Celebration of Freedom

Last Sunday I attended a "Celebration of Freedom" at a church in Maryland and was completely blown away by the incredible thought, effort and energy that they put into the service. Complete with an orchestra and confetti cannons, an inspiring sermon and musical salute to the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard, and Marine songs, it was a touching blend of the Church being grateful for the protection of the State and recalling how the State was shaped by the Church at its conception. I blinked back tears as veterans and active duty servicemen and women were honored. I also thought how ironic it was that Steve was working that morning and wasn't able to attend.

I'm pretty sure that I'd never sung the second, third, or fourth verses of "My Country, 'tis of Thee" before. In case you haven't, either, here are the words:

1.    My country, 'tis of thee,

    Sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing;

    Land where my fathers died,

    Land of the pilgrims' pride,

    From every mountainside let freedom ring!

 

2.    My native country, thee,

    Land of the noble free, thy name I love;

    I love thy rocks and rills,

    Thy woods and templed hills;

    My heart with rapture thrills, like that above.

 

3.    Let music swell the breeze,

    And ring from all the trees sweet freedom's song;

    Let mortal tongues awake;

    Let all that breathe partake;

    Let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.

 

4.    Our fathers' God, to thee,

    Author of liberty, to thee we sing;

    Long may our land be bright

    With freedom's holy light;

    Protect us by thy might, great God, our King.

 

I was amazed at how well God and country are fused in the lyrics, and I thought the same of the church service.

Tonight, though, Steve is off duty and we just returned home from celebrating Independence Day at a friend's house. I'm so grateful that he was able to enjoy this holiday that honors our country, him, and the many men and women who've given up their holidays with family. I know that if Steve is here at home, it means that someone else's husband is deployed and doesn't get to watch his kids play with sparklers or drink a cold beer with his friends. My heart goes out to everyone who's celebrating without a military family member tonight, and my prayers are with everyone who's deployed and those whose loved ones sacrificed all for our United States. God bless America.

All Dressed Up and No Place to Dance

Many girls dream of going to a ball - I know I used to daydream about the dress, the music and the dancing.

Unfortunately, most girls never have the opportunity to attend a real ball. Apparently they aren't very common - unless you're a military wife or one of the Bennett daughters.

I have now been to three military balls, and sadly, the shine has really come off of the events for me. Before my first one, I had a lot of romantic notions about balls - mainly derived from reading Jane Austen novels, I'm sure.

It turns out that they're really about listening to speeches, handing out awards and drinking. That's fine, but it clashes with my Pride and Prejudice-esque fantasies.

At a military ball, there's always a line at the bar. At our last event, the first hour was open bar, and the line was so long that people were having trouble getting through the front doors because the queue was blocking the entrance.

One of the highlights of the night is the mixing of the grog. Several different beverages are poured into a huge bowl - usually different kinds of liquor and wine, each signifying a different battle or event in the unit's history. For example, if the unit invaded France on D-Day, they might add a French wine to the mixture. Coffee, juice, Kahlua...it's all fair game. Spouses aren't required to drink, and I'll admit that I've never tried it. It's fun watching everything go in the bowl though, and then watching everyone's reactions after they've tasted it.

At my first ball I sat dutifully through the grog-making, dinner, awards and speeches, and was excited for what I expected to be the climax of the night - dancing. I was mistaken. When the formal portion of the night was over and a tiny dance floor opened up, most of the guests left immediately. There was a major snowstorm going on outside, however, and we rushed for the door like everyone else, wanting to get across town and inside before it was too dangerous to drive. I was a little disappointed, but blamed the lack of dancing on inclement weather.

At the second ball I attended, the weather was even worse - a tornado warning was announced just as the last speaker wrapped up. We headed home to the sound of screaming tornado sirens. We didn't know it then, but the tornado actually followed us home along the same route we took, just a few minutes behind us. It ended up doing millions of dollars of damage to Kansas State University just four blocks from our apartment. Again, the weather had interfered with the dancing.

However, just a few weeks ago Steve and I attended our first ball here in Florida, and the weather was gorgeous. Considering our track record, I was expecting a freak hurricane to blow through, but it remained clear and beautiful the whole evening. And at the end of the event, the music came on and a table was pushed aside to reveal a dance floor large enough for two or even three couples.

We stuck around for another 45 minutes or so, discussing where to go for more drinks with friends, and I watched the dance floor. A few people crossed it to get to the bathroom on the other side, and one girl twirled around by herself while her date laughed. Everyone else pretended it didn't exist.

Despite the presence of officers in uniform, the days of the Netherfield ball are gone. The upside: I'd choose Steve over Colin Firth any day.

Social Regression

These days I've found myself increasingly socialphobic, shopping at the grocery store first thing in the morning while moms are still dropping their kids off at school or going to the gym after nine when most everyone else has left for work. I suppose it's the consequence of spending every other day completely alone; most days, the only human interaction I have (besides the checkout cashier) is mumbling goodbye to Steve when he leaves for work at five am, and I know I'm incoherent at the time.

It seems to be a vicious cycle: I spend most of my time alone, which weakens my social skills, so I feel more awkward around people, thus making me want to avoid situations where I might need to use those rusty abilities. Case in point: We've lived here for two and a half months, and the only women I've met live in my neighborhood. Both of them.

