The air force base that I live on plays revelry at 7 am, The Star Spangled banner at 4:30, and retreat at 10:00pm. These are the sounds by which I measure my day, and like Pavlov’s dog, play the right tune and I’ll salivate on cue.
Today someone played the Star Spangled Banner at 3:30.
So immediately I’m thinking, “Whew- my day is nearly over and Chris is almost home and I might just make it to dinner without losing my mind after all. . .” and then a half an hour later I look at the clock and it is barely 4:00! I wondered for a few seconds if I might actually be losing it, so I called Chris at work to verify that I did, indeed hear the music and I wasn’t crazy. He confirmed that I, although of questionable sanity, did hear the music, and that quite a few people at work were confused and jumping at the bit to go home.
In addition to this, the Giant Voice System on base was going off like CRAZY today. The GVS is a huge broadcasting system to report drills and actual emergencies occurring on base. It has only gone off for a real issue once during the four years I’ve lived here, but it has gone off many, many times for drills and exercises. Now, you must understand, the GVS is broadcasted out of two separate towers- and there is a two second lag time between the towers, and I live directly in the center of these voices, so it sounds pretty garbled. I always spend the first few seconds trying to figure out what is being said, and opening the window so it sounds more clear. In addition to this, like most of the residents here, I tend to ignore the GVS all together unless something sounds interesting because they spend so much time crying wolf for exercises that I just assume nothing relevant to me is being said. After all, if we’re being bombed by terrorists or in the middle of a tornado, I’ll probably notice right? Does anything less than actual mayhem deserve my full attention? Any seasoned mother will tell you no.
I did not know there was a drill going on today when I arrived at the base on the way home from some errands. So when I drove through the security checkpoint mid- announcement and all I caught was that the base had just experienced an earthquake and to remain calm, stay indoors and call such and such to report any damage, I believed it. And it made me mad.
You see, I have been waiting for years to experience an earthquake. Here I am, a mere sixty miles from Earthquake Central on the other side of the Bay, and I haven’t ever felt the Earth move. I’ve tacked down bric-a-brac, safety mounted pictures to the walls and have a reasonable amount of emergency preparedness stuff at my fingertips, just in case. I am so ready. Mind you, I’d be content with a minor aftershock or a really small quake; I have no desire to experience The Big One, but I’m ready for it.
So when I hear that we just had a quake, and I somehow didn’t feel it I’m all, “WHAT THE HECK! Four years of waiting to feel an earthquake and I somehow miss it! NOT FAIR!” Which would be fine to think inside your head where no one can hear you, but I actually said it out loud to the gate guard who was checking my ID. He didn’t make much comment, so I drove toward home looking for signs of damage and there is nothing. “This just figures,” I’m muttering, wondering if I should call Chris to see if he felt it. Then I realize that he’s in Sacramento on a detail, so he has no idea. I’ll have to tell him later I think, probably shouldn’t call while he’s trying to bury someone.
A few minutes later the voice system comes on again, and as I whip open the window I hear that the main water supply on base has been contaminated and the main water main has broken. We are to drink bottled water until this is remedied. I’m all, ooookay then, maybe I’ll need to stock up on that before everyone cleans out the commissary since I dumbly let my five year old swipe all of my bottled water that I had stockpiled a year ago in case The Big One really did hit. I’m trying to figure out the easiest way to pack everyone into the car for a grocery run when I hear the words “EXERCISE EXERCISE EXERCISE” being shouted after the announcement. Suddenly things start falling into place.
This is all a test. A few minutes later the earthquake announcement is repeated and this time I catch that this too is merely a practice for the real deal. I put my shoes on and head outside with Maggie amid shouted orders of “Remain indoors! Secure your areas!” As I walk to the school to pick Jonas up, I once again tune out the crackly diatribe, doggedly going about my day as if no one is announcing doom and gloom. There are children to hold, laundry to fold, meals to prepare and always work to be done. I can’t help but reflect on how this goofy exercise so closely mirrors reality; there are warnings, misery and evil on every side, and humanity blunders on, doing the small and simple things that keep us sane, and root us in the ordinary.
