Green Disco Witch and Impromptu Siesta Mexican. Spoooooooooky.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Happy Halloween
Halloween is my favorite holiday. It can be celebrated for the entire month of October. Thirty-one days sure beats the twelve days of Christmas. Plus, folks become extremely clever when considering a costume.
The first costume I got my husband into was King Neptune. I was a mermaid. The event was a silent auction with the theme of Under The Sea. My sweet husband proclaimed that he had been mislead because he and I were the only ones dressed up. Actually, I had never said it was a costume ball type event. We were the living decorations for the evening.
Halloween was just a few days later. I threw a great party and invited our close friends. My husband is such a good sport about dressing-up. That year, he put on tights and a green puffy shirt. He was my Robin Hood to my Maid Marion. I have to admit we looked fantastic. Anthony and Cleopatra were there. A Bad-Ass Biker came with his wife, Charlotte's Web. By pure coincidence, two Priests showed up with their trampy Catholic School Girls. The White Trash Couple came as did a Giant Pink Fairy. There was a Pirate and a Dominatrix. Naughty Nurse and Dirty Old Man were there too. Everyone had a wonderful time.
The next year, we were living in Kansas. I planned a Grand Halloween Party. Because so many people were invited and we had such tiny quarters, I decided to go with an open house format. The food had improved from the prior year. I got more into the holiday. I served jello shot brain, fingers, witch's cheese-dip cauldron, snake sandwich and Frankenstein cups. It looked wonderfully yummy. Kirby, still willing to wear a costume, donned a Court Jester outfit complete with jingle bells on the floppy hat. I was a sexy story-book witch.
Throughout the evening, several reverse couples came. The husband came as the woman and the wife came as the man. I can only imagine the conversation at the store when a rather large, beefy man asked for a pair of size 12 pumps. Dilbert arrived with his witch wife. A couple arrived wearing togas. We had hippies, construction workers, Minnie Mouse, and a fantastic Old Folks couple. The Wicked Witch showed up with her husband, Dorothy. Everyone had such a wonderful time that once they arrived, they didn't leave. The open house theme turned into a jam-packed party.
The Halloween after that was spent in Heidelberg,Germany. It wasn't just any old Halloween filled with passing out candy to Trick-or-Treaters. We spent that year's holiday at Frankenstein's Castle in Darmstadt. Mary Shelley had visited the castle ruins and was so moved by the experience that she created the story, Frankenstein.
Today, the castle is nearly gone. There is a couryard, a small bridge, some walls, a staircase and a tower remaining. The folks who run the castle have done a tremendous job at keeping Frankenstein alive. One can also enjoy murder mystery dinner theater there as well as a wedding reception.
The good folks at the castle celebrate Halloween with a two-week long haunted house. It is nothing like any haunted house I have ever attended. When walking up the dark roadway approaching the castle entrance, visitors notice the ambulance parked at he gate plus several medical personnel walking about. This is a precautionary measure as some people become so frightened they might have a heart-attack.
Visitors enter the castle grounds in mass. No lines here. Crossing the arched bridge, it become obvious the idea behind this haunted house is a free-roaming tour of the grounds. And monsters galore. Every possible scary monster, demon, beast and nightmare are present and lurking about. They approach visitors and follow visitors and even corner visitors. Any indication of fear is an invitation to the creatures. They torment the frightened and some are compelled to gently touch the weary. And a brief mention of the costumes. SPECTACULAR! They aren't your five and dime store cheap costumes. They are the genuine article up to the best Hollywood modern day standard of theatrical make-up. The best I've ever seen. It's readily apparent the money earned from ticket sales is put back into the make-up and costumes.
The following year, we had moved, again and now were in Schweinfurt, Germany. I decided to throw my traditional Halloween party. Several decorations had been added to my ever growing Halloween box and I now had three very large and well-stuffed containers of Halloween costumes/decorations to choose from. I even expanded my Halloween food items. I served the witch's cheese-dip cauldron, vertebrae, eyeballs, spider cake, graveyard brownies, and witch's brew.
I went over the top with my costume. I was Cruella DeVil. Naturally, my husband was my dalmation. Our guests arrived. We had the Black Widow and her corpse husband. Black and white stripped inmate with his Police Officer wife. Orange County jumpsuit inmate and his abused wife. King Tut and Nefertiti. Doctor Evil and his trampy sidekicks. A clown, an empty roll of toilet paper, a ghost, Mother Nature, Big Breasted Naughty Nurse Nancy, two Army helicopter pilots. A Cowboy and his Indian wife. A very large muscular black man came as an Army wife, complete with short black dress, stockings, heels, cropped curly blonde wig and an Army wife handbook. I don't think I ever laughed quite as hard as I did when he arrived. We also had a witch, a couple of pumpkins and the killer from Scream. Another Halloween and another great party where everyone had a terrific time.
This year, the year of the deployment, was a bit different. Without my husband and all the husbands of my friends, a party just didn't appeal to me. Really, who wants to come to a Halloween party without their significant other? So, most of my Halloween items stayed in the boxes. I did bring a few things out and shared my costumes with some other folks who needed them to dress up at the elementary school.
This year I made a new friend. She's from Ukraine and has never celebrated Halloween. She had never carved a pumpkin and had never experienced Trick-or-Treat. It is difficult explaining Trick-or-Treat to someone who has no knowledge of the event.
"What if you don't have candy?" she asked.
"You have candy. You must have candy."
"What if you run out?"
