Wednesday, July 28, 2010

A Historical Post/ Requiem For My Utilities

Wrote this a while ago, but am not going to retcon the date so as to avoid confusion. So yep, it's historical, not current.

Tonight I am writing a requiem for my utilities. In preparation for PCSing, I cut them up and threw them out. And I am sad. To those of you who wore utilities and didn’t like them, I don’t think there’s much I could say that would make you like them. Yes, the waistband hit around bellybutton level, and criticism was leveled at the ‘janitor’ look of the utilities. And tonight I’m not here to take on the idiocy of camo that blends you in with water when you go overboard (I've since been informed that when on the flight-deck or anywhere else that you could fall off from, you get a dye pack that is supposed to dye you and the water you end up in a a fetching and unnatural colour to help search and rescue, but I'm a skeptic). That’s for another post. This is a memorial of my utilities.

Utilities, blueberrys, janitor suits, they had many names- mostly unflattering. Mine were issued to me a distant February ago in a large room with watchful RDCs and inept people who told us our sizes. No sooner were we fitted than our utilites were whisked away to have our nametapes put on them for the purposes of laundry/identification/etc. We got them back a few days later and our little bootcamp selves were first of all, overjoyed to get out of PT gear, which was all we had worn for what felt like forever, and second of all, in for a world of hurt as far as maintenance went. Many nights I would spend staring blearily at an iron and willing it to iron my utilities perfectly without my actually having to move. But while some told horror stories of broken buttons and IPs, I was afflicted with neither in any of my four sets. We wore them with our highly polished boots for everything. You’d think then, that when I cut them up I would get some sort of delight and happiness at seeing the things I had clumped about in non-stop for two months and then at intervals for the next many months finally phase out. But you’d be wrong.
Because one of the good things that even the haters can agree on, I hope, is that when you got to put on that Navy ballcap, your perspective on everything shifted a bit. ‘Recruit’ was no longer literally plastered over your head at nearly all times. It now said ‘Navy’ and it was cool. Also, it was cool because it had your rank on the sleeve if you were a petty officer. And honestly, that uniform went through basic with me. It was kind of like the neighborhood dog when you were a kid. It barked at you and you had nightmares about it chasing your bike and biting you, but when you grew up, went off to college and came back, you saw that it was old and a softie and was more scared of you than you ever were of it. And with the utilities, you put in an effort. I saw lines that were the product of lots and lots of ironing that I did or bartered with others to do. And I thought of all that effort, all the painstaking little details, as I cut them all up.
All?
Well… perhaps not quite all. Sentiment has compelled me to retain one pair, perhaps for work around the house? Or something. I dunno. All I know is I have one perfectly folded pair of utilities that I can’t quite bring myself to throw out yet. And I don’t know how I ought to feel about that, only that it is in fact the case….
And that is all.
PS- I graduated today… Yeah. More on that later.

-End Historical Post-

Thursday, July 8, 2010

Blackcurrant Juice and Tragedy

Yesterday at my local commissary I was shopping for the bare essentials necessary to keep body and soul together- fruit, protein bars, yogurt, things like that. And I happened to spot blackcurrent juice. It was on the bottom shelf, all by itself. I looked around the aisle but it wasn't the imports aisle. Impulsively I grabbed it. Mine, all mine! I thought, shocked and surprised to find a relic of my past in what were to me completely new surroundings. I would savour this, I thought, because Ft. SudanIsNotYourFriend is hot and horrible and sticky (but not as bad as the actual Sudan by all accounts). I would pour myself a nice plastic glass of blackcurrent juice, carefully diluted with water (I, unlike some people have learned from my childhood- if no more than 'don't drink the concentrate straight out of the bottle') and if I was feeling spectacularly patriotic, ice to differentiate me from the Brits.

But alas. I came home today after my run, dying for a jamba juice (or just plain dying if you want to be mean), and of course this being Ft. SINYF, there was no jamba juice. But then I remembered the temporarily forgotten blackcurrent juice! Just the stuff! I got home and carefully poured myself the correct amounts of syrup and waster and took a taste. It was wonderful. It transported me to the good moments of England- the gardens of Kent, Selfridges, Valerie's Patisserie and the 73 train to London Victoria. It was lovely. And then, because there was a lovely taste I couldn't place (Licorice? I wondered) I read the bottle. This is my mother's fault. She always reads the bottle, carton, package or what have you. It's really depressing to find out that I am my mother's child to that degree. Anyway, I read the bottle and I saw one of the dreaded words- aspartame. My heart plummeted within me. Did the Tommies of the first world war have aspartame in their immortalized (and loathed, I might add) tins of plum and apple jam? Did Nelson have aspartame in the port he was transported in? (Ooh... bad pun...) Did King Harold have aspartame in his kippers? (I'm not exactly sure he had kippers. In those days it might have been eels... Perhaps aspartame would have been an improvement for the eels. I mean, unagi okay, but eel pie??)

