Only Time

As I grow older, I realize just how foolish I was in my earlier years. I remember being 15 and thinking I knew everything. My parents, especially my mother, were so retarded. They didn't understand anything that I was experiencing.

By the time I was 18, I was ready to take on the world. I was an ADULT after all, and a registered voter. The world was mine for the taking. Then came college. That meant freedom. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I had no rules but my own. If I wanted to stay out all night, I could. If I wanted to consume many, many beers, I could. If I wanted to run around with "bad boys," I could. Then Chemistry 103.

Dr. Glanville, the needle to pop my fantasy bubble, loved "common knowledge" questions. These were questions that showed up on exams that were never discussed in lecture nor mentioned in the text. As the name implies, they were simply common knowledge. Everyone should know what acetylsalicyclic acid is. Apparently, I didn't know as much as I thought I did because I had no idea what the scientific name for aspirin is. The elemental make-up of the inside of the Alaskan Pipeline, even after all these years has evaded my common knowledge. As a result of my ignorance and inability to absorb chemistry, the 36% cumulative grade prior to the final exam slapped me in my honor roll face.

During college, all five years of it, I learned a bit more about life and the consequences of my actions. I began to realize that maybe I didn't know everything there was to know. The year after I graduated from college was a tremendous learning experience. With degree in hand and my whole life ahead of me, I packed my truck and drove across the United States. I ended up smack in the middle of Seattle, Washington and the height of the grunge scene. It was very cool.

Although I arrived in Seattle knowing not a soul, I did have a name and a phone number of a friend of a friend. Unfortunately, he was out of town when I rolled into town. I spent the first three days in a crappy hotel called "Candy Land." Before you ask, yes there were candy canes along the pathways and two giant ones crisscrossing right in front of the office door.

I could go on and on about the adventures enjoyed while in Seattle. Like the time some crazed home owner pulled out the shotgun, or the time when the crazy woman came into the bookstore where I worked, or the man who wanted to pay me $1000 to perform frottage, or the trip to Crater Lake, or the trip to Mt. Saint Helens, or, or, or. There were so many.

The point is that while living in Seattle in a mouse infested apartment, I learned that I wasn't the reason the sun rises and sets each day. I learned what it is really like to be broke and hungry.

After the best year of my life, I returned to Virginia and worked for the GOVERNMENT. I accepted a position as a Probation and Parole Officer. There are some crazy stories associated with that chapter of my life. Trust me when I say there are some very bad people in the world and sometimes ignorance is best.

During my power days, I was privy to the lives of some very unfortunate people. I saw how they lived every day. Some folks live and work in harsh environments. Life isn't always pretty. Sometimes life kicks you when you are down and then spits on you for good measure. There was this one fellow......but that's for another time.

Then the practice marriage, a cancer scare, three moves, a death and another death, a birth and a new man. He, the most wonderful man on the planet, my husband, came with two children and all the baggage associated with an ex-wife and an ugly divorce. Then, another health scare, a wedding, another move, and another move, and another move to a foreign country, a deployment, another health scare, another move and another deployment. Basically, life happened.

All of this life complete with the Wednesday night at 10:00 p.m. surprises that blindside you (My sister and I call them God's Pop Quizzes) resulted in the person I am today. Actually, I feel pretty good about myself (except for all the adipose tissue "FAT" building up on my body) and am enjoying life for what it is. I try not to take everything so seriously and have embraced the ability to life at certain situations where several years ago, I would have become angry.

The other day, I was sitting with a small group of twenty-something women. They were full of vigor and that I-Know-Everything-And-You-Can't-Tell-Me-What-To-Do attitude. Ah, I remember it fondly. I just sat there and smiled at them, laughing to myself. Oh, how little they know. There's just no reasoning with that mindset.

Then, I started thinking. Here I am at thirty-something and looking at these twenty-somethings and knowing they don't have a clue. I wonder, do forty-somethings look at me and think the same thing? I came to the conclusion that certainly they must. And with that, a burst of understanding, an epiphany, I am so looking forward to getting older. I want to come as close to self-acceptance as I can get. I want to be able to relax and enjoy the simply things in life. I want to appreciate all that I have taken for granted. I want to not worry so much about what people think. To me, it seems all those things come after time. I used to have negative connotations associated with aging, but not anymore. I think it will be wonderful.