"You don't run out. Some folks do, but that's frowned upon. You do what you can to make sure you don't run out."
"What do they dress up as?"
"Anything they want."
"Why?"
"Uhhh, because."
I finally gave up and told her she would have to carve pumpkins at my house and spend Halloween with me and experience Trick-or-Treat first hand. See, in our military community, every child comes to my neighborhood to Trick-or-Treat. Never in my whole life have I seen so many Trick-or-Treaters. Literally hundreds. They line up five to ten people deep at the door waiting for their turn. I have a large cauldron that I use for the Halloween candy. Last year I went through two cauldrons full of candy. I started to panic. Luckily, I had some Halloween pencils on hand and had just enough to get me through the alloted 2-hour Trick-or-Treat time. This year, I was better prepared. I had tons of candy, plus Halloween pencils, plus Halloween theme toys. And believe me, I needed every bit of it.
My friend, Svita, carved her first pumpkin a week before Trick-or-Treat. I know she was pleased because when she had finished, my daughter and I were still working on ours, she asked if we needed any help. I gave her another pumpkin and she nearly squealed with delight. She got creative too. She turned a scar on the pumpkin into an eye patch. Very clever.
When it came time for the Trick-or-Treaters, Svita came to my house with no idea of what to expect. She had dressed in nice clothes wanting to present herself the best she could. Well, we ended up sitting outside because the stream of children is non-stop. As it was cold, I gave her a Mexican blanket to wrap up in. Then, I had a brilliant idea. I got her a sombrero and she instantly turned into a stereotypical Mexican on siesta.
During the furious endeavor to put candy in the ever open bags of Trick-or-Treaters, Svita giggled to herself. I also delighted in the wonderful costumes and festive mood. By the time it finally ended, three cauldrons of goodies later, Svita was tickled with this Halloween tradition. I think I have converted another.
Happy Halloween!!!!
The first costume I got my husband into was King Neptune. I was a mermaid. The event was a silent auction with the theme of Under The Sea. My sweet husband proclaimed that he had been mislead because he and I were the only ones dressed up. Actually, I had never said it was a costume ball type event. We were the living decorations for the evening.
Halloween was just a few days later. I threw a great party and invited our close friends. My husband is such a good sport about dressing-up. That year, he put on tights and a green puffy shirt. He was my Robin Hood to my Maid Marion. I have to admit we looked fantastic. Anthony and Cleopatra were there. A Bad-Ass Biker came with his wife, Charlotte's Web. By pure coincidence, two Priests showed up with their trampy Catholic School Girls. The White Trash Couple came as did a Giant Pink Fairy. There was a Pirate and a Dominatrix. Naughty Nurse and Dirty Old Man were there too. Everyone had a wonderful time.
The next year, we were living in Kansas. I planned a Grand Halloween Party. Because so many people were invited and we had such tiny quarters, I decided to go with an open house format. The food had improved from the prior year. I got more into the holiday. I served jello shot brain, fingers, witch's cheese-dip cauldron, snake sandwich and Frankenstein cups. It looked wonderfully yummy. Kirby, still willing to wear a costume, donned a Court Jester outfit complete with jingle bells on the floppy hat. I was a sexy story-book witch.
Throughout the evening, several reverse couples came. The husband came as the woman and the wife came as the man. I can only imagine the conversation at the store when a rather large, beefy man asked for a pair of size 12 pumps. Dilbert arrived with his witch wife. A couple arrived wearing togas. We had hippies, construction workers, Minnie Mouse, and a fantastic Old Folks couple. The Wicked Witch showed up with her husband, Dorothy. Everyone had such a wonderful time that once they arrived, they didn't leave. The open house theme turned into a jam-packed party.
The Halloween after that was spent in Heidelberg,Germany. It wasn't just any old Halloween filled with passing out candy to Trick-or-Treaters. We spent that year's holiday at Frankenstein's Castle in Darmstadt. Mary Shelley had visited the castle ruins and was so moved by the experience that she created the story, Frankenstein.
Today, the castle is nearly gone. There is a couryard, a small bridge, some walls, a staircase and a tower remaining. The folks who run the castle have done a tremendous job at keeping Frankenstein alive. One can also enjoy murder mystery dinner theater there as well as a wedding reception.
The good folks at the castle celebrate Halloween with a two-week long haunted house. It is nothing like any haunted house I have ever attended. When walking up the dark roadway approaching the castle entrance, visitors notice the ambulance parked at he gate plus several medical personnel walking about. This is a precautionary measure as some people become so frightened they might have a heart-attack.
Visitors enter the castle grounds in mass. No lines here. Crossing the arched bridge, it become obvious the idea behind this haunted house is a free-roaming tour of the grounds. And monsters galore. Every possible scary monster, demon, beast and nightmare are present and lurking about. They approach visitors and follow visitors and even corner visitors. Any indication of fear is an invitation to the creatures. They torment the frightened and some are compelled to gently touch the weary. And a brief mention of the costumes. SPECTACULAR! They aren't your five and dime store cheap costumes. They are the genuine article up to the best Hollywood modern day standard of theatrical make-up. The best I've ever seen. It's readily apparent the money earned from ticket sales is put back into the make-up and costumes.
The following year, we had moved, again and now were in Schweinfurt, Germany. I decided to throw my traditional Halloween party. Several decorations had been added to my ever growing Halloween box and I now had three very large and well-stuffed containers of Halloween costumes/decorations to choose from. I even expanded my Halloween food items. I served the witch's cheese-dip cauldron, vertebrae, eyeballs, spider cake, graveyard brownies, and witch's brew.
