Family

Time is Marching On

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Flight Gear Vera

"Your helmet bag is comfy, hooman."

Today is a good day for my own personal ways of counting down until Sampson is home with me and a pair of kitties who would really prefer to have his flight gear conveniently strewn about for feline lounging. Not only did I get to flip the calendar page from February to March, but I get to put the trash and the recycling forward tonight. Recycling is every other week, so I am pleased to note the passage of fourteen more days in this deployment. I am two weeks — one fortnight! — closer to being able to hand trash duty back to my husband, a chore I will gladly relinquish into his capable hands the moment his plane touches down on United States soil.

My parents ventured down to visit me over the weekend, so I am coming down off the high of good food, fortifying drink, and excellent company. I hope they enjoyed their little mini-vacation as much as I did. It was so good to spend time with them, and it was refreshing to have a house full of laughter and loved ones again. I sometimes forget how quiet it truly is with just me in the house. Well, I’ll grant you that the cats can be noisy buggers when they’ve a mind, but they’re not big on witty repartee.

My in-laws are coming to visit next week, which is super-sweet of them. With any luck, my house will still be fairly organized from my whirlwind of pre-parental-visit cleaning this past Friday. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except I lost some of the housekeeping time I’d allotted when I discovered the necessity of mounting an all-out assault on the moths that had infiltrated my pantry. Gross, gross, gross. On the plus side, having to get in there with bleach forced me to clear out some items that had been sitting around for a while, like the wedding favor candy from my cousin’s reception a year and a half ago. Whoops.

In non-disgusting food news, I have a loaf of bread about to go into the oven, whereupon it will fill my house with a mouthwatering aroma that will make it difficult for me to resist tearing into the honey-whole-wheat goodness the nanosecond it’s done baking. Strength! I’m gonna need some strength here, people, lest I burn the roof of my mouth on the staff of life.

(It’d be totally worth it, though.)

Time Passed, Seasons Changed

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…and I went for over three months without updating my blog.  So, uh, howdy there, readers.  (Do I still have any readers?  It’s difficult to read what hasn’t been written.)  I continue to draw breath, and I find myself capable of putting fingers to keyboard, even if it has tended to be in 140-character spurts over in the Twitterverse of late.  I return from my unplanned blogging hiatus with hopes of more regularly filling this space with vignettes from this Navy wife’s daily attempts to make it from Point A to Point B without crashing into anything in between (although I’ll grant you that documenting close encounters of the obstacle kind would at least make for more interesting reading).

The current obstacles I’m trying to dodge have much to do with upcoming holiday leave — or rather, the leave we sincerely hope we will have.  Precise details as to start date, duration, and how it will be split are still up in the air, which aggravates me no end because we are unable to start hashing out how we’re going to see everyone we need to see when all of those people have busy schedules that will not necessarily clear themselves just because my husband and I will be bestowing the glory of our presence on the environs.  We are extremely lucky that our families live close enough together that we don’t have to make a decision as to our travel destination — I feel for those of you with families in far-flung locations — but it still isn’t ever easy to cram maximum togetherness into an all-too-finite number of days.  I want to have as much warning as possible to start working the logistics, but I’ll be happy if what we get is at least a day’s notice to let my folks know to ready the guest bed.

Chanukkiyah

Tonight will be the fifth night of Chanukah, but this picture is from some past year's eighth night.

I’m getting exhausted just thinking about all of it.  I think I’m glad that Chanukah is so early this year.  Though my husband has been working full days (and then some, including this whole weekend), we are still able to light candles and enjoy a low-key, relaxing little bit of holiday glow.  We made my much clamored-after sweet potato latkes with goat cheese the other night, eating standing up in the kitchen with the sizzle of the oil a pleasant backdrop to laughter and conversation about life, the universe, and being Jewish in it.  I’m a little sad that we don’t get to light candles with family this year, but I truly treasure the little traditions we have made in nearly four years of marriage, just the two of us.

