nice surprise and I’m not about to complain about the short little getting-our-long-distance-hand-back-in det being even shorter and easier than anticipated.  I am well aware that while this fits in with the general rule of nothing military-related ever turning out precisely as planned, Murphy’s usual SOP is to extend military separations rather than reduce them.  We’re savoring this change of plans as a bit of good fortune — who knows when we’ll be lucky enough to have a surprise as nice as this again?

I Miss Flying

With my husband flying again and loving life as he learns to wrestle “the beast” that is the mighty War Pig C-2A Greyhound into compliance, I find that with my excitement for him comes a certain green-eyed envy.  It’s been months since I’ve been up in the air in anything other than a commercial jet, and it’s giving me the shakes, man.  I can almost feel those perishable skills withering from lack of use; I need to get myself in the right seat again before I really do forget everything I learned about conducting a SAR mission and dazzling everyone with my G1000 mastery (okay, okay, my G1000 competency, at the very least).  Time to start poking at pilots in my CAP squadron for a proficiency flight or three — preferably funded by our estimable patron in blue, the United States Air Force.  Gotta stay in practice if we’re going to be of any use in an emergency, after all… oh, who am I kidding?  While I absolutely do care about being as proficient as possible as a Mission Observer, I love any excuse to get up in the air.

I would be thrilled if stars aligned this year such that I could start work on my own private pilot certificate.  The sticking point for me is that I want to have the time and resources to fly frequently enough (more than once a week, if at all possible) that I can progress along that learning curve without a lot of retracing my steps due to time out of the cockpit.  I hear of so many people hitting the proverbial wall before they get their certificates simply because they are unable to fly regularly, whether due to scheduling conflicts or running out of ready cash.  There are scholarships available through several organizations, including a few devoted to women in aviation, but most seem to require that one has at least reached a certain milestone in the training process.  There’s no way I can even start until after we are settled wherever we are going to be for my husband’s first fleet squadron, and I’ll have to wait even longer if we wind up in Japan.

It will happen someday, though, even if we have to wrench those stars into alignment by force.  How else will I be able to fully enjoy the kit plane we intend to build someday off in the misty future after my husband retires?

Cheating on my Blog with a Paper Journal

So, my husband has been away on a training det for about a week, and I haven’t been saying too much about it online.  I have, however, started a project I’ve had tumbling around in my head for a while: each day that my husband is away for whatever reason — whether it’s for a couple days, a couple weeks, or a much longer separation — I am writing in a paper journal.  I haven’t missed a day yet this go ’round, and I like to think I will be able to keep it up throughout this stint apart and on into future dets (some of which will be deployment length, but the COD community is detachment-based rather than having the entire squadron gone at the same time).

There are advantages to having a private place to blather on about my day.  For one thing, I don’t have to be as concerned about OPSEC no-nos like departure dates and countdowns to coming home.  For another, I can write about searingly mundane things like what I had for lunch or who woke me up in the middle of the night with a text message without worrying that I’m boring you, dear Reader, to tears.  (Bonus: it’s a really pretty little book, too, and I’m enough of a stationery dork to get a real thrill out of scribbling in it.)  Of course, I don’t get any sort of sense of community, no give-and-take, no conversation about my personal musings when they are ink-on-paper and thus entrenched firmly in the offline world.  I need both my writing outlets.  Therefore, the following is a snapshot of what is going on in my head these days.

This is the first time in well over a year that my husband has been gone for longer than overnight watch, and I worried that I would find myself off-kilter and out of practice.  After all, I have been blessed to have him by my side nearly 24/7 for far, far longer than we ever thought possible in the Navy.  Of course, the main reason for this surfeit of togetherness was the significant back-up in the C-2 pipeline that was keeping my husband out of the cockpit for a distressingly extended period.  We tried to make the most out of all that time together — time which we are all too aware that other military couples would practically kill to have — but we never had a clue whether he would start the syllabus proper the next day or months hence.  We still couldn’t make any big plans for all that “time off” with such a Sword of Damocles hanging over our heads.