I went over the top with my costume. I was Cruella DeVil. Naturally, my husband was my dalmation. Our guests arrived. We had the Black Widow and her corpse husband. Black and white stripped inmate with his Police Officer wife. Orange County jumpsuit inmate and his abused wife. King Tut and Nefertiti. Doctor Evil and his trampy sidekicks. A clown, an empty roll of toilet paper, a ghost, Mother Nature, Big Breasted Naughty Nurse Nancy, two Army helicopter pilots. A Cowboy and his Indian wife. A very large muscular black man came as an Army wife, complete with short black dress, stockings, heels, cropped curly blonde wig and an Army wife handbook. I don't think I ever laughed quite as hard as I did when he arrived. We also had a witch, a couple of pumpkins and the killer from Scream. Another Halloween and another great party where everyone had a terrific time.
This year, the year of the deployment, was a bit different. Without my husband and all the husbands of my friends, a party just didn't appeal to me. Really, who wants to come to a Halloween party without their significant other? So, most of my Halloween items stayed in the boxes. I did bring a few things out and shared my costumes with some other folks who needed them to dress up at the elementary school.
This year I made a new friend. She's from Ukraine and has never celebrated Halloween. She had never carved a pumpkin and had never experienced Trick-or-Treat. It is difficult explaining Trick-or-Treat to someone who has no knowledge of the event.
"What if you don't have candy?" she asked.
"You have candy. You must have candy."
"What if you run out?"
"You don't run out. Some folks do, but that's frowned upon. You do what you can to make sure you don't run out."
"What do they dress up as?"
"Anything they want."
"Why?"
"Uhhh, because."
I finally gave up and told her she would have to carve pumpkins at my house and spend Halloween with me and experience Trick-or-Treat first hand. See, in our military community, every child comes to my neighborhood to Trick-or-Treat. Never in my whole life have I seen so many Trick-or-Treaters. Literally hundreds. They line up five to ten people deep at the door waiting for their turn. I have a large cauldron that I use for the Halloween candy. Last year I went through two cauldrons full of candy. I started to panic. Luckily, I had some Halloween pencils on hand and had just enough to get me through the alloted 2-hour Trick-or-Treat time. This year, I was better prepared. I had tons of candy, plus Halloween pencils, plus Halloween theme toys. And believe me, I needed every bit of it.
My friend, Svita, carved her first pumpkin a week before Trick-or-Treat. I know she was pleased because when she had finished, my daughter and I were still working on ours, she asked if we needed any help. I gave her another pumpkin and she nearly squealed with delight. She got creative too. She turned a scar on the pumpkin into an eye patch. Very clever.
When it came time for the Trick-or-Treaters, Svita came to my house with no idea of what to expect. She had dressed in nice clothes wanting to present herself the best she could. Well, we ended up sitting outside because the stream of children is non-stop. As it was cold, I gave her a Mexican blanket to wrap up in. Then, I had a brilliant idea. I got her a sombrero and she instantly turned into a stereotypical Mexican on siesta.
During the furious endeavor to put candy in the ever open bags of Trick-or-Treaters, Svita giggled to herself. I also delighted in the wonderful costumes and festive mood. By the time it finally ended, three cauldrons of goodies later, Svita was tickled with this Halloween tradition. I think I have converted another.
Happy Halloween!!!!
Saturday, October 23, 2004
More is More
Back in January 2001, I started monitoring my weight and body fat. At 130 pounds and 18% body fat, I thought I looked pretty good. I worked-out on a regular basis with my husband and I was comfortable in a swimming suit. I even actively participated in water aerobics and got a job as a lifeguard. Unfortunately, all that was to change.
When we moved to Germany, the swimming and water aerobics ended. The military post in Heidelberg does not have a pool. The closest thing to a pool in the German community is a water park of sorts. It's possible to play in a wave pool or water jog in a whirlpool. Swimming laps while dodging splashing children is impossible. So, to compensate, I spent more time in the gym and increased my cardio work-out. I maintained my appearance fairly well, but noticed the numbers on the scale begin to rise.
Shortly after moving to Schweinfurt in July 2003, I was still comfortable enough with my appearance that I did something I never would have done had I felt on the larger side. I posed for very tasteful artsy type photographs. I can't say I was please with the results. Some photos were better than others and some where just yuck. However, my husband liked them and that's all that mattered.
But, that body disappeared. In January 2004, I started a notebook to record my weight and body fat. My initial measurement was 135.5 pounds and 23.2% body fat. Yikes! What happened to the slim trim swimmer of 18% body fat? Each month, I record another measurement. For the most part, there was little fluctuation in weight and body fat.
In late January, I had surgery and had my ovaries removed. It's amazing what happens to the female body when there no more estrogen is being produced. The hot flashes were terrible. My children complained the house was too cold and begged me to close the windows. I have to admit, it was cold for normal people. So I only kept the windows in my bedroom open. My room became the frozen tundra and you could see your breath. Yet, I only wore shorts and t-shirts and still was a hot sweaty mess. The first few months after surgery, I had to change my sheets at least twice a week because of the night sweats. Sleep was difficult as I frequently woke up because of the sweat dribbling down my face and neck. In a word, YUCK. Luckily, my husband didn't have to experience the initial stages of forced menopause as he was in Iraq dealing with his own issues.
By April, I began to notice that my pants didn't quite fit properly. I was perplexed as I had been working out and eating in typical fashion. Nothing wanting to obsess over it, I kept on doing my normal thing until summer.