Posted by Lou on May 7, 2008 @ 4:26 pm | 5 Comments
Oh yesterday was a lucky day. Chris had the day off so we decided to tackle the huge task of our out of control garage. We had a huge bag of stuff to donate to the thrift shop on base, so I drove it over there. Now, I have been routinely checking out the thrift store, yard sales, the for sale ads in the paper, etc for a pre dinged table for our family. You may recall an earlier post about this, descibing our cute 2 seater table and chairs, and noting the fact that our family had really outgrown it.
Well, when I walked into the shop this pre-dinged wonder with a leaf and four chairs was sitting there, and it called to me from the door, ‘Hey, baby, take me home. Spill your food on me. Invite your children to scrawl their names in me with a fork and spill paint from art projects all over me. I don’t care, I’m cool like that, and already have many scars adding to my character. I may look tough, but with a little polish and TLC, I am so the table for you.” The tag said $100. I was sold.
I decided to push my luck and see if I could get it for $80. The guy helping me found out that I had a big donation in the car, and brought me to the manager. The manager checked out the table, crossed out the price tag and wrote a new price. He held it up for me to see and said, “how about this?” $50. Fifty dollars. FIFTY. For a piece of pre-dinged heaven with four chairs. SOLD.
Chris picked it up, tightened up a few pieces, made some minor repairs, and I can now have company over for dinner without everyone having to eat like chipmunks form the lack of elbow room. I get to stop pulling out folding chairs for every meal. I’m in love.
Posted by Lou on March 1, 2008 @ 10:17 am | 13 Comments
Today: I pack for a trip to Utah to visit the hubby’s relatives- in-laws, outlaws and the like. Many of whom I love dearly and a few who - well not so much I’m sure, heh. Such is life. Such is family. You love them, they love you, they get on your nerves, they judge you with the harshness and hypocrisy of a thousand burning suns and commentate on your lifestyle, parenting style, clothing style, hairstyle, lack of style. And through it all, you attempt to smile and remember that really, behind any family crap that can be thrown at you ( I HAVE FOUR SISTER IN-LAWS- there is always PMS going on in this family), you do love these people, and you love your hubby, who is a product of these good people. . .even when sometimes you fail to see the resemblance. . .see I’m totally psyching myself up. Family. WOOOOO! Bring it on. I always have a good time in Manti (after the fifteen freaking hour drive through the wasteland that is Nevada). I fell in love in Manti and I always feel GOOD in Manti. That’s just how that town is. It makes me happy. Plus there is the gorgeous Manti temple there, where Chris and I were married. And the family cabin, which is completely wonderful and so very, very Grandpa that you just have to smile and feel all gooey and sticky inside because people, don’t singing, plastic deer heads mounted on the wall do that for everyone? No? Just the Tibbs clan? Well. . .I guess that is why I fit in.
Didja follow any of that?
Today: I am restraining myself from diving headfirst into the next two books in the Twilight series. I keep telling myself that packing is important. Clean underware: IMPORTANT. Having a thousand pages to read on a fifteen hour car ride: IMPORTANT. But I so want to know what happens next!
Today: My baby brother enters the MTC (Missionary Training Center). After three weeks there he will be off to Melbourne Australia to do missionary work for the next two years. Last night, as we chatted on the phone for the last time for the next two years, he thanked me for beating him up when he needed it. I said you’re welcome. I cannot believe he is growing up. It is good. I am really excited to watch him do this and someday get married and bring home some girl who can feel the way I feel when he brings her home to meet her new sister in-laws, “Welcome to our alien planet- yes, we really are that weird!”
As soon as he gets to Australia, my siblings and I will all be on different continents. I have no idea how my parents raised such independent children. They both live in the state they were born in, married someone from a nearby small town, and live only an hour from their parents, which is beautiful and sometimes I’m extremely jealous, but seriously- why do their offspring feel the need to leave the country? I have no idea. I can say, with all honesty, that after college and marriage and babies, I am ready to move back home for awhile. Take a little reprieve from the moving. Only one year and eight months of the Air Force left for us, and then really, who knows? Chris is finishing up his degree, and in a little over a year he starts applying for jobs. Anyone want a really gifted computer networking guy working for you in that time frame? A hunky guy who enjoys long walks on the beach, good books. . .wait. . .that was the resume that won me over- he’ll need a new strategy for the civilian job market.
