Mele Kalikimaka

(Apologies for being gone for so long... much to catch up on, as my mom reminds me.)

Going from Christmas in Germany to Christmas in Hawaii is really something of a culture shock. We lived in a remote village that was accessible after winding up hills thickly covered with pine trees, and by this time they were always covered with snow. It takes very little imagination to understand why fairy tales were written around here. Driving through villages centuries older than our own country and decorated with traditional Christmas ornaments and lights, well... it was really quite magical.

Meanwhile, John and I went shopping for more Christmas decorations to make up for ones we've never had and ones that were stolen by our Movers From Hell. Growing up in Pennsylvania, I'm very used to the "welcome candles" that are lit in the windows and just love the soft glow they cast on everything. It was only when I got a "You Know You're from Pennsylvania When..." email in my twenties that I realized leaving them on year-round is a PA-specific thing. Whoops.

So I was on a mission for these candles. Eleven stores. ELEVEN. Not a candle in sight. But I found eleven places in which I could buy a 9-foot inflatable Santa with a surfboard. Oh, brother. I went along with a green lighted spiral Christmas tree because John got really excited about those last year. I figure that, with a toddler, it's time to do festive as opposed to classy. There's plenty of time to do that when we're old and boring. But I also got a lighted grapevine angel that Emily is now obsessed over in a big, big way. The angel is greeted good morning, good night, bye-bye, hi, and generally fussed over throughout the day. When she lights up at dusk, Emily practically turns inside out.

She did the same with the Freedom Tower down by Pearl Harbor. It's a large tower by the elementary school (I need to post a picture of it) that was avoided by the Japanese during the attack because they thought it was a religious structure. I get a kick out of that. Anyhow, she's recently been crazy about "da-dow" (tower) and can't understand why her Daddy can't make it play music at his command. We're trying to explain to her that it only plays at certain times--reveille, National Anthem, etc.--but since her father hung the moon, she doesn't get it. Well, now it's strung ground to top with multi-colored Christmas lights and it's just blowing her little mind. The nightly walks with Azzie require a trip down to the tower and will probably remain that way through the Christmas season.

It's hard to get used to palm trees bedecked with lights as opposed to pine trees, but I'm doing my best. It's nice not having to pay for utilities while living in base housing, so I'm doing what I can to re-create the magic that I remember from my own childhood. That said, some of the houses around here may, I worry, bring the planes coming into Honolulu International to land in the middle of base housing. HOLY COW... there are some amazing displays around here, and it's hilarious! I need to get some photos.

Speaking of which, I'm trying not to think about what happened to our pictures. When Emily was born, John moved our pictures onto an external hard drive. Long story short, it died and can't be resurrected (without about $2,000). Most of the pictures taken since moving to Germany and having a baby are gone, which is devastating in ways I can't put into words. Then our new Nikon D80 erased the pictures I'd been taking when John took out the storage card; we didn't anticipate that. So I'm basically starting from scratch. Yes, my heart hurts over this, but hopefully I can at least partially make up for it by getting some decent pictures of our lives and family from here on out.

Those of you who have snow, make a snow angel for me, will you? Frohe Weinachten and Mele Kalikimaka.

9/11 Reflections

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Leavin' on a Jet Plane

Emily and I are preparing to leave for Pennsylvania this weekend as part of John's COT (consecutive overseas tour) entitlement. Basically, this means that if a servicemember serves back-to-back overseas tours, the government will fly him/her and the family back to the home of record for one trip. Sadly, because of John's Australian TDY, he's not going to be able to go with us, which largely defeats the purpose. However, the grandparents on both sides made it clear that my butt had better be on a plane with their grandbaby come hell or high water.

While part of me is thinking "kill me now", I've traveled alone with Emily before and she's quite a good traveler. As a matter of fact, she had flown across 32 time zones by the time she was 12 months old, which is fairly impressive by any standard. Granted, she wasn't walking during most of that time, which presents a whole new challenge now, but the upside of having a baby who doesn't sleep worth beans is that significant time zone changes aren't really that big of a deal.