I know it's getting bad because I'm starting to watch reruns of What Not to Wear. Reruns of House are understandable. Watching What Not to Wear reruns means that TLC has become a little too important in my life. When I began watching that show, we had only been married two months, and even then I could tell my social life was in decline because I'd dress up to go to the grocery store, not having any other reason to relinquish my sweatpants. I can tell how bad it's become now because I don't mind running in without makeup or even once or twice in sweatpants. (Please don't nominate me for What Not to Wear!)

So I've decided to force myself to stop hiding in my house and make some friends. Today I've been pretty successful: I went to a class at the gym, to the BX during lunch hour (for all you Army Wives, an Air Force BX is the equivalent of the PX, the tax-free military Target), walked my dog twice around the neighborhood, met our neighbor on the other side who I'd never talked to before, and chatted with both of the ladies I'd already met. And I still have enough social energy left to RSVP positively to an Officer's Spouses' Club party, even though I don't know anyone else who'll be there.

In fact, my social energy level is the highest it's been in a while, which is interesting, considering I should have exhausted my resources with all the talking I've done today. But surprisingly, that doesn't seem to be how it works. I guess all those social skills need is practice.

Actually, though, I have to run – the season finale of House is on.

Anniversary

Yes, it's tax day, but last year on April 15 taxes were the furthest thing from my mind. It was this time last year - exactly a year ago today - that Steve came home from Iraq.

I arrived in Kansas three or four days before he did, having no idea when he'd actually get in. I was told that I'd get information from the Army a few weeks before he came home, but for some reason there was a miscommunication along the line, and our unit's family members were officially notified the day before. In my case, they called me 13 hours before he actually got off the bus at Fort Riley. Fortunately, I was already in town.

Steve himself ended up being the best resource I had in terms of planning, since he could call from Iraq as they were packing up and give me his best guess as to when they'd be returning. He didn't know anything concrete, and couldn't really tell me the exact dates and times of their flights out of BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) and Kuwait over the phone. But I was able to get a rough, three-day window as to when they'd arrive. I went to Kansas early to set up his apartment, so he'd have a "home" to come home to. I gave it my best effort, but I'm afraid the results weren't the most impressive: Setting up his apartment meant going to Wal-Mart for necessities, buying a few groceries, and moving what I could from his storage unit to his second-floor apartment. Because I had to carry everything in myself, the only furniture he came home to was a barstool and some kitchen chairs.

Still, that kept me busy for a couple of days, until I ran out of "setting up" to do. I went to Panera for coffee and spent a few hours there, endlessly checking my email in case Steve was able to write or the Army was finally sending out specific information. After that, though, I literally could not think of anything else to do besides wait indefinitely. So I spent the next two days watching "The Office" on DVD, which kept my mind off waiting and wondering what to expect. It had been 10 months since I'd last seen Steve in person, and though we were able to talk on the phone regularly, I couldn't help worrying that it might take us some time to get used to being together again. Would we have an awkward reunion?

Around noon on April 14 my phone rang; it was the Army, letting me know that Steve's redeployment ceremony would be held at 0130 on April 15. "0130…0130…" I repeated, confused for a second, and then it struck me. "That's TONIGHT!" I shouted into the phone. "That's one-thirty in the morning – that means it's tonight!" I don't think the guy on the other end of the line was impressed with my deduction skills. But he confirmed that I needed to be at the redeployment ceremony site at 11:30pm that evening.

I really had no idea what to expect at the ceremony, and I had no idea what I was supposed to wear, so I was nervous about that on top of being anxious about seeing my fiancé for the first time in almost a year – not to mention the fact that he was returning from war, an experience I couldn't relate to.

When I arrived, bleachers had been arranged in a semicircle facing two large screens, which were playing "The Little Mermaid" for the kids. Wives were dressed in everything from jeans and grubby t-shirts to dresses and skirts, and I fell somewhere in the middle, so I was able to relax about that. When I got there the prescribed two hours early there were already more than a hundred people waiting. In addition to soldiers' wives there were parents, grandparents, fiancées, girlfriends, siblings and children. There were dozens of crying babies, and I wondered how many of them had never met their fathers before. I alternately sipped coffee and chewed mint gum as I waited for the ceremony to begin.

It finally started and after a few quick speeches, the soldiers began to file in. I had a pretty good view, being on an aisle in the middle of the bleachers, but I started to panic that I wouldn't recognize Steve when he walked in, since everyone seemed to look the same as they organized themselves into rows. I did recognize Steve, however, and waved, but he was soon swallowed up in formation. I stared hard at the guy standing in front of him so I would remember where he was standing. When all of the soldiers were in place the main speaker gave a few words, wrapped up quickly, and dismissed us to find our soldiers. I expected a lot of pushing and running and yelling, but it was surprisingly orderly, and I was able to get to Steve in less than a minute. Standing in front of him for the first time in so long, I suddenly felt shy, but it only lasted for a moment until he pulled me into a huge hug and kissed me. It was a purely joyful reunion – no awkwardness. And just like that, he was home, and the 15 long months of deployment were finally over.

That would be a good place to conclude with "happily ever after," but since I'm still an Army wife and will be for some time, the actual ending is: "…and the 15 long months of deployment were finally over. Until his next tour, that is."

But at least the Army's cut down deployments to no more than 12 months, so next time won't be quite as long.