And then I think of the little traditions that will go unmarked next year, the holidays that will come and go while my husband is deployed in a part of the world where it’s not a great idea to advertise that one is Jewish.  It breaks my heart.  It reinforces how very lucky I am that in this country, in this time, I am able to identify myself as Jewish — to talk about our Chanukah celebrations with other squadron wives, to discuss plans for Passover, to explain that I don’t eat bacon because of my religion — largely without fear of negative repercussions for it.  Antisemitism does still slither in through the cracks even in this relatively enlightened age, as evidenced by vandalism against area synagogues in recent memory, so I am not wholly without concern.  But ninety-nine percent of the time?  If it comes up in conversation, I have no problem mentioning that I’m Jewish.  It’s not that way everywhere, and I’m thankful for the tolerance of the United States.

And if you made it through this meandering return-to-blogging post, I thank you for your tolerance.  😉

MilSpouse Friday Fill-In #4

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What food reminds you of your spouse?

Thai food holds a special place in our hearts.  We went to A Little Place Called Siam (no longer extant, sadly, though I believe there is still a Thai restaurant in that location) for dinner on our first date before heading to our high school cafeteria for Spring Formal.  Since then, different Thai restaurants have become “ours” in just about every town in which we have spent significant time together.  We judge most places by their drunken noodles, which is what my husband orders nine times out of ten.

Who would you rather sit next to in a cross-country plane ride: an irritating non-stop talker, or a quiet stare-er?

The quiet one, definitely.  I’m usually looking out the window and cheerfully oblivious to anyone else around, an attitude much more difficult to maintain when some full-of-himself lawyer is droning on about how he had to fly to this place and that place to get statements and subpoenas and all kinds of things that were a lot more impressive to him than they were to a girl who just wanted to visit her fiancé.

What are your best tips on how to save money?

If you don’t need it, don’t buy it.  This seems to be a slippery concept for some people.

What is your favorite summer memory?

My extended family’s yearly trips to the beach were a fixture in my life up through college.  All of us — parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins — would rent units on the ocean and spend a week playing on the beach by day and partying by night.  Each family would take one night to cook dinner for all the rest, so we got a variety of fun dishes.  I loved getting to spend so much time with my cousins, and I cannot even estimate how many hours upon hours we spent boogie-boarding in the surf.  We barely got out of the water except to go chow down on sandwiches for lunch, our fingers still pruney and salty from the sea.  Adult beverages flowed freely for those of age; one of the perks of growing up was finally being able to partake of my grandfather’s killer Bloody Marys at about ten in the morning while digging my toes in the sand.

Time has a way of marching on, though, and “The Beeeeeeach” no longer exists as a week-long family reunion.  As we kids got older and started pairing off (and even contributing to the next generation), it became unfeasible for all of us to coordinate our schedules.  I miss it, though, and it makes me a little sad to think that any children we might be blessed to have are unlikely to have that same kind of yearly vacation.  I might go so far as to describe The Beach as the anchor of my year throughout my childhood.

Do you believe in ghosts?

I’ve never had one walk up and introduce itself.  Maybe I smell funny.

When I was about eleven years old, though, I absolutely believed in ghosts.  A few friends and I kept a notebook and interviewed our classmates at recess about their brushes with the paranormal (including alien encounters; one friend was a confessing X-phile and quite firm in her assertions that “the truth [was] out there”).  We occasionally frightened ourselves with Ouija boards, but most of the time, it seemed that the “spirits” we called with our Parker Brothers-brokered séances had a perplexing fascination with farts and cuss words.  Go figure.

Are you a military spouse/fiancée/fiancé/girlfriend/boyfriend? Hie thee to ENS Wifey’s blog, snag the questions, and add yourself to the Mr. Linky for this week’s MilSpouse Friday Fill-In!

MilSpouse Friday Fill-In #3

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What is your favorite household chore?

Cooking!  Even though I love to cook, the daily grind nature of the task (“You mean you’re hungry again?  We just ate yesterday!”) makes it a chore.  Even when it’s not so much fun cudgeling my brain for ideas to get ourselves out of the latest what’s-for-dinner rut, I’d still rather cook than attack any other routine household maintenance items.

What is your favorite childhood memory?

Ooh, toughie.  I had quite an enjoyable childhood (thanks, Mom and Dad), so picking out my one true favorite would be nigh impossible.  Many of my good memories involve playing with my little brother.  I’m the eldest by four and a half years, which I think was perfect: we weren’t so close in age that we were always in competition with each other, but neither were we so far apart that we had nothing in common.  We created elaborate stories around our LEGO sets, dreamed up incredibly detailed backgrounds for video game characters (Sonic the Hedgehog and Ecco the Dolphin, in particular), and built snow forts complete with snowball caches that never quite got used and an escape route that involved a sled positioned precariously atop a hill behind the fort.