Summer vacation plus a week in Greece and a week in London equals extra pounds. Vacation pounds usually melt away quickly after returning to the daily grind. But, in my case, this didn't happen. Those pounds stayed and multiplied.
By September 27, I weighed 144 pounds and was over 24% body fat. Thoroughly disgusted with myself, I hit the gym. My husband had returned home on R&R and we spent most of the time in the gym. He pushed me to lift more weight and more reps. Okay, I agreed to do whatever necessary to get ride of the post surgery/no estrogen/vacation pounds. He advised me to eat a small meal every three hours and eat more protein. Okay, I complied.
During the two weeks he was home, I lost one pound. Yep, only 1 pound. Once he left to return to Iraq, I kept up the work-out schedule and even started running more. I ended up losing three additional pounds rather quickly. I was pleased with my progress.
Where do I find myself today?
More. That's where. I work-out more. I lift more weight. I complete more reps. I do more lunges than I ever imagined I would. I do more versions of lunges, which cause much more pain. My body hurts more. I eat more frequently. No more three meals a day. I have 6 snack size meals a day. One of those is a smoothy that contains more protein than a turkey sandwhich. All of this and I have gained a pound. I now weigh 141 pounds. Okay, you would think this isn't so bad because it should be muscle weight. Alas, not for me. All this more has added up to MORE body fat. As of this morning I am 25.5% body fat. On my hips, butt, thighs, and upper arms I am carrying around 36 pounds of pure fat! Is is possible to be more discouraged than I am now? I think not.
When we moved to Germany, the swimming and water aerobics ended. The military post in Heidelberg does not have a pool. The closest thing to a pool in the German community is a water park of sorts. It's possible to play in a wave pool or water jog in a whirlpool. Swimming laps while dodging splashing children is impossible. So, to compensate, I spent more time in the gym and increased my cardio work-out. I maintained my appearance fairly well, but noticed the numbers on the scale begin to rise.
Shortly after moving to Schweinfurt in July 2003, I was still comfortable enough with my appearance that I did something I never would have done had I felt on the larger side. I posed for very tasteful artsy type photographs. I can't say I was please with the results. Some photos were better than others and some where just yuck. However, my husband liked them and that's all that mattered.
But, that body disappeared. In January 2004, I started a notebook to record my weight and body fat. My initial measurement was 135.5 pounds and 23.2% body fat. Yikes! What happened to the slim trim swimmer of 18% body fat? Each month, I record another measurement. For the most part, there was little fluctuation in weight and body fat.
In late January, I had surgery and had my ovaries removed. It's amazing what happens to the female body when there no more estrogen is being produced. The hot flashes were terrible. My children complained the house was too cold and begged me to close the windows. I have to admit, it was cold for normal people. So I only kept the windows in my bedroom open. My room became the frozen tundra and you could see your breath. Yet, I only wore shorts and t-shirts and still was a hot sweaty mess. The first few months after surgery, I had to change my sheets at least twice a week because of the night sweats. Sleep was difficult as I frequently woke up because of the sweat dribbling down my face and neck. In a word, YUCK. Luckily, my husband didn't have to experience the initial stages of forced menopause as he was in Iraq dealing with his own issues.
By April, I began to notice that my pants didn't quite fit properly. I was perplexed as I had been working out and eating in typical fashion. Nothing wanting to obsess over it, I kept on doing my normal thing until summer.
Summer vacation plus a week in Greece and a week in London equals extra pounds. Vacation pounds usually melt away quickly after returning to the daily grind. But, in my case, this didn't happen. Those pounds stayed and multiplied.
By September 27, I weighed 144 pounds and was over 24% body fat. Thoroughly disgusted with myself, I hit the gym. My husband had returned home on R&R and we spent most of the time in the gym. He pushed me to lift more weight and more reps. Okay, I agreed to do whatever necessary to get ride of the post surgery/no estrogen/vacation pounds. He advised me to eat a small meal every three hours and eat more protein. Okay, I complied.
During the two weeks he was home, I lost one pound. Yep, only 1 pound. Once he left to return to Iraq, I kept up the work-out schedule and even started running more. I ended up losing three additional pounds rather quickly. I was pleased with my progress.
Where do I find myself today?
More. That's where. I work-out more. I lift more weight. I complete more reps. I do more lunges than I ever imagined I would. I do more versions of lunges, which cause much more pain. My body hurts more. I eat more frequently. No more three meals a day. I have 6 snack size meals a day. One of those is a smoothy that contains more protein than a turkey sandwhich. All of this and I have gained a pound. I now weigh 141 pounds. Okay, you would think this isn't so bad because it should be muscle weight. Alas, not for me. All this more has added up to MORE body fat. As of this morning I am 25.5% body fat. On my hips, butt, thighs, and upper arms I am carrying around 36 pounds of pure fat! Is is possible to be more discouraged than I am now? I think not.
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
A Cornucopia of Thoughts
On my way home from the gym, I thought about posting comments about GYM JERKS. Then, I turned on the television and was sucked into the remade movie of Brian's Song. That spun up all kinds of thoughts I was compelled to post. As I sat down at the computer, I opened my email and discovered I was accepted to allow advertisements to be displayed on my blog.
Yep, I sold out for cash. Hopefully, you will notice an advertisement at the bottom of the page. Each time you clic on it, you help support this page. As the current readers of this page, I strongly encourage you to help a girl out and clic away.