The first time Emily flew was after four days in a German hospital when we finally got some answers (and confirmation of Mommy Radar) regarding what was causing her such pain. Getting her the right medication through the military treatment facilities in Germany, however, was going to take a month or so, and I'd had it. I'd watched my baby hurt for five months and I wasn't about to stand by a day longer than necessary. So we got on a Space-A flight to BWI and my awesome father drove 8 hours round trip to get us, bearing the medicine we needed.

Funny thing about that flight is that it was packed with guys returning from downrange (Iraq and Afghanistan), so it was full of men who looked like Daddy but weren't quite Daddy. Emily spent quite a lot of time balancing precariously on my legs, looking around with some confusion and bemusement. While I expected these tired guys to be less than thrilled to have a baby on board, I found that many of them were fathers who had been separated from their kids for way too long and were sweet with both of us and Emily flirted madly with them.

Then there was the PCS from Germany to Hawaii when she was 7 months old. She managed to cut her first tooth on the flight from Frankfurt to DC and her second tooth from DC to San Francisco. Thankfully, breastfeeding saved the day. God sure knew what He was doing when He designed that one.

A trip to Colorado last fall was more interesting since she had begun walking. She must've lapped the terminal 3 times by the time we boarded, which wore her out a bit. She also managed to flirt with countless people and get lots of compliments in the meantime, even from buttoned-up businessmen who weren't accustomed to interacting with little ones in an airport. Then again, it's hard to resist a fuzzy-headed baby who puts her hands on your leg and turns her face up into yours with a bright smile to get your attention.

So, thanks to Uncle Sam, we get a visit with family... and thanks to Uncle Sam, John won't be with us. But we're looking forward to visits with almost my entire family (my brother-in-law will be missing) as well as a week in Chicago on the way back with almost John's entire family (minus the Germany contingent, whom we miss terribly). There are some members of the family who haven't met Emily yet, so we're really excited about this!

And I'm wondering about bringing along some alcohol. Whether for me or for Squeaker is to be determined.

In Memory of Daniel B. Haynes

I'm so saddened to hear of the passing of Daniel Haynes, a very close friend of a friend of mine. (Well, Sara is the twin of one of my best friends, Abby, but such is the family of Christ, right?) Sara had sent out several emails over the past several months about Daniel's fight with cancer alongside his brand-new bride, Priscilla. Daniel went home to be with the Lord last night, and I know that, while his loved ones have every assurance that he is in the arms of his Savior right now, their hearts are aching.

I've asked Sara to speak with Priscilla at a more appropriate time for permission to post Sara's emails here, as they were incredibly moving and beautifully written, and a powerful testimony to faith and love. If they give the okay, I'll share what Sara has written in her requests for prayers for this amazing young couple.

Here is part of his obituary as published at http://www.vandermay.com/; would that we all merit this kind of legacy. Prayers for his young wife, his family, and his dear friends are certainly cherished.

***********************************

O Canada!

We were a little busy with the Daddy Homecoming for me to write a birthday message to my Canadian friends. I'm a huge Canada-phile even though I managed to get seriously sunburned there during my first trip to Ottawa as an adult. (No, really, I did. My Italian then-boyfriend was absolutely flabbergasted that this was even possible.)

A year later, sans aforementioned boyfriend, I went back up for another trip to Ottawa, as I'd come to love the city. I stayed at an international hostel near Parliament--not the former jail this time, though I'd recommend it--and was surprised to be the only American. Of course, my trip coincided with Canada Day, and I was the perfect scapegoat for a whole lot of good-natured crap from the Canadians. And the Aussies. And the Kiwis, now that I think about it.