Have a Nice Trip. See You Next Fall.

The most wonderful man in the world called me last night. As my husband has been moved forward (to Kuwait) he has been unable to use the computer or a telephone as regularly as he had while in Iraq. Not being able to open my email and see a message from my husband nearly every day is quite deflating. But not nearly as deflating as the one-two punch he delivered last night.

Not only will he not be coming home this week as anticipated, he just might be delayed longer than the previously thought latest date. POOH! I guess it's my own fault. I had gotten my hopes up.

Over this past weekend with anticipation of his immanent arrival, I washed all the blankets and sheets. I did laundry for two full days. My house is clean, clean, clean. When he came home for R&R back in October, one of the first things he did was check the inside of the refrigerator. Unfortunately, I hadn't been as diligent about the refrigerator shelves or drawers as he would have liked. So, this past weekend, I made sure to wash out the drawers. It's a good thing, too. Did you know that old lettuce becomes stronger than plaster when refrigerated for three months? And epoxy-glue has nothing on month old, dried on fruit juice.

My Superman also has this thing about ice cubes. He needs lots of them on hand. As ice is really no big deal to me, I have let the ice tray empty. That is something I cannot have my husband see after all this time in the desert. Making Ice was added to my son's task list.

I wanted everything just right for my husband. Nothing was going to side-track me. Unfortunately, something did. While carrying a giant load of laundry downstairs, I took a tumble. No, I wasn't barefoot nor was I wearing slippery socks. I had on rubber soled boots. But, there I was slip sliding down a spiral set of concrete stairs.

Ever heard Eddie Murphy talk about his Aunt Bunny? In his skit, he tells how she tries to brace herself as she takes a tumble down the stairs. Lots of wailing, "Oh, Lord, please help me!!" That poor woman. I know exactly how she felt.

On my way down, somehow my right leg twisted behind me and my heel whacked me on the head. The inside of my knee hit every stair. The rail did nothing to stop my fall. I think it added to the number of bruises on my body. I crash landed at the bottom of the steps (on the concrete basement floor) and just knew my leg was broken.

"OW! OW! OW! OW!" was all I could say for several minutes. Perhaps my children would rush to my aid. NO. Perhaps my faithful and loyal dogs would investigate the tremendous clatter. NO. I sat there, alone in my agony. I could barely move. Then, my stomach joined the act. I thought I would vomit. That's when I just knew I was in serious trouble. I was afraid to try to get up.

Eventually, I did. Amazingly, nothing was broken, but I sure was bent. It's been four days now, and I'm still having troubles walking. It's now to the point where it hurts to move after I've been stationary for a bit.

Thank goodness I didn't really brake my leg. It would have been a royal pain in the buttocks to have a full-leg cast and crutches hobbling around. Can you see me trying to walk three terriers on crutches? What a sight that would be.

What Really Matters?

Number one on my list "Things I Must Do Before I Die" is go on safari and see wildebeest in their natural habitat. As far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to go to the Serengeti, Masai Mara and Ngorogoro Crater. Thinking about Kenya and Tanzania brings a calm serenity to my heart. It would be a dream come true to be able to go. Being that I now live in Germany, Africa is that much closer.

I looked into the cost of a few safaris. There are several to Kenya, several to Tanzania, several to South Africa. Usually though, there were limitations to one country or another. I had faith that before our tour in Germany ended, the safari of a lifetime would reveal itself to me.

Because I want this to happen, I was motivated to find a job that would ease the expense of the trip. It has taken me three years of substitute teaching to finally save up enough money for my husband, the most wonderful man in the whole wide world and me to Africa. That's three years one year of substituting at a high school and two years in elementary school. One year of adolescent attitude and two years of small children with glue and glitter. I have even spent several days with the pre-K group. I like to call them "pee-pee pants" because that sometimes happens during nap time. In addition to substitute teaching, I worked for Installation Access Control making sure soldiers and their families as well as authorized visitors had the proper identification to be allowed onto post. I did all of this not because I had to, for I am lucky enough to be supported by a fabulous husband. I did it because I wanted to earn the travel money myself. I didn't want my husband or my family to go without for my life-long dream.