I strongly suspect the answer in all the cases I just mentioned would be a resounding 'No!' but I can't prove it. Anyway, today I am sad because I had to give away my lovely blackcurrent juice. Aspartame gives me a headache. Give me naturally occuring sugars any/every day of the week and keep your nasty aspartame, sucralose or other sugar substitute.

Sigh... is there no winning? I will keep looking for other imports from my past but this has been discouraging. Oh well. For one lovely glass all seemed to be well.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Grateful Single

Very recently I have started to see the penny drop with regards to my single state in life. I have a few things that I am particularly grateful for.
I don’t have to ask permission.
If I want to stay out later at night, if I want to go to a Goth club, if I want to wear my hair a certain way, if I want to talk to a male friend, if I want to go on vacation, I don’t have to ask for permission. Which is a truly beautiful thing. I know so many marrieds who conditionalize everything with “I’ll have to see what the wife thinks” or “My husband would prefer we stay in tonight.”
What I can take away from this as a longer term lesson is that if I am ever supposed to get married, me and the future Mr. Right had better have a very good understanding about such things. I don’t want to ask him for permission on a regular basis, and I don’t want him to have to ask me either. The ideal situation would be that we would specify things that were important- like a special dinner, an anniversary, or even just a ‘bad day’ where mutual support would be greatly appreciated. Other than that we could come and go like grownups- no asking for permission in a marriage of equals. Does that make sense or am I approaching this a bit too much like ‘roomies with benefits’? At any rate, this requires grown-up style communication skills- not sarcasm, not guessing games, not isolationism. If you’re not perfectly honest about what you want and need, the other person can’t know what you’re thinking!
I don’t have to worry about infidelity
Committing to marriage is a Big Damn Commitment, and one that for the right person I would undertake very gladly. But here’s the scary thing- we’re humans. Humans fall, make mistakes and occasionally even run off. A childhood friend of mine was sixteen when her dad up and left with a woman half his age. Granted, he was on mega-painkillers so maybe he wasn’t exactly in his right mind but it doesn’t change the fact that he did it and is responsible on some level. It was devastating to the wife he left behind to raise six kids. They had to sell their house and give away the dog, move to a terrible neighborhood, and the two oldest girls put thoughts of college on hold to work to support Mom and younger siblings. And that’s just the easily quantifiable bad stuff. He wasn’t there for his older teen daughters, when a dad is vitally important to help sort through potential boyfriends (whether or not the daughter agrees with that!). He wasn’t there for his younger teen sons, who at that age desperately need Dad to be a strong role model when peer pressure is strong.
If I ever get married, I’m a little afraid that a corner of my mind will always think I have it way too good and that one day Hubby will find a cuter, younger model and vamoose. Rational fear? Dunno. But it does exist. While I’m single, I don’t have to worry about worrying about infidelity. Yay! One less thing to worry about!
I don’t have to worry about my ability to have children
In this day and age when lots of people are choosing NOT to have kids, or ‘have dogs instead’, this may seem a bit out-dated. But I would like to have kids. In fact, I would so like to have kids that if I never marry I would rather like to adopt- if I can as a single parent… I think you must be able to somehow. I have a second cousin who did that and I think she and her daughter are awesome!
So, my worrying about my ability to have children. My mom miscarried at least three times that we know about. Both my brother and I were ‘miracle babies’. I have a friend who has recently dealt with a miscarriage. I am quite frankly terrified by the idea. As amazing as it must be to have new life inside of you, the flip side of the coin is if something goes wrong, someone died inside of you. That’s terrifying for me. And I think that I would not cope well with that. I might be too scared to ever try again.
But as long as I’m single, it’s not a worry! Hurrah! It is proper to me in my current state (especially in my state of employment at present!) to be childless. But that doesn’t mean I’m not called to be a mother. I’m called to be a spiritual mother at present. Weird, hm? That means I have to pray for people around me who are sort of like my family- in addition to my family of course. Or I could spiritually adopt some children in danger of abortion. Either way, I am responsible to pray for people and do other mom-like things in a spiritual way.
Weirdly enough a few months ago someone asked me if I had any children because I seemed like a motherly person. At the time I didn’t quite know what to think of that. When I seemed confused they said they wondered because I seemed pretty mature for my age… I get that a surprising lot but I also get the “You’re not really __ years old are you? _Really_? You seem a lot younger!” Maybe it all averages out or something….
I know I have many other things to be grateful for, but this is going to be the short list for now. More to follow as the ideas occure to me.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Letters to a Younger Me

Saw this on another blog, thought it was interesting so here goes. I might do letters _from_ a younger me sometime. Oh, and I also figured out back-dating on this so I'm doing that. And it's not cheating because when I wrote it I didn't have internet access but fully intended to post this. So there.