Anyway, back to the gym jerk. So there I was, using the giant exercise ball and a foot rack to do multiple sets of sit-ups. In between sets, I walked about 5 yards away to the hanging station to do the abdominal leg lifts. Keep in mind, my water bottle, towel and workout gloves remained next to the giant exercise ball. Wouldn't you know, some jerk and his workout partner plopped themselves right down on the mat and kicked my exercise ball away. Completely ignoring my "saved" space. Come on, people. My water bottle and sweat towel are clearly reserving that space. So, I kindly asked if I could trade them spaces. I didn't think this was too much to ask because there was a second mat for them to sit on and do there doubles sit-ups. That led to a big discussion about how the particular mat my giant exercise ball had been on is thicker than the other mat and his tailbone rubs the ground the wrong way. What? I only had 20 more sit-ups to do. I spent more time convincing them to move than it would have taken me to do the damn sit-ups in the first place. Then, the gym jerk commented that I was spending too much time talking to folks in the gym rather than working out. How dare he?!? Just for your information, I was discussing the finer points of alternative lunges with another woman. We certainly weren't exchanging recipes or stain removal techniques. Obviously he doesn't read Women's Health magazine. It matter-of-factly states that women prefer socialized exercise. Yes, I do enjoy talking while at the gym, but I'm not there for social hour. For goodness sakes. Would discussing lunges techniques with a personal trainer or even the gym jerk himself cramp his style enough to kick my giant exercise ball off the mat? Reviewing gym etiquette might do him some good.
Now for Brian's Song. I remember watching the original version way back when I was in elementary school. It was just too sad and I had to cry, and cry, and cry. Personally, it was much too emotional for elementary school children. Since that painfully sad day I have never watched the film in its entirety. If I happened to stumble upon it as I flip through the channels, I quickly passed it by. It's simply too, too sad.
The remake with the fellow from ER is just as sad. Big crocodile tears streamed down my face and I asked myself, "Why am I watching this?" I knew it would make me cry and yet there I was trapped and suffering through it. In the final few minutes of the film, Brian tells his wife he loves her. He cries as he says it over and over and over. Watching it through the tears, I wanted to tell my husband that I love him. But, I can't, at least not tonight. He's in Iraq.
While he was home on R&R, I made sure to tell him I love him about a million times a day. It's important for me to tell him and it's important for him to hear it. There is no way he can even suspect that he's not the most loved man on the planet. On the occassions when he is able to call, it's the first thing I say to him. I want to make sure he hears it before the phone cuts out. I also write it in every email and letter I send to him. I even write it all over the outside of any care package I send to him.
The best advice I can give is to live your life as if each day were your last and let those you love know it.
Big hugs to all,
Kelly
Yep, I sold out for cash. Hopefully, you will notice an advertisement at the bottom of the page. Each time you clic on it, you help support this page. As the current readers of this page, I strongly encourage you to help a girl out and clic away.
Anyway, back to the gym jerk. So there I was, using the giant exercise ball and a foot rack to do multiple sets of sit-ups. In between sets, I walked about 5 yards away to the hanging station to do the abdominal leg lifts. Keep in mind, my water bottle, towel and workout gloves remained next to the giant exercise ball. Wouldn't you know, some jerk and his workout partner plopped themselves right down on the mat and kicked my exercise ball away. Completely ignoring my "saved" space. Come on, people. My water bottle and sweat towel are clearly reserving that space. So, I kindly asked if I could trade them spaces. I didn't think this was too much to ask because there was a second mat for them to sit on and do there doubles sit-ups. That led to a big discussion about how the particular mat my giant exercise ball had been on is thicker than the other mat and his tailbone rubs the ground the wrong way. What? I only had 20 more sit-ups to do. I spent more time convincing them to move than it would have taken me to do the damn sit-ups in the first place. Then, the gym jerk commented that I was spending too much time talking to folks in the gym rather than working out. How dare he?!? Just for your information, I was discussing the finer points of alternative lunges with another woman. We certainly weren't exchanging recipes or stain removal techniques. Obviously he doesn't read Women's Health magazine. It matter-of-factly states that women prefer socialized exercise. Yes, I do enjoy talking while at the gym, but I'm not there for social hour. For goodness sakes. Would discussing lunges techniques with a personal trainer or even the gym jerk himself cramp his style enough to kick my giant exercise ball off the mat? Reviewing gym etiquette might do him some good.
Now for Brian's Song. I remember watching the original version way back when I was in elementary school. It was just too sad and I had to cry, and cry, and cry. Personally, it was much too emotional for elementary school children. Since that painfully sad day I have never watched the film in its entirety. If I happened to stumble upon it as I flip through the channels, I quickly passed it by. It's simply too, too sad.
The remake with the fellow from ER is just as sad. Big crocodile tears streamed down my face and I asked myself, "Why am I watching this?" I knew it would make me cry and yet there I was trapped and suffering through it. In the final few minutes of the film, Brian tells his wife he loves her. He cries as he says it over and over and over. Watching it through the tears, I wanted to tell my husband that I love him. But, I can't, at least not tonight. He's in Iraq.
While he was home on R&R, I made sure to tell him I love him about a million times a day. It's important for me to tell him and it's important for him to hear it. There is no way he can even suspect that he's not the most loved man on the planet. On the occassions when he is able to call, it's the first thing I say to him. I want to make sure he hears it before the phone cuts out. I also write it in every email and letter I send to him. I even write it all over the outside of any care package I send to him.