Africa...Africa...Africa...

Recently, I came across THE SAFARI. It is exactly the safari I have always wanted. It covers both Kenya and Tanzania and includes the three places I want to see before I die; Serengeti, Masai Mara, and Ngorogoro Crater. The price was just right. I even went so far as to run out and get vaccinated for Typhoid and hepatitis A. I still need Yellow Fever and Malaria. I even put aside extra money to pay for the individual visas needed to enter each country. This is it. This is AFRICA.

Now....while all of this is happening, my wonderful husband has been suffering with probably the worst case of hemorrhoids of all time. He has agonized in his private hell for as long as I have known him, usually silently. On occasion when the flare up is particularly severe, he casually mentions his discomfort to me. His being in Iraq under stress and existing on a diet of MREs and mess hall food hasn't help his situation much.

His R&R time could have been more relaxing, but his hiney hole wouldn't let up. Instead of hanging out at home or receiving a massage at the local spa, my husband was in a doctors office bent over an exam table. When the doctor saw the extent of my husband's reason for scheduling the appointment, he exclaimed, "Holy Smokes! No wonder you are uncomfortable!"

The doctor advised my husband to immediately schedule an appointment for surgery and rectify the problem. My husband's only question was, "Can I be well enough recovered to go back to Iraq in a week?"

The doctor shook his head. To which my amazing husband responded, "Well then, I'll have to wait until I come back in the spring." That's a man. He chose to return to Iraq and continue the good fight even though he could have had the surgery to save his hiney hole from falling off delaying his return by 10 days at most.

So now, time for his return draws near. The returning soldiers are allotted a brief period of time to re-integrate back into the community before being allowed to take leave. The clock starts ticking when they physically return to Schweinfurt. This is all good, but for those returning later than the main body, their time gets pinched in the end. Everybody has to be back to work by mid-April.

My husband, the most wonderful man ever, my reason for waking up each day, is one of those late arrivals. Because he has been so miserable for so long, I have scheduled a follow-up doctor's appointment to have his hiney hole fixed once and for all.

The re-integration time period is mandatory. The doctor's only do surgery on Mondays and Wednesdays. He needs a bare minimum of two weeks of recovery time. Even if my husband were to get into surgery on the very first available Monday, the timing cuts it too close. I am just unwilling to take my husband to Africa with his hiney hole out of wack.

I explained the time line to him and he gallantly offered to postpone the surgery until after Africa. He has waited for so long. There is no way I am going to make him wait one second longer than necessary.

The safari will not be happening this spring.

To my absolute amazement, this isn't as disappointing as I might have thought. I love my husband so much, much more than I ever could have imagined loving another person, that canceling a trip of a lifetime in a minor set back. It pales in comparison to postponing a surgery that will alleviate his pain.

People claim that you know you love someone when their happiness means the world to you. I never experienced the extent that feeling until I cancelled my dream safari. I just wish everyone could know the feeling of true love.

When's the Next Bus?

Over the past few days many, many soldiers have returned to our little community. They are weary, tired and very appreciative of Welcome Home hugs. I have made it a point to be available for Welcome Home ceremonies as the buses pull into town. For the most part, the buses are arriving on a three or four hour schedule. The Welcome Home ceremony lasts about 3 minutes. So, the huggers (folks like me who are there for support and not because our husbands are scheduled to arrive on that particular bus) wait and wait. But the waiting is worth it. Each soldier I hug and whisper "welcome home, I'm so glad you're back" into his ear, brings me one soldier closer to holding my husband. Besides, most of the soldiers I actually hug are young, single men who have no family waiting at the ceremony for them. They need a show of appreciation too and I'm glad to do it.