There is (or was) a popular sketch comedy in Canada called This Hour Has 22 Minutes, and one of the best recurring sketches was "Talking to Americans". Imagine Jay Leno's 'Jaywalking' focused on the ignorance of the average American and you pretty much have the picture. The CBC did an hour-long special based on this particular sketch, which was rebroadcast the evening of Canada Day. I'd already seen it, as a good friend of mine from Canada had sent it to me months prior. Of course, I was hunted down and pulled into the common room to watch it and speak for Americans coast to coast who know nothing about our closest neighbors. Or neighbours, for my maple-leafy friends. There really was no defense; here are some examples:

* went to several Ivy-league colleges and got passionate and well-intentioned statements and signatures from students AND professors on petitions to ban the Great Saskatchewan Seal Hunt and the abandoning of Canadian elderly on ice floes.

* asking Chicagoans what they thought of Canada's plan to change its name to 'Chicago'.

* running a poll on the name for Canada's season of total darkness, favoring "Cana-Dark".

* asking opinions on whether the US should lend its navy to Canada, since, as a land-locked nation, Canada doesn't have one of its own. To their credit, folks were more than happy to let Canada borrow their navy. After all, what are neighbors for?

* congratulating Canada on: switching to the 24-hour clock; joining North America; preserving their national igloo; legalizing insulin; achieving 800 miles of paved road.

* asking how many Canadian states they could name. One woman puzzled over this for a moment before her son, about 8 years old, said with astonishment, "Wait a minute, they have provinces!", resulting in loud cheers from the audience.

It was one of the funniest hours of television I've ever seen. The fact that I was able to withstand the ribbing and join in did much for American-Canadian-whomeverelseian relations, and I was fully welcomed into the Canada Day festivities. Despite the fact that none of the group I hung with that day were Canadian, we celebrated in full spirit along with everyone else in Ottawa. I have to say that they put on a heck of a fireworks display, even though we had to wait until well past 10pm until it was dark enough.

One final thing, though. I have an ongoing and fairly heated dispute with a good (Canadian) friend of mine regarding the whole issue of curling. I'm going to put it in writing once and for all and will not change my mind in this lifetime: Curling is NOT a sport. It was kind of intriguing to watch during the last winter Olympics while we were in Germany, but then, all we had was AFN (American Forces Network) and it was that or endless self-serving promos by an obnoxious and patronizing Air Force general. Curling is, I'm sure, an enjoyable game, but game it is.

Thanks, Canada, for putting up with your well-intentioned but frequently cloddish next door neighbor. You're beautiful in both geography and citizenry, and feel free to come over any time you need a cup of sugar. After all, what are neighbo(u)rs for?


(I need to add this: After writing this, I found an article on "Talking to Americans" on Wikipedia that included a little tidbit I thought I should share. Apparently this special received a bunch of award nominations, but because of the timing of those awards so close to the 9/11 terrorist attacks, Rick Mercer felt it would be in poor taste to air a show poking fun at Americans and asked the organizations to pull the nominations. Talk about having some serious class.)

Fireworks of all kinds

Daddy's home, life is good. Yes, Emily was a bit shy at first, but within an hour or so, when we tried to get her interested in "Signing Time" so we could, um, unpack, she freaked when her daddy went up the stairs without her. She's retaken her rightful place in the jogging stroller during walks with Azzie, and she had her beloved pancakes during Daddy's brunch this morning. (He's been doing this for months since we got here, and the specially-created Emily Pancake has gotten larger along with Emily.) There's been much silliness and giggling on her part, along with immediate "Daahyyy?" responses when she wakes in the morning. The king of her castle has returned.

Smart man. He came back bearing gifts, LOL. Emily is fascinated by the koala bear backpack he presented to her at the airport--which led to chuckles all the way home as she explored his eyes and nose--and I love the Australian opal necklace and earring set he gave me. How convenient that all three of us are October birthdays... nice birthstone. ;)

She's enjoying listening to the ship's guns at Pearl Harbor today, and I wonder what she'll think of the fireworks later tonight at the planesicles. Sorry, they're officially called "The Missing Man Formation" at the large Hickam AFB sign at the end of the jogging trail, but I've called them planesicles since we moved here. Because of the very quick turnaround between John's return from TDY and our leaving this weekend for the mainland, we're not doing anything involved. I'm going to put together a small pound cake, Cool Whip, and berries to resemble a flag, and that's about it this year.