The best advice I can give is to live your life as if each day were your last and let those you love know it.
Big hugs to all,
Kelly
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Continuing the Deployment
This morning at 0416, I kissed my husband good-bye. That last kiss was so soft and warm and full of love. It has to last for the next four months. As soon as he turned to walk toward the bus that would take him to the airport, I felt that ripped apart empty feeling and started sobbing. I'm not talking a few tears. I'm talking gut-wrenching sobbing. The kind that hurts all the way down to the bone.
The first time my super wonderful husband deployed (March 2003), he was gone for four months. The second deployment (February 2004) was to be for a year. It was a long and lonely eight months before he was able to come home on R&R. We shared 16 amazing days together. But for a few hours here and there, I remained by his side. That man is my anchor. Alas, all good things must come to an end and he had to depart again for Iraq. If everything goes according to plan (which somehow never seems to happen when operating within the military time-table) I shall be able to embrace my precious man again sometime in the spring of 2005.
These deployments are such a test of inner-strength and character. Military spouses are forced to cope with a plethora of challenges. Long-term separation is just one of them.
Shortly after 1st Infantry Division left Germany for Iraq, I sat down at the computer and wrote about the emotions swelling within me reflected by the tension building within my community. Personally, I thought the result was pretty good. I shared it with some other wives and they agreed with the sentiments. Eventually, the good folks in Golden, Colorado (my home away from home) requested an insider's view-point about the going-ons in Irag and the impact on the families of the soldiers. I sent in what I had written. I was please to see my words appeared in the Heart of Golden Newsletter. The response I received was overwhelming.
I wanted to post it here. Hopefully, folks outside of Golden, Colorado will read it and perhaps a few eyes will be opened about what it means to love a soldier.
"DEPLOYMENT AND THE ONES LEFT BEHIND"
Baghdad. Tikrit. Fallujah. What do these words mean? As an Army wife, these words are much more than cities in Iraq. These words mean a long-term separation from my husband. These words mean rearing two children alone. These words mean yet another anniversary at a table for one. These words mean a Father’s Day without a father. These words mean a community reduced by more than a third practically overnight.
These words also mean fear. The fear of “What if?” What if today is the day I answer my doorbell and discover an Army Chaplain and a Commander waiting to tell me my husband will not be coming home? What if the news isn’t that my husband was killed, but rather severely injured? What if today my best friend opens her door to greet a Chaplain and Commander? These are thoughts that although aren’t consciously entertained, they lurk in the dark recesses of the minds of military spouses.
The differences between military and civilian families are many. Recently, one of those differences was noticed by my 14 year old daughter. The television show Survivor is a favorite in our household. On a recent episode, the players became emotionally overwhelmed at the possibility that after 28/29 days they might win the opportunity to spend some time with a loved one. My daughter looked at me and said, “Come on. Thirty days away from their family? That’s just a training exercise.” She was absolutely correct. These players were beside themselves with tears and sobs after a mere four weeks. Try four months.
Four months. That’s how long my husband was in Iraq last year. He returned just long enough to pack up our household and move to another post and job assignment. Once there, he received word that he would deploy with the new unit in seven months. That seven months was not seven months of going to work at 8 o’clock and coming home at 6 o’clock. That seven months was a week in the field here, a month in the field there, a week away here and a month gone there. The time in garrison (at home) still was not a regular work day schedule. Off to work by 0600 (6 a.m.) for PT (physical training), maybe some time off for a lunch break, back to work, maybe some time off for a dinner break or call home to have dinner brought to work, and maybe, just maybe be home by 2100 (9 p.m.). All of this hard work and dedication was rewarded with two weeks of leave time in December to enjoy before deploying for a year.
In two years time, my husband has been deployed twice. The reality of it is that I am not the only wife who has had to say good-bye this often. There are hundreds if not thousands of wives who have been separated from their husbands more than they’ve been with their husbands. Just the other day, I spoke to an Army wife of three years. Her husband has been deployed and/or in the field for 30 months of their marriage. Being married to the military means reaching deep down inside yourself and gathering up all your inner strength and telling yourself that everything will be okay. A military spouse is the definition of independence. A military spouse is resourceful. To borrow military phraseology, a military spouse must improvise, adapt and overcome. As a group, we get through each deployment a bit stronger, a bit braver and a bit more resilient. And when the news of yet another training exercise and/or deployment comes, we remind ourselves that we love our soldiers and everything that they do and everything we do is worth it. Freedom isn’t free. It comes at a greater cost than most people can ever imagine.
---06 May 2004-----
The first time my super wonderful husband deployed (March 2003), he was gone for four months. The second deployment (February 2004) was to be for a year. It was a long and lonely eight months before he was able to come home on R&R. We shared 16 amazing days together. But for a few hours here and there, I remained by his side. That man is my anchor. Alas, all good things must come to an end and he had to depart again for Iraq. If everything goes according to plan (which somehow never seems to happen when operating within the military time-table) I shall be able to embrace my precious man again sometime in the spring of 2005.
These deployments are such a test of inner-strength and character. Military spouses are forced to cope with a plethora of challenges. Long-term separation is just one of them.
Shortly after 1st Infantry Division left Germany for Iraq, I sat down at the computer and wrote about the emotions swelling within me reflected by the tension building within my community. Personally, I thought the result was pretty good. I shared it with some other wives and they agreed with the sentiments. Eventually, the good folks in Golden, Colorado (my home away from home) requested an insider's view-point about the going-ons in Irag and the impact on the families of the soldiers. I sent in what I had written. I was please to see my words appeared in the Heart of Golden Newsletter. The response I received was overwhelming.