Today: I have a mountain of laundry. I have cereal to vacuum off of the carpet. I have luggage to locate and then pack. Today I’m procrastinating. Typical. Better get off my butt and start making things happen.
Posted by Lou on September 27, 2007 @ 12:11 pm | 7 Comments
A few days ago Chris graduated his honor guard training. Part of the graduation ceremony included a run through of an average retiree funeral. Now, I have seen a military funeral before. My grandfather was a WWII veteran, and he had military respects paid at his interment that were very moving. However, watching what my husband will be doing on a daily basis for the next year was profoundly touching.
It is likely that he will serve at over 700 funerals in the next year. Most of those will be retiree funerals and prior service members who have lived long, full lives with service to their country. Sadly, it is inevitable that a few of the funerals will be for the men and women currently serving in the Global War on Terror. It is made even more significant to me when I watch it and know that someday both my father’s and my husband’s funerals will include these honors.
An honor guard functions on precision and perfection. Every movement is an exercise in exactitude. Its execution must be flawless and performed with dignity and respect. The honor guard member’s bearing is steeled in the reverence of the duty that they are performing; no tear is shed, no posture ever slumped, no movement ever performed with anything less than planned deliberation. It is the ultimate showing of gratitude for the decedent’s valor and heroism, and it is absolutely beautiful to watch.
I have a feeling that the next year is going to be a changing one. Chris will be faced with much death, and much perspective and that will trickle down to our family. It is more difficult to gripe about a last minute change in my plans when I know that there is likely a grieving family behind it. It has been interesting thus far to watch my husband prepare his uniform for these details. While any military uniform is kept pristine, there is a new level of attention to detail present as he prepares to give these honors.
I am very pleased that he has been appointed to this special duty assignment. I think that what he gives of himself in this capacity is crucial to patriotism and national honor. I have always been proud of my husband’s service to our country, and proud of him as a good husband and father, but in watching him in this capacity, I am so very moved.
Posted by Lou on August 15, 2007 @ 5:01 pm | 6 Comments
I lived through the surgery and the bulk of the recovery. Go me.
The trouble is that once again, just like last time, my immune system decided to jump ship rather than stay and attempt to bail out. In other words. . .I kinda passed out at my checkup. This did not make my surgeon happy. Indeed, it displeased him so much that he DEMANDED in the way only a thirty year old Asian man who discusses the past weekend’s fights with the orderly during pre-op can demand, that I be seen in the regular clinic TODAY. As in NOW. As in I WILL CALL THEM AND THOU SHALT BE SEEN. And then he threatened to NEVER TREAT ME AGAIN unless I had this underlying condition dealt with. I think that was supposed to be a threat- but uhh- I don’t really want any more oral surgeries, even though I am quite pleased with my gum-slashing surgeon. At any rate, at his urging, and with the advice that Chris supervise these visits so he could yell at anyone not doing a good job, I got seen. Again. For the same symptoms they have glossed over for the past few years.
You see, any time I’m under any stress (physical or emotional) I become exceptionally weak. I get lightheaded. I pass out. It’s not pretty. The original theory was that these were anxiety attacks. Now, while I will admit to having anxiety issues, you’ve got to question the diagnosis when you’ve been pumped full of every happy pill on the planet, and you are still having all of the same physical symptoms, even though you are much less irritable and annoyed with the aforementioned fainting spells since they’ve drugged 95% of the negativity right out of you. You are willing to laugh about the fact that you just passed out and hit your head on a linoleum floor, because, isn’t it like so funny that this is ALL IN MY HEAD?
After my last surgery they became convinced that we were dealing with hypoglycemia, so they sent me home with a blood sugar monitor so I could check things out. While my blood sugar is consistently low, it doesn’t qualify as true hypoglycemia, so there went another excellent hypothesis. I will admit that seeing Jonas’ utter horror at the barbarism that is DRAWING BLOOD FROM YOUR OWN FLESH gave me a laugh. You have no idea, son.
Now, after seeing another doctor (because in the military you never see the same doctor twice- which could explain why it takes years to get a simple diagnosis), we are testing aspects of my endocrine system. So far this has involved many, many vials of blood being drawn, all of which could not be managed in just one stick, so I no longer have veins in my arms, hands or wrists because they’ve all exploded into black and blue “beauty marks” the size of silver dollars.