But I'm so thankful my husband is home safe and sound. So many families this Fourth of July are separated and making huge sacrifices for freedom. To all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who are away from family, know that we're thinking of you and grateful for what you are doing to allow us to sit home together, grill burgers, and watch fireworks in peace. God be with all of you.

She loves me, she loves me not

Our formerly public-loving baby, who had never met a stranger (other than pediatricians), has entered a shy phase. It coincided, of course, with her daddy's departure out of the country and has become a great source of angst for the Japanese women all over the island who take great delight in hugging her, exclaiming over and stroking her sandy blond curls, cooing a word I can't spell which seems to mean something like 'cute' or 'sweet'. Rather than leaning toward them with arms outstretched like she used to do, she now covers her face with both hands and peeks through her fingers with a coy little smile. It's cute and fairly flirtatious on its own, but heartbreaking to the child-loving Asian women here who want to pick her up.

Thing is, this shyness has also extended to talking with grandparents on the phone and looking at their pictures. She's excited about it, but has to cover her face for some reason. This is understandable, but...She's now even doing it when we're talking to John on the phone. Uh-oh. I'm somewhat concerned that, after missing him for a month, she's going to be kind of shy with him when he arrives home tomorrow. I know that he'll be very understanding of this, knowing that it's temporary and developmentally normal, but he's gone through enough in one lifetime. At least it was only one month. What would happen if it had been longer?

Being a military family is kind of like living with a ticking bomb. You know a deployment is coming at some point, and the longer you go without it, the more the reality looms. John semi-volunteered for one while I was pregnant since it would have been shorter than ones are now and gotten one out of the way before our child arrived. His colonel wasn't willing to let him go and nixed the orders, so to some extent, I feel like we're on borrowed time. I look at my friends and their families in other branches--Army, who are gone for eons; Navy, who are a special breed to be out at sea; and Marines, who need no explanation--and am in awe of their strength and courage. Love and prayers to them all.

Things will right themselves in time. John is the sun of this baby's world, and she won't be able to resist her hero for long.

O Mein Papa

After the craziness earlier this morning, I let Emily watch "Signing Time!", also known as 'baby crack'. She recently signed "police officer" when I was talking to her about her Papa (my dad). This morning's episode of ST is talking about, among other things, cops and firefighters. She toddled over with the phone, handed it to me, and signed "Papa" with great enthusiasm. I can take a hint, so we called her beloved Papa.

Nana and Papa are revving up for our upcoming trip to the Homestead. They have a custom-built home on 14 acres adjacent to Penn State gamelands that will never be disturbed. It's paradise for them, and a total amusement park for kids. There's a target range out of the basement; a pole barn with boats, tractors, and a Jeep; a pond up the street; a tire swing down by the campfire pit; and more wild animals than you can shoot. Deer spotting is what we do from the living room in the evenings.

Even if that weren't all the case, my dad is an amusement park on his own. He's a former Special Forces, 82nd Airborne, Philadelphia PD SWAT/Narcotics/Bomb Squad guy turned police chief who retired from 40 years of law enforcement a couple of years ago. Of course, he was retired for about 15 minutes before heading to Baghdad to train the new Iraqi police force. We all bit our tongues, because he swore he was going to be teaching classes in the US Embassy, formerly one of Saddam's palaces, and would be entirely within the Green Zone.

Right. That lasted for a couple of days. He wound up kind of expanding his job description into several directions, including revamping the training itself and providing both liaison and security detail for some State Department big-wigs. Of course, he also wound up finding other opportunities to, uh, maintain current firearms skills. He was next to the room where two people were killed by a rocket that came from the Red Zone the night before the elections. His favorite part, I think, was becoming the liaison between the Army guys and the police crew, since he speaks both their languages.