I wanted to post it here. Hopefully, folks outside of Golden, Colorado will read it and perhaps a few eyes will be opened about what it means to love a soldier.
"DEPLOYMENT AND THE ONES LEFT BEHIND"
Baghdad. Tikrit. Fallujah. What do these words mean? As an Army wife, these words are much more than cities in Iraq. These words mean a long-term separation from my husband. These words mean rearing two children alone. These words mean yet another anniversary at a table for one. These words mean a Father’s Day without a father. These words mean a community reduced by more than a third practically overnight.
These words also mean fear. The fear of “What if?” What if today is the day I answer my doorbell and discover an Army Chaplain and a Commander waiting to tell me my husband will not be coming home? What if the news isn’t that my husband was killed, but rather severely injured? What if today my best friend opens her door to greet a Chaplain and Commander? These are thoughts that although aren’t consciously entertained, they lurk in the dark recesses of the minds of military spouses.
The differences between military and civilian families are many. Recently, one of those differences was noticed by my 14 year old daughter. The television show Survivor is a favorite in our household. On a recent episode, the players became emotionally overwhelmed at the possibility that after 28/29 days they might win the opportunity to spend some time with a loved one. My daughter looked at me and said, “Come on. Thirty days away from their family? That’s just a training exercise.” She was absolutely correct. These players were beside themselves with tears and sobs after a mere four weeks. Try four months.
Four months. That’s how long my husband was in Iraq last year. He returned just long enough to pack up our household and move to another post and job assignment. Once there, he received word that he would deploy with the new unit in seven months. That seven months was not seven months of going to work at 8 o’clock and coming home at 6 o’clock. That seven months was a week in the field here, a month in the field there, a week away here and a month gone there. The time in garrison (at home) still was not a regular work day schedule. Off to work by 0600 (6 a.m.) for PT (physical training), maybe some time off for a lunch break, back to work, maybe some time off for a dinner break or call home to have dinner brought to work, and maybe, just maybe be home by 2100 (9 p.m.). All of this hard work and dedication was rewarded with two weeks of leave time in December to enjoy before deploying for a year.
In two years time, my husband has been deployed twice. The reality of it is that I am not the only wife who has had to say good-bye this often. There are hundreds if not thousands of wives who have been separated from their husbands more than they’ve been with their husbands. Just the other day, I spoke to an Army wife of three years. Her husband has been deployed and/or in the field for 30 months of their marriage. Being married to the military means reaching deep down inside yourself and gathering up all your inner strength and telling yourself that everything will be okay. A military spouse is the definition of independence. A military spouse is resourceful. To borrow military phraseology, a military spouse must improvise, adapt and overcome. As a group, we get through each deployment a bit stronger, a bit braver and a bit more resilient. And when the news of yet another training exercise and/or deployment comes, we remind ourselves that we love our soldiers and everything that they do and everything we do is worth it. Freedom isn’t free. It comes at a greater cost than most people can ever imagine.
---06 May 2004-----
Monday, October 11, 2004
Using my free time
Having my super spectacular husband home for the last two weeks has been simply wonderful. He has taken so much pressure off of me that it's hard to believe that I was as stressed as I was. Having to parent every day, all day is extremely exhausting. Having a partner to deal with some of the challenges of teenagers is a God send. To put it mildly, it really does take two parents to rear children.
Granted, my children aren't running around smoking pot, injecting heroin, breaking into people's homes and stealing cars. But, they are a handful none-the-less. The ability of teenagers to be completely selfish is so understated in all the child development books. I truly wish that when they marry and have children of their own, they have children just like they are. That way, my fabulous husband and I can sit back and laugh at their misery.
Have I mentioned how wonderful my husband is? Well, Mr. Wonderful is out and about with our two children today. They are having some much needed alone time together. Just father and offspring. This opportunity allows the children to enjoy the time with their father and it gives him an opportunity to instill some of the same messages that I have been diligently trying to engrain into their heads. Perhaps if both parents say the same thing, they will grasp that we aren't just making stuff up as we go along. This outing also provides me with some alone time. Naturally, I have used it to post on the blog and to play computer games. What I really should be doing is creating.
Just the other day, I received in the mail, my assignment #1 back. I have to use the character I developed in #1 to draft a 750-1000 word fictional tale. Late at night, when I'm trying to fall asleep seems to be the most opportune time for my brain to kick into overdrive and full steam ahead with plot development. That and a little help from some ideas I found in a book called The Writer's Block. There are some great ideas in that book. I have not yet started the project, but I have thought about it. I have a good start forming in my head. It'll be enough to give life to the blank piece of paper. I just hope that the story can tell itself within the word limit.
Granted, my children aren't running around smoking pot, injecting heroin, breaking into people's homes and stealing cars. But, they are a handful none-the-less. The ability of teenagers to be completely selfish is so understated in all the child development books. I truly wish that when they marry and have children of their own, they have children just like they are. That way, my fabulous husband and I can sit back and laugh at their misery.
Have I mentioned how wonderful my husband is? Well, Mr. Wonderful is out and about with our two children today. They are having some much needed alone time together. Just father and offspring. This opportunity allows the children to enjoy the time with their father and it gives him an opportunity to instill some of the same messages that I have been diligently trying to engrain into their heads. Perhaps if both parents say the same thing, they will grasp that we aren't just making stuff up as we go along. This outing also provides me with some alone time. Naturally, I have used it to post on the blog and to play computer games. What I really should be doing is creating.
