The Rabbit Hole of My Mind

After 4 weeks of chaos, life is mostly back to normal. And by normal, I mean Neal has added 30 minutes each way to his commute, Blue cries every morning about not wanting to go to school and I have managed to navigate the busiest Costco I've ever seen. And we haven't even ventured into Los Angeles proper yet.

We miss Pennsylvania and we miss our friends. That's not to say we aren't finding our way out here, but it is just so so so different, in almost every way imaginable. So, while I price shop the 4 major grocery stores and 4863927 different farmer's markets and plan out our summer activities, I'm also going to get caught up on the blog. I have some posts about the move, a few about our trip out here and then I'll get started with what we've done here so far. I've miss y'all and I couldn't be happier to be back!

So...this happened the day the packers came:

A team of 6 women showed up at our door step at 8 AM on the dot and proceeded to work, y'all. They took one 15-minute break and one lunch break. They packed our entire house in one day. IN ONE DAY. That has never happened. NEEEEVVVVVEEEERRRRR. Naturally, I was a little concerned about the state of everything after being packed that quickly and then moved into storage and out of storage. But I'm here to tell you, I've unpacked the entire kitchen, both bedrooms and the living room and the only thing that busted was a plastic bin from the Dollar Tree, which was probably living on borrowed time anyway. Not a single chip in the fine china, not a crack in the crystal, every piece is just as it was in Pennsylvania and all is accounted for. If you hire a packing crew and you get these ladies,

welcome them warmly and just sit back. They totally got this. Oh...and maybe feed them lunch. They like deli sandwiches, chips, fresh fruit and chocolate chip cookies. Had I known their mad packing skills, I would have let them take the antique Cosco stool instead of hand-carrying it in our RV for 3800 miles.

But then...2 days later, the men showed up. Now, to be fair, I gave them all (including the driver) a hard time from the get-go about marking furniture as damaged when it isn't...yet...and getting stickers on everything that wasn't packed in box. The driver, an older gentleman who was probably used to dealing with high strung military spouses, took most of it in stride. He probably rolled his eyes behind my back but to my face he was courteous and patient. His crew (and one gentleman in particular), didn't care for me much and had no problem letting me know. I got so flustered that at one point during the day I muttered, "I'm doing the best I can. I got no male back-up right now", which meant that Neal was gone to California while I was getting the house packed out. Except I didn't intend for anyone to know that, especially a group of 20-something, burly, men who carried incredibly heavy furniture down a flight of stairs on their backs. No, I didn't mean to say that at all. They were going to make mincemeat of me.

So, even though I tried to be much nicer the rest of the afternoon and I tipped them all once the truck was loaded, as they headed out of the neighborhood my constant thought was, "Crap. They are going to come back in the middle of the night and murder me on my RV mattress."

So, I got Blue off the bus and hung out with the neighbors until bath time. We brushed teeth and read stories and then I double-checked every door and window in the house. But that house didn't have an alarm system so then I decided that I would have to nap until about 2 AM. Because if I was hatching a plan to murder someone for being obnoxious, I would do it at the bars downtown until closing time. And then I would head out with my buddies and a baseball bat around 1:45 AM. 

I didn't have to set an alarm. I tossed and turned and dozed until 1:50. Then I played on Pinterest and listened for any sound of intrusion...until 4:30. Because 4:30 is basically 5, which is basically morning and nothing really bad happens at 5 AM. However, as my mother always says, nothing good happens after midnight. So I napped from 5-7 AM, when Blue woke up and we started our day. Neal was coming home that night so I would actually get to sleep that evening.

Even to this day, a month later, this was a totally logical way to approach the situation, which explains a lot about what Neal has had to live with for the past 13 years. I had no escape plan for if they did decide to attack, but I guess I would have been awake for it and that was going to be enough?

Thank you, moving crew, for not hatching a plan to return and murder me. Ending up on Dateline is not how I want to go out.

The Little Couch That Could

As y'all know, we are chin-deep in getting ready for another move. I started Kon-mari'ing the house in January (with apologies to Marie Kondo for turning her method into a verb, but to say that I'm "decluttering" or "tidying up" really doesn't do justice to what is going on around here...it's significantly more serious than that). And now our garage is plum full of items that sparked no joy when I held them all those months ago.

Except one of the Keurigs and a microwave managed to make it back into the house. To be fair, the movers busted our last Keurig and it was a whole new level of Dante's hell as I waited for the reimbursement check to come in so we could replace it. Also, I'm fairly certain that the CA house doesn't have a microwave (because it's the military and they figure they are giving you a roof, some rooms and a refrigerator, you can figure out the rest).

Also...this couch.

A quick story about this couch. It was our first furniture purchase as an active duty family when we were stationed in Georgia. We already had a beautiful Haverty's leather sectional, with recliners at each end, but...it didn't fit in the base housing. So, we scooted on down to the AAFES furniture store one afternoon and bought something that was comfy, leather and fit perfectly in our shotgun living room.

(Selfie maternity photos. All you need is a tripod, some props and a baby bump.) 