I am delighted to see them line up in formation and march into the building. They stand at attention, at ease, and then are dismissed. Pandemonium of hugs and kisses and tears of joy commence at the command "Dismissed". It really is a sight to see. Pride and love fill the room and I am thrilled to be a part of it. Even if it means sneaking cat naps throughout the night, at most getting three hours of sleep before the next bus arrives, I'm grateful. Although I haven't known any of the soldiers personally, I love each and every one of them. They are my family and just having them back feels good.

Hey, What About My Backyard?

Being that I live in Germany, I am limited to the television programming provided by American Forces Network (AFN). There is a broadcasting agreement between AFN and our host nation which does not allow for regular commercials to be shown. Instead, we get informative commercials, things like the history of our states and capitals and the growth and development of the United States. Although it is rare, sometimes a program with regular commercials slips through. Today was one of those days. While watching 20/20 (the use of video cameras in all facets of our society), I saw commercials other than the informative kind. Crayola, a financial investment company and several agencies wishing contribution for Tsunami relief.

Tsunami relief? Celebrities and assorted do-gooders have joined forces to solicit donations to help the survivors of the Tsunami that impacted Indonesia and other countries on the other side of the world. Makes me wonder. What agencies were developed and what celebrities banded together to support a campaign to collect money to aid those Americans impacted by the hurricane which wrecked Pensacola, Florida? That natural disaster left many people without homes and power and yet I did not see any humanitarian welfare agencies sponsor a concert to benefit those families. Perhaps, there were and me being in Germany kept me isolated from those efforts.

It just seems to me that other countries expect the United States to provide financial aid for every ailment under the sun. I don't recall Indonesia, any African country or southwest Asian country providing any funds to support the rebuilding of the California homes destroyed in mudslides. Those folks in Florida sure could have used an extra twenty bucks in the wake of their hurricane. Let's not forget the thousands of acres and homes and schedules disrupted by the fires that swept over Colorado and California. Although I don't have much sympathy for folks living in trailer parks in Kansas, Nebraska or Oklahoma (they're just asking to get blown away by tornadoes), I don't see any foreign nations rushing to their aid. How many euros have been contributed to the prevention of homelessness by France?

Let's talk about the fleecing done by Germany. The Army posts in Germany contribute to the local economy. Not only do Americans spend money in shops, restaurants, nightclubs and taxi-cabs, but also employ many, many German nationals. Military posts are provided with additional security (especially during deployments) by private security companies. Those companies bill the US government to pay for the guards monitoring the installations. Talk about getting fat off the backs of others. Germany bills the US at a rate double what the guard really earns. For example, the security company receives 20 euro an hour for a guard who is paid 10 euro an hour, of which 41% is taxed by the German government. Additionally, under the Standard of Forces Agreement (SOFA) employment opportunities which could be filled by American spouses and other dependents, are offered to local nationals. Certain positions are required to be filled by a German national. Being a military dependent precludes access to employment opportunities. Funny how that's against Equal Opportunity Employment rules in the United States.

It just seems to me that everyone wants American money and American help, but don't want to give or help in return. That is pretty crappy. Just consider how the local economy of towns nearby to military posts would be impacted if the US military decided to leave. Germany didn't want anything to do with Iraq and let's not forget about France. How bad would the euro suffer if there were no dollars being spent in Germany, Belgium, Italy, or France? Europe sure has embraced McDonald's and Disney.

Imagine the reaction by the UN if President Bush stood up one day and said, "Okay gentlemen, the United States is withdrawing all support from Europe and Asia. Effective immediately, Korea is on its own. No American help will be provided to Afghanistan. Former Eastern Block countries, you will have to solve your own problems. As a matter of fact, the borders of the United States of America are closed to all immigration. Effective immediately all American dollars currently being provided by our government will be stopped. All of those dollars will now be spent own within our own borders. We have enough problems at home that we don't need to sort out yours. Good luck to you and goodbye."

Personally, I'm tired of being taken advantage of. I'm tired of having to defend my nationality. I'm tired of being a dirty, rich capitalist American. Relationships should be give and take. I'm tired of my country always giving and everyone else taking.