Just the other day, I received in the mail, my assignment #1 back. I have to use the character I developed in #1 to draft a 750-1000 word fictional tale. Late at night, when I'm trying to fall asleep seems to be the most opportune time for my brain to kick into overdrive and full steam ahead with plot development. That and a little help from some ideas I found in a book called The Writer's Block. There are some great ideas in that book. I have not yet started the project, but I have thought about it. I have a good start forming in my head. It'll be enough to give life to the blank piece of paper. I just hope that the story can tell itself within the word limit.
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Can it get any better?
I have found a few moments by myself. My husband, Mr. Spectacular, is off purchasing a Homecoming Dress with our daughter. I chose to stay behind to give them a chance to have some alone time together. That and I had NO desire to go on this particular shopping mission. Having seized some alone time for myself, I decided to reminisce about the day my husband arrived home on R&R.
I woke bright and early on the morning of the 29th of September. I was up and ready long before the sun. This first order of business was to call staff duty at 0535. They advised the plane had landed safely in Frankfurt, Germany and the transport bus was on its way. The estimated time of arrival: 0600.
I arrived at battalion headquarters at approximately 0545 and patiently waited for the bus. It finally showed up at 0610. Usually, I can't spot my husband in a crowd of soldiers because they all look alike, but on this particular morning, I spotted him. I eagerly waited for him to sign some paperwork and collect his bag from the cargo hold of the bus. The four or five minutes I stood there waiting seemed like forever. I just wanted to run to him and squeeze him with kisses. But, I had to maintain control and wait.
Let me just say, the wait was worth it. YIPPIE!!
So, later that morning, we drove up to Wurzburg and visited with the BMW folks. After a test drive and a few decisions regarding options, we bought a MINI Cooper S for me! Right now the order is for a red MINI with white roof, mirrors and bonnet racing stripes. The decision on the color is bothering my husband. He has asked several times since the 29th if I am sure I really want the red. Wouldn't I be happier with the green? I have suggested that the color of the car isn't a deal breaker and that if he really wants to change the color, we certainly can do that. However, I reminded him, Kansas City Chiefs door panel logos wouldn't look as good on a green car. He agreed.
You would think that getting my husband home after EIGHT VERY LONG AND LONELY months plus buying my favorite car would be enough. I thought the day was moving along quite nicely. Ah ha, but wait, there's more.
During a check of my email, I opened a message containg the best news. True Story magazine wants to purchase and publish one of my stories!!! I let out a whoop of joy that lasted a whole 10 minutes. I have been trying for over two years to get something published. I have kept all of the rejection letters I have received during that time in a notebook. That notebook is bulging. Naturally, I printed out the most wonderful email for framing along with a copy of the soon to be arriving check they are sending. Notice I said copy of the check. You're damn right I'm spending it. I earned it.
The only way to top the day would be if the Publisher Clearing House folks rang my doorbell and gave me a million dollars. Since I seriously doubt they would travel all the way to Germany to give me a million dollars, especially since I haven't filled out the entry form. So the million dollars; that's NOT going to happen.
It's all good, though. I don't need it. I'm happy enough right now.
I woke bright and early on the morning of the 29th of September. I was up and ready long before the sun. This first order of business was to call staff duty at 0535. They advised the plane had landed safely in Frankfurt, Germany and the transport bus was on its way. The estimated time of arrival: 0600.
I arrived at battalion headquarters at approximately 0545 and patiently waited for the bus. It finally showed up at 0610. Usually, I can't spot my husband in a crowd of soldiers because they all look alike, but on this particular morning, I spotted him. I eagerly waited for him to sign some paperwork and collect his bag from the cargo hold of the bus. The four or five minutes I stood there waiting seemed like forever. I just wanted to run to him and squeeze him with kisses. But, I had to maintain control and wait.
Let me just say, the wait was worth it. YIPPIE!!
So, later that morning, we drove up to Wurzburg and visited with the BMW folks. After a test drive and a few decisions regarding options, we bought a MINI Cooper S for me! Right now the order is for a red MINI with white roof, mirrors and bonnet racing stripes. The decision on the color is bothering my husband. He has asked several times since the 29th if I am sure I really want the red. Wouldn't I be happier with the green? I have suggested that the color of the car isn't a deal breaker and that if he really wants to change the color, we certainly can do that. However, I reminded him, Kansas City Chiefs door panel logos wouldn't look as good on a green car. He agreed.
You would think that getting my husband home after EIGHT VERY LONG AND LONELY months plus buying my favorite car would be enough. I thought the day was moving along quite nicely. Ah ha, but wait, there's more.
During a check of my email, I opened a message containg the best news. True Story magazine wants to purchase and publish one of my stories!!! I let out a whoop of joy that lasted a whole 10 minutes. I have been trying for over two years to get something published. I have kept all of the rejection letters I have received during that time in a notebook. That notebook is bulging. Naturally, I printed out the most wonderful email for framing along with a copy of the soon to be arriving check they are sending. Notice I said copy of the check. You're damn right I'm spending it. I earned it.
The only way to top the day would be if the Publisher Clearing House folks rang my doorbell and gave me a million dollars. Since I seriously doubt they would travel all the way to Germany to give me a million dollars, especially since I haven't filled out the entry form. So the million dollars; that's NOT going to happen.
It's all good, though. I don't need it. I'm happy enough right now.
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