Something about your dad talking about a fully armored Tahoe and walking around in 'full battle rattle' is unnerving when he's already been shot twice. Between those incidents, his previous Army life, and some of the crazier things he did as a Philly cop, he's used up way more than his nine lives already. But in his words, "What a way to go! My grandkids could say, 'Yeah, my granddad died in Iraq when he was 63!!'." The main is an adrenaline junkie, but I have to say that he came back with a white-hot fury against what Saddam Hussein did to the people of Iraq and a pretty sober opinion that going in there was the right thing to do, whatever else has happened.

When he left, it took four people to take over the positions he'd filled/created. They want him back in a bad way, even offering to let him essentially write his own job description for however long he'll give them. Typically they require 6 months or a year, but they want him for as long as he'll stay. He was really getting into his Arabic lessons (he has an amazing ability to pick up languages that I wish he'd passed on to me--my German still sucks). He'd love to go back immediately, but due to family responsibilties, particularly Mom's health, he hasn't been able to yet. But I have a feeling it's coming.

Here are a few pics he shared with us as he underwent a metamorphosis from technological Neanderthal to email-addicted computer geek equipped with thumb drive:

Dad's view on the way to the latrines. He tries to tell people that he had just finished stacking these sandbags, though we all know if that had been his job, he would have found a way to get someone else to do it.


Here's an example of fine Iraqi plumbing.


Out in the Red Zone doing protection for State Department folks and Iraqi generals.


Iraqi Ministry of Justice vs. Tomahawk.
(The Tomahawk won.)


Dad found some of the newest generation of his 82nd Airborne guys and made friends. Is it my imagination, or do these guys look far too young to be holding something sharp??


Some of the young soldiers Dad knew "adopted" a couple of young families nearby. They taught the kids to play soccer, fixed up the houses, and brought a special soccer ball to the one girl in the group who was generally ostracized by the boys. Their moms would be proud of these young men.


What Dad refers to in cop lingo as "Van of Concern".


This is Dad's idea of keeping safe in the Green Zone. He went out and made friends with some guys on guard duty and volunteered for a turn searching for "Targets of Opportunity".


Dad at the Hadji Market. He wound up having to send home several Persian rugs to Mom. He learned to be more selective about which pictures he sent home to her.


Dad, uh, "going fishing" like normal retirees.


The Embassy mascot puppy. Dad swore that dog was not coming home with him, but we all know perfectly well that dog was this close to being smuggled onto a C-17 to Ramstein.


One of Dad's favorite Gurkhas in front of a giant head of Saddam that was pulled down from atop the Presidential Palace. All the guards knew Dad and would shout their name for him, Arabic for "old man". He called them, well, a name from South Philly. My dad has never met a stranger.



Yeah, my dad's pretty cool. I'm getting excited to see him and Mom next week despite the thorough and irreperable spoiling of my toddler that will ensue for the following two weeks.

It all happens when the hubby is away

First the fleas, now this.

A little background: Hickam has been having a major rash of robberies in recent weeks right in the immediate area of our house.   Seriously--they've walked off with a 52" TV and stolen a truck out of the driveway in the middle of the day, though much of this seems to occur when the officer is TDY.   So everyone's on heightened alert around here.

Emily woke crying around 5am (hey, it was only the second waking, so it's much better than it's been lately!), and I went in to get her.   Just as I got there, I heard this massive bang and CRASH somewhere in the house.

Funny what goes through your mind in a nanosecond:   Where was that?   Seems like it lasted forever.   Was it the TV downstairs?   Should I check it out?   Great time to have a German Shepherd tucked away for the night in her crate... downstairs.   I can't do this with a baby, and I can't leave her alone just in case.   Close the door.   Wait--I left the phone in Emily's bathroom after talking with Kristen during Bug's bath.   I should call Security Forces.   No, it's probably nothing and they're gonna think I'm an idiot.   No, they're not.   Yes, they are.   Well, maybe, but you have a responsibility to Emily first.   You're right in the zone of the robberies and John's away.   Call them.   Oh, man, I really don't want to.   Call them.   Fine.   All in a flash.