Now that he is definitely, assuredly, without a doubt in the class that is next in line for CQ (Carrier Qualification, or proving that you can land your airplane on that damn Boat scooting around in the middle of the ocean), I think we both feel much better.  We’re well aware that, as with all things Navy, anything could happen to throw a monkey wrench in The Plan, but things are rolling and there’s a light at the end of the FRS tunnel.  He is actually getting to fly on a regular enough basis to see improvement with every event, and he is gaining confidence every day in the aircraft.  I love hearing the excitement in his voice when we talk on the phone.  I can’t wait until I get to see the smile on his face when he strides back into the house — sweaty, smelling of NOMEX and old airplane, and sporting some serious helmet head — after a good flight.  It is as if after a year and a half in hurry-up-and-wait limbo, he remembers who he is and why he has those Wings of Gold on his chest.

Getting readjusted to my husband having a busy schedule and going away isn’t mega-fun, but neither has it been unbearable.  I guess coping with long distance is like riding a bicycle; when you’ve done it before, you can do it again.  Of course, it helps knowing that he’ll be back before too much longer, and I do appreciate being able to get my hand back in on an easy, short det like this one.  There are a few more of this stripe coming up over the next few months, and beyond that, we’ll find out whether we’re staying where we are or PCSing someplace entirely new for the first fleet squadron.  Then we’ll have to be ready for the big leagues whenever that first “real” six month (or more) det pops up.

Betcha we can handle it.

New Year, New Calendar

Fair warning: I am such a dork that one of my favorite New Year’s rituals is transferring important birthdays, anniversaries, and minor Jewish holidays that are almost never printed already from the old wall calendar to the new.  Filling in those fresh boxes gives me the (perhaps illusory) sense that I know the shape of the upcoming year, and flipping through the pages of last year’s calendar brings back memories of how we spent the previous twelve months.  I get nostalgia and anticipation all rolled into one chore, which is fun even if it does come with the disturbing realization of how long ago some events I still have filed under “recent” in my head actually took place.

Today’s transcription did, however, unearth a bit of a mystery.  On the square marked January 30, 2009 is one word: “DRUNKEX!”  I cannot for the life of me remember what we were doing that evening — a party? An NFO winging?  Some silly, private evening of staying in and digging into our own, ah, “spiritual” stash?  I have no idea, but it sure sounds like it should have been fun.

If, by chance, you happen to know what on earth I meant by that cryptic inscription, I’d love to hear it.  In any case, I hope your 2010 is full of wonderful memories that actually stick in your mind for years to come.

Eff This Noise; I’m Going to Disney World

I meant to write a post for Veterans Day, I really did.  In fact, I feel like a poor MilSpouseBlogger indeed for failing to mark the eleventh day of the eleventh month with a few words expressing the depths of my gratitude for the servicemen and servicewomen who have given so much that I might enjoy all the good things life in America has to offer.  There it is, a few days late, but I promise I have a good excuse this time.

Let’s rewind back to Tuesday night.  We finished dinner, loaded up the dishwasher, and enjoyed the prospect of an evening leading to a morning sleep-in.  While hand-washing a few pots and pans, we noticed that the drain was a little slow, but we didn’t think much of it.  We hit the go button on the dishwasher and toddled off to bed, to sleep the sleep of the blissfully ignorant.

Following a leisurely lie-in the next morning, we wandered bleary-eyed to the kitchen, where we noticed that the kitchen sink was draining even slower than we remembered.  We decided that the day’s project ought to be solving the problem.  It wasn’t until one of us went to grab something from the laundry/storage room that we realized the full extent of that problem.  See, the kitchen and laundry room share a common drainpipe, so an issue with one can mean an issue with the other.  In this case, the issue was that the clogged kitchen drain was rendered incapable of handling the onslaught of the draining dishwasher, so the dirty water went the only place it could: up the washing machine drainpipe, backwards into the washing machine itself, and for good measure, all over the laundry room floor.

The “storage” part of the laundry/storage room got thoroughly soaked, including cardboard boxes we had been saving for a future move (ruined), winter clothes and sweaters, and various and sundry other items that had to be moved out of the laundry room before we could even figure out what had happened.  Lots of stuff had to go in the trash.  The cats, fascinated and already dreaming up creative ways to get underfoot, were summarily deposited in their room, where they would remain for the duration of the day’s clean-up efforts.