The favorite theory defining what the heck is wrong with me is Addsion’s disease, which is basically a cortisol deficiency. Cortisol is the body’s “stress hormone”. It is what revs you up enough to handle things like infections and surgeries and emotional trauma. It increases blood pressure, blood sugar and immunosupressive response. In other words- without enough cortisol, a body has a really hard time getting back to normal after stress. And since I’m the Queen of All Things Stressful these days, frankly, this hypothesis makes a lot of sense. I’m sure one of the 72 pints of blood they needed to test every hormone producing gland in my body will shed some light as to whether or not this is an accurate theory. I’d like to think there’s a three strikes rule in diagnostics, but knowing my luck this could go on forever, because no one will ever find the truth: That I’ve been body snatched by an octogenarian who is now enjoying the thrills of youth while I hobble around feeling like death.
Posted by Lou on July 30, 2007 @ 7:47 pm | 9 Comments
Preparing for a deployment is a lot like preparing for a long awaited trip to Disneyland. You run around gathering supplies, excited and nervous, do a few extra loads of laundry and get everything in order that will have to happen while you are gone. The thing is, until it really happens, it just doesn’t seem real, and when it happens, the only thing is continues to have in common with Disneyland is the really long wait until he comes back home and the ride of your life together gets back on track. Instead of cotton candy and roller coaster rides that make you puke, you get all of the household chores and taking care of everybody, even when you have the flu because there’s no one else to step up.
Right now we are preparing. Every day it comes closer and starts presenting itself as a reality in fairly stark ways. The desert camo gear and the gas mask lying around the house, the sudden influx of toiletry doubles all serve as constant reminders that your family’s lives and the life your spouse are about to split dramatically. In spite of all this, life continues in it’s usual monotonous patterns. There are still dishes to wash, Sunday school lessons to prepare, jobs to attend to. Even our usual family outing of going out for burritos and browsing the bookstore happens in its usual rhythm. These rituals are benign, safe things that we hide behind and take comfort in, things that distract us from the fact that there is indeed a war going on, one that Chris will soon be much more involved in.
This war is not one that presses hard on the minds of everyday Americans. There is no real sacrifice for the common man; no gas rationing, no victory gardens being planted. Only the occasional displeasure at the news that yet another service man or woman has reached an untimely death at the hands of an enemy or due to our own military’s occasional incompetence. The event is momentarily glowered over, and then dismissed so we can return to our safe routines, where we try not to think of the people for whom this war is a pressing, every day reality, for which there are consequences. Relationships sour with an ocean between loved ones, stress becomes paramount, and people die.
Living on an air force base, I am continually made aware of these consequences. The young mother with four small children in tow at the commissary isn’t shopping with her brood for fun. She’s struggling through the aisles because she doesn’t have another option. Parents come home to be reunited with children who no longer remember them, or who are bitter over the months of neglect. Spouses engage in infidelity and come home to find their homes are no longer their homes. Of course, there are those who make it through almost unscathed, who’s priorities are a little straighter and who cling fast to the bigger picture that takes them out of the present stress and into the joy of the future.
At a recent briefing we were told that most couples fight a lot prior to a deployment. They love each other so much they choose to emotionally distance themselves because it’s easier to say goodbye to someone you’re ticked off at. Chris and I have not fought or bickered. It’s just not worth it to us. Oh there have been occasions we could have snapped at each other, but when you realize that the socks on the bathroom floor that are irritating you today won’t be there very soon, fighting about it starts to look pretty stupid.
The one thing that remains constant is the worry. We have spent so much time worrying about how the children will take this that it hasn’t been until recently that we’ve really started to ponder on how much we will miss each other. Our routines are so intertwined, I am sure it will come as a shock when those tiny things that we depend on are suddenly gone. Little things like another body heating up the bed, or having a lukewarm bath without Chris coming in with a steaming pot of boiled water to compensate for our tiny water heater plague my thoughts, and make me wonder how many other little things will suddenly come to the forefront of my mind once they stop happening regularity.
Our last long separation brought us closer together, and in the long run, was a credit to our marriage. It was something that we survived together, although apart. I’m hoping this one will do the same. You have to have that hope.
Posted by Lou on January 7, 2007 @ 3:19 pm | 17 Comments
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