Good news is that this time they found our house (last year, during an apparent visit from the spirit of Jerry Springer involving John's ex, they couldn't find our house), and no sign of forced entry.   They searched the house and found the cause:   the large glass mirror on the master bathroom door had chosen to commit suicide in dramatic fashion on the tile floor.   Oh, good grief.   I feel like such a moron.   Why is it that I'd be adamant with any of my friends that calling 911 was absolutely the right thing to do in the totality of circumstances, but I feel like such a fool?

And how is it that fleas and household gremlins always know when your husband is TDY?   There's a veritable sea of glass covering the bathroom floor, which is going to be quite an adventure to clean up with my ever-helpful toddler.

My consolation prize is that John is coming home earlier than expected (well, later than expected initially, now earlier than was expected next, as is typical of military exercises!).   This little incident couldn't have waited 48 hours, I guess.

Ah, well. My life is an exercise in humility.

T minus one week

John's return from Australia was delayed by several days, so he'll be leaving next Wednesday. However, in the joys of international travel, he'll actually return on Tuesday our time.   Emily is definitely missing her daddy, as noticed by her carrying around his command portrait--frame and all--while saying and signing "Daddy" with the most delighted squeals. Then she signs "stars" because of the flag in the background.   She's over there now, lying on her tummy and babbling at the picture, periodically running over to me to sign "Daddy" and laugh.

Well, I flea-bombed the house today. Good times getting the cat into the carrier, the dog crate into the car, the dog into the crate (which required picking up a terrified German Shepherd and tossing her in), and wrangling the baby out of the street and into her car seat as well. Thankfully, I'd arranged to leave Emily at my dear friend Diana's house with her five boys and two babysitters while the two of us bolted from the house and off to get pedicures.   Woohoo! Desperately needed girl time, during which we started making plans to visit Japan, where she and her crew were stationed last. Then I hung out at our dog trainer/great friend's house for another few hours while the house aired out.   I have to say that, for this phase of our life, living on base is such a blessing.

(Quick note on local culture: who knew that pedicures could be such a big thing? At the recent squadron picnic, we discovered that I was the only woman there with bare toes.   Huh. I hadn't noticed it before, but pedicures with fancy little flowers and crystals and such are a big, big thing here. Well, when in Rome, right?   And it's amazing how a little chick time, a massaging chair, and fabulous toes can lift one's flea-bitten mood.)

Well, it's time to get the furless of my charges bathed and ready for bed. In the next few hours, we'll see how much progress I've made in Operation Flea Massacre: wish me luck in letting my legs heal from looking like raw meat!

I know, poor John... missing all this.   Hmmmm... he'd better bring me back a koala bear.

Whole Lotta Scratchin' Going On

So here I am, alone, with a 19 month old baby girl and a 17 month old dog. Two toddlers at the same time, which makes me question my sanity when I told John we could get Azzie. But, despite my strong fondness and preference for golden retrievers, John adores German shepherds, and when he saw Azzie last month, his face had an expression I've only seen once: at our wedding reception when I asked him if he was ready to leave for the hotel. I couldn't say no to the dog.

The name "Azzie" wasn't our choice. The breeders had named her Azera, but I have a hard time naming a dog after a Hyundai. We debated "Azure" for the amazing skies here in Hawaii, and "Azaria", which is derived from the Hebrew for helped by God. Cool. While we've chosen a more formal name, after 48 hours of calling her Azzie, I realized there was no way John would be able to call her anything else.

One of the things that living in Hawaii has taught me in the last few days is that, contrary to my previous understanding, one's house can absolutely get fleas even when all household pets are flea-free. WHAT?!? Of course this has to happen while John is on another continent. Thankfully, Emily seems to be escaping their onslaught due to the 'baby in a bag' (a.k.a. Halo SleepSack), but I have apparently been chosen as their preferred delicacy. The folks at the local pet store freaked out when they saw my legs, ankles, and feet, which look like a nasty attack of chicken pox. And I also have bites in places that bites, well, simply shouldn't be. Ugh.