Did I mention that the remnants of Hurricane Ida were just then getting freaky with a nor’easter and starting to bestow upon us the windy, rainy fruits of their unholy tryst?  Because that gets important later.

Some panicked motivated Internet searching yielded a one-item shopping list for the hardware store, so off we went to obtain a drum-style sink auger.  (If you live in a place that has pipes and do not own one, go spend the fifteen or twenty bucks to get yourself a sink auger.  You won’t be sorry when you can bust out that bad boy instead of calling a plumber: plumbers like to get paid the big bucks, whereas the only thing your trusty auger will ask in return is a cleaning and lubrication before you wind it back up into its neat little drum.)  My husband spent the rest of the afternoon and on into the evening being my do-it-yourselfer homeowner hero, disconnecting the garbage disposal and taking apart the pipes and probing the depths of the household plumbing with the occasionally unwieldy auger in an effort to search out the little clog that caused such big trouble.

Drainpipe foe vanquished, we ventured forth for a victory dinner at California Pizza Kitchen.  It was already raining pretty hard and getting a little more blustery, but we didn’t think much of it until one of my husband’s classmates called to let him know that Thursday’s flight schedule was getting canceled entirely due to anticipated worsening weather.  Still, we enjoyed our dinner and our break from household chores, then headed back home to attack the next phase of clean-up.  We pulled in front of the house, parked, and prepared to mad-dash it through the rain to the door, but something unusual caught our eye.

It was the top to one of our attic vents, sitting in the front yard.  Great.  Now we had an impromptu skylight, and it was letting in more than light.  It was, in fact, so dark and stormy that going up on the roof to put the bloody thing back was out of the question, so we had to drag the ladder in from the (detached) garage, rig a bucket under the great big hole in the roof, and hope for the best.

The attic vent runaround used up the last of our energy, so we were not able to finish reconnecting the garbage disposal or bailing out the washing machine as we had planned.  No big deal, we figured, especially since we were apparently getting a day off the next day.  We’d take care of those projects in the morning.

The storm got worse overnight, the wind and rain battering the house and making us very glad we were indoors.  It was by far the worst storm we had experienced since moving here, so it wasn’t a huge surprise when the power flickered and went out.  We called to report the outage, and a few hours later we had power back.  It stayed on for twenty minutes or so, then died again.  We called again, waited, got our hopes up when the power came back, and were disappointed when it went out again.  Lather, rinse, repeat, until about half past four on Thursday afternoon, when the power went out for the long haul.

It was a rather longer haul than we anticipated even at our most pessimistic: we only just had our electricity restored this morning, after two and a half days in the dark.  We lost everything — well, except for the booze — in the refrigerator and freezer.  There was no way we could complete our clean-up efforts from the plumbing debacle without power to run the washing machine.  And let me tell you, candlelight quickly loses its romance when there is no alternative.  Probably the most frustrating thing was the fact that only one street over, power was restored days before we got ours back.  I know it just depends entirely on which junction box or whatever is running to your particular street, but damn it was maddening to drive by all these cheerfully lit houses on the way back to our pitch-black street and into our cold, dark house.

We do consider ourselves extremely lucky that the power outage and one sheared-off attic vent cover comprised our total storm damage.  A lot of people in our area fared much worse.  Some friends of ours had a tree come down, taking out their fence and grill (but missing their house, thank goodness).  Others are dealing with flooding and water damage from wind-driven rain.  Picking up downed branches and twigs from the gigantic tree out front was a little sobering, coming as it did with thoughts of what could have happened if its roots had not been strong enough to moor it against the onslaught.

Even knowing how lucky we are, it still hasn’t been a picnic cleaning up both the plumbing and storm fallout all at once.  I’m going to be running load after load of laundry well into the night, but at least it will get done.  We cannot wait to get in the car, head up to my folks’ place, drop off the “grandkitties,” and… get on a plane to Disney World!  My husband was able to take a nice big chunk of leave leading up to Thanksgiving, and we are using part of it to take a Disney vacation.  I am ridiculously excited — I’ve never been, and I always hoped we’d get the chance to go at least once before we have children.  Here’s hoping that the weather cooperates a little better down in Florida than it has up here.