Our parents always told us that siblings are quite possibly the people you have in your life the longest, so it was important to cultivate that brotherly/sisterly relationship.  I’m glad we did, ’cause that means I have a baby bro (who is actually an adult with a job and a girlfriend and all that good stuff) with whom I share all kinds of childhood memories.  We’ll remember together.

What is your most embarrassing moment?

I can’t point to one moment in my life and say, “That one, that there was the time I most wished I could melt into a puddle and disappear on the spot.”  One thing sure to get my cheeks flaming and the tears of shame pricking my eyes is saying something factually wrong in front of someone whose intelligence or expertise on a subject I respect.  I hate-hate-hate being wrong, or even mildly mistaken.  I’m supposed to be the smart kid!

What uniform of your spouse’s is your favorite?

I’m fond of summer whites, which is a uniform my husband hates.  It was the first Navy uniform I ever saw him wearing.  He had just finished up Plebe Summer at the Naval Academy, and when I first caught sight of the boyfriend I had last seen wearing a T-shirt and shorts in the days just following his high school graduation, I’m sure my jaw hit the floor.  He looked stunning.  I’ve loved summer whites ever since, but I rarely get to see them.

My husband’s favorite uniform is definitely the flight suit.  He would wear his “fireproof pajamas” to any event — change of command, parade, wedding, you name it — calling for a uniform if he could.

What canceled TV show do you miss the most?

Firefly.  My husband and I both are dyed-in-the-wool Browncoats, and we daily mourn the fact that Joss Whedon’s brilliant, witty space Western was cut off before its plot had the chance to develop into its full-fledged glory.  Though it lasted less than one season on the air, the characters immediately became favorites.  One of our cats is named after Serenity crewman/tough guy Jayne Cobb’s “very favorite gun.”

Are you a military spouse/fiancée/fiancé/girlfriend/boyfriend?  Hie thee to ENS Wifey’s blog, snag the questions, and add yourself to the Mr. Linky for this week’s MilSpouse Friday Fill-In!

High-flyin’ Aunt and Uncle

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I know it’s Tuesday, but I cannot shake my sense of today’s Monday-nity (get it? Mundanity/Monday-nity?  I crack myself up, and unfortunately for my readers, I can’t help sharing).  My husband’s 0645 brief this morning sent us plummeting back to reality after a delightful four-day weekend.  Hearing the alarm go off at a truly uncivilized hour was rough, but at least we are heading back into the fray with memories of grilling delicious meat, imbibing tasty beverages, and embarking on miniature adventures to sustain us until the next bubble of breathing space.

I suppose one might make a case for our next escape from the needs of the Navy being very soon — the end of this week, in fact — but any “break” that involves travel to and from a place in quick succession with lots and lots of socializing squeezed in does not a relaxing time for us make.  While it will not be a rejuvenating breather, precisely, the reason for our upcoming whirlwind trip is a good one: our first nephew was born last week, and we will be attending his bris.  I can’t wait to meet the newest member of the family, hold him, make faces at him, and — very best of all — hand him back to his mom and dad when he gets fussy or needs a diaper change.  Quoth a high school classmate of mine who has nieces and nephews of her own, “Returnable (to their parents) babies are AN EXCELLENT KIND of babies!”

I may not be the most skillful knitter ever to take needles in hand, but I think this will do for absorbing "burps" that go the extra mile.

I learned how to knit a few weeks ago, which is not as big a non sequitur from the previous subject as it might seem because my new craft allows me to do neat things like produce a handmade burp cloth for a baby present.  I’m still a neophyte knitter, but I’ve got a pretty good handle on things rectangular, such as scarves, dishcloths, and yes, burp cloths.  It tickles my sense of the absurd to spend my free time lovingly constructing a hand-knit object for the express purpose of catching spit-up.  If a colorful cotton schmatta brings a little cheer to parents dealing with the myriad ways an infant can make a mess, I’ll call it time well spent.