All this reminds me of my horror when I discovered ants in our kitchen in Charleston. We called the complex's exterminator, who snickered at my mortification and said with a wink, "Ah, you must be a Yankee, huh?". Apparently we Yankees move down to South Carolina and flip out when we discover bugs, since in the north, avoiding that is usually a matter of keeping a clean home. He assured me my kitchen was pristine and that this was merely part of Southern living and you just kind of roll with it, much like the palmetto bugs. (For those of you who haven't lived in Charleston, "palmetto bugs" are big-a** roaches that FLY, but Charlestonians, who are quite insistent on this term, seem to think that calling them palmetto bugs bestows Southern charm. It doesn't.)

Another little tidbit: the reason I was getting these tiny sugar ants on me while doing e-mail was because, Mr. Exterminator informed me, they enjoy the vibration of the wires behind the electronics. You read that correctly. I have to admit that the concept of these little ants back there gettin' jiggy with it creeped me out more than finding them on my counters.

After a year in Charleston, we were sent to Germany, where our landlady was baffled by our inquiry as to why German windows do not have screens. "How else would the flies get out?", she asked. Indeed. The flyswatters that I'd used as a teaching tool came in very handy throughout the renovated barn we lived in, so John can't complain that the teaching supplies that he's now schlepped across 18 time zones haven't come in handy.

So, I now have a variety of flea treatments for the house, most of which require evacuation for a few hours of all things that breathe or keeping kids and pets off the carpet for 24 hours. Frankly, neither of these options is all that easy for one woman wrangling a baby, a dog, and a cat who thinks the dog's sole purpose in life is to torment her. I'm currently devising a plan combining the powder, sprays, and bombs in phases depending on who is sleeping at the time. Wish me luck in the strategy.

Oh, next time I should mention the centipedes here--a foot long is not uncommon--but if you'll excuse me, I have to go scratch myself raw. Ah, the price of paradise....

Winds of Change

The trade winds have returned.   Oh, thank goodness.   Hawaii, while paradise in many ways, is insufferably humid and sticky when the air stills, which it did for awhile lately.

But on our evening walk, we were able to play in the breezes coming off the inlet to Pearl Harbor.   There's a large grassy park area just up the street where one can let a dog off-leash and run like a fool.   Now, I'm no fan of running (while at the FBI Academy, I told them that I run either "after" or "away from"... i.e. if one of us has a gun, I'll run), it's infinitely more fun when doing so with a baby and a German Shepherd.

While playing with Azzie, I turned to find Emily laid flat-out on the grass, staring up at the sky.   She was signing to herself--"moon", "cloud"--and gazing in delight at the azure skies.   How does a child of one and a half know to do that?   I went and joined her, which amused her to no end.   We had such a great time enjoying the beauty of the sky and the setting sun, and stood with arms spread and faces upturned to feel the cool evening breezes over every inch of our bodies.

There's a lovely half-moon out tonight, and I think one of my favorite visions on this planet is the shimmer of moonlight on the top of palm leaves.   Fortunately, there are coconut palms all around our house, so I can watch this out of my bedroom window at night.

These are the moments it feels so good to be alive. Thanks, Lord, for giving me the chance to see it through a baby's eyes and to show her the value of soaking it all in.

Welcome!

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Welcome!
There's so little time, and the lack of personal contact as we all move around the world is something that John and I feel intensely.   I'm hoping that this might be away to keep in touch a bit more easily with the family and friends we hold so dear.

Looking at the changes we've been through in the past four years, I wish we had started this sooner.   For a remarkably skilled computer geek married to a touchy-feely type, it's rather surprising that we hadn't.   But I trust we'll be able to document some of the adventures and experiences we have as the military moves us from time zone to time zone.

Presently, John is running the comm side of a joint military exercise in Australia.   Yeah, Australia.   Rough gig.   I'm here taking care of a 19-month-old baby and a 17-month-old German shepherd, and in serious need of either a massage or a Mai Tai.   Ah, well, it's hard to complain when you gaze out the windows at the sparkling azure waters of the inlet to Pearl Harbor.   Stay tuned for more info...