Well, I take that back. It wasn't SUPER comfortable. It sat REALLLLLLLY low to the floor. Like...on the floor. Our knees were never at a 90 degree angle when we were sitting on it and we had to hoist every grandparent (as well as my 9 month pregnant self) off of it when it was time to get up. 

Eventually the too-low couch was excommunicated to the playroom, where it lived until last week. I didn't hold it in my hands but the fact that just looking at it made my knees hurt, told me all I needed to know about how much joy it sparked. Neal hoisted it on his shoulders and hauled it out to the garage, destined to be someone's yard sale bargain. 

As he lowered the couch to set it on the ground, I heard him say, "Huh. Maybe we should put the feet on it if we're going to sell it." 

Wait. What? It has FEET?? As in, it doesn't HAVE to be the world's shortest couch? 

He put the feet on. 

I loved the couch. It was comfortable and one can rise with ease. 

We carried it back into the house, where it will stay until the movers put it on the truck to CA. It has earned a spot in the living room and given us one extra place to sit when company comes to visit. 

I guess the lesson here is if you have your furniture delivered, it's always a good idea to look under it before using it for 8 years. There may be something useful stapled to the bottom. 

Breakfast of Champions

I don't know who started it, probably my maternal grandmother considering her insatiable appetite for sweets at any time of the day, but cake & coffee (or chocolate milk in my decaffeinated days) has always been an acceptable breakfast. Pie is a decent substitute but there was always more cake than pie when I was growing up. Whenever our family gathered for a birthday (which seemed to happen about 3 times a year as the birthdays were unintentionally clustered into March, September and October), you could bet that everyone would finish the cake the morning after the party.

I think my husband was justifiably appalled by this when he married into the family, especially considering our family dies from diabetes and cardiovascular disease. You would think we would always have veggie omelettes and turkey bacon, but no...the sweet tooth gene is alive and well (and has been passed down yet again).

It has been awhile since I had cake & coffee for breakfast, but this is a special cake from some truly exceptional folks.

Yesterday afternoon, a group of families from our children's missions group at church gave us a going away party, complete with yummy food (I may have declared to Blue at one point, "THIS is dinner! Eat it or starve later!"), thoughtful gifts and delightful conversation. For 4 hours we gathered, shared a meal and swapped stories about our children, home ownership and how we came to be Moravians. The kids, being hearty Pennsylvanian stock (our own son could now pass for a native) played outside, although the wind chill had to be below freezing. And the littlest of our crew toddled around our feet or sat in laps while we chatted.

It was the warmest I've felt since the last days of summer.

When Neal was assigned to a National Guard post with no on-post housing and very few active duty families nearby, I...well...I had what my friend, Carrie, calls a complete come-apart. I came unglued, unhinged, consumed by the idea that I wasn't going to make any friends because we were going into a place where everyone had known each other for a hundred years and one new, transient face was never going to break through the ice.

And for about 6 months, I wasn't wrong.

But it had everything to do with my attitude.

I assumed these people would have no interest in me, so I had no interest in them. Consequently, they had no interest in me. But I was lonely and Blue was, too. We had gone from being completely immersed in Army life and engaging daily (sometimes multiple times a day) with our neighbors and friends as we passed each other on the street or chatted at the playground or met for coffee after our morning workout to a civilian suburban life where we would see 1 or 2 kids on bikes after school and a parent or 2 checking the mail before closing the garage door behind them.  In Kansas, we lived in barracks that had been renovated into spacious apartments so, we were, literally, on top of each other. We sometimes disagreed and there was occasional drama, but we had become a tribe, more than that...a family. We all cried when it was time to leave. We had become completely enmeshed in each other's lives.

And then we scattered...to Korea, Texas, Louisiana, Germany, Florida and Pennsylvania. It was devastating and I wanted to quit all of this. It was too hard, too emotionally draining. I can deal with finding a new dentist, new doctor, new school, new everything every 24 months. But finding new friends was too much to ask. I almost asked Neal if we could just be done.

But if I had, we would have never found our Pennsylvania family. And I can't imagine my life without these people in it. Not just our church family, but our neighbors and friends we've met along the way. I think about the night of my birthday last year when we gathered with neighbors in the backyard for a potluck dinner and to watch Captain Underpants (I let Blue pick my birthday movie. I'll know better for next year.) on the big screen. And driving a carload of kids to the Farm Show every January to see the chicks hatch in front of our eyes and the just-born calves struggle to their feet for the first time. And to drink our weight in PA Dairy Association milkshakes. And the epic pre-trick-or-treating party our neighbors throw every Halloween night. Last year they had 3 tables full of food and inflatable party decorations.

And I think about all of the mission work we've been able to participate in through the children's missions program at the church: decorating pumpkins and passing out valentines at the nursing home, crafting gifts for the Father's Day worship service, gathering and packing supplies to send to Soldiers deployed overseas, preparing the Lenten meal for a Wednesday night service. These children are learning from their parents and their church how to serve others and I feel lucky and blessed that we've been a part of that. What if I had given up after Kansas? Look at all we would have missed.

Palm Sunday. We had obviously temporarily lost our minds when