Dear Five Year Old Me,
Just because there are other kids around doesn't mean they'll be your friends. Kindergarten is not as neat as you think it's going to be. Dinosaurs are dead so don't worry about them. TBro isn't going to go away. I'm proud of you! You're the youngest kid in the class and you're doing just fine!
Love,
Me in 2010

Dear Eight Year Old Me,
You're right- you won't ever be like the other kids, so don't even bother trying. Some stuff is going on that you don't get, but that's okay. The chronic nightmares should go away in a year or two. I think you're adorable when you try to make friends with the big kids! Try and return some of your library books on time, okay? Or at least remember where you put them if you don't remember what day they're due! And just to let you know, your future self still loves the Air and Space Museum!
Love,
Me in 2010

Dear Eleven Year Old Me,
You'll meet someone very special soon, just when you're starting to feel like you're completely alone in a foreign country. Enjoy Guides! Earn badges! Go for walks! Eat toffee! I don't have to remind you to do that last one. And hey, try and behave for Mom. You really don't want to go to school in this country. Trust me! And buy more Biggles books! Your future self still doesn't have all 94.... Above all, don't fall into self-conscious behaviors! You don't need them!
Love,
Me in 2010

Dear Fourteen Year Old Me,
I know you think you're the coolest thing since the fridge since you've discovered you can fall asleep listening to heavy metal. Just keep a low profile on that or Mom is going to smash all your CDs. The theme you want to go for is low profile altogether. Otherwise you're going to run into trouble. I know, you think your profile couldn't get any lower, but some people are watching you and they're concerned about your friends or your lack thereof. I wish I could tell you more. Just please, please watch what you say and who you say it to! Right now it seems like everything's going more or less okay, but if you're not careful, things are going to come unstuck- horribly. Also keep writing fanfic! You'll be a better writer sooner if you practice more!
CAVU,
Me in 2010

Dear Seventeen Year Old Me,
Told ya so. But that doesn't really help right now. I know you're feeling miserable right now so that's the first and last time I'll say you were warned. Take care of yourself! Take long walks! Work hard on scholarship applications! Don't let anyone see you cry! Get involved in volunteer stuff... like Civil Air Patrol. That's a really good idea. You'll like it lots, I promise! You'll meet new and interesting people! You'll go to cool airshows! I can promise you the pain and misery won't go away overnight. You're going to have difficulty dealing for a long time. But keep active and keep your chin up! Keep writing too, but try and open up some new genres! Work on original stuff!
Hang in there!
Me in 2010

Dear Twenty Year Old Me,
Well, you're finally at your first choice college! You're finally meeting great, interesting people who share your values! Isn't this awesome? It was worth it! Don't worry about boys- in fact, I know I'm asking the impossible but try not to think about them either...
And on an unrelated note, here's a warning you absolutely have to take to heart. Trust no one. Especially don't trust the people in your life who say that they love you. because they'll say that and then knock your feet out from under you.
Keep your eyes open and get things in writing,
Me in 2010

Dear Twenty Three Year Old Me,
See what I meant? Of course you do... Things will get better- kinda. At least you'll soon be out of the house and making money. Those are very important things. You're not going to get over that shit any time soon, just so you know. I think that's normal. You won't forget any time soon that anger and helplessness you felt. Anger, betrayal, helplessness, despair, hatred, apathy, exhaustion, frustration, sadness, fear, self-pity and claustrophobia will all take their turn on the spin-cycle from hell until you get out. Quite the range, hm? It wasn't what they thought, but that didn't matter, did it? Just to let you know, your current self is still not over the whole damn thing and has no plans on that changing any time soon.
On a more positive note, nice B-day party in Old Town! Wasn't that fun? Just so you don't forget, the year before (22) was the year you got Porfiry who can't say 'grapefruit'. The 21st was pretty unforgettable in Ireland and the one before that was a step up from a pity party courtesy of TexasTara
Um... to return to a difficult to understand subject. With regards to a certain individual (hereafter referred to as CI) You had unreturned feelings of CI. CI was special. And just so you know, you still haven't let go of CI. You've got to work on that. Let the dead bury their dead. You've got a cross to plant on that hill.
Taking the long route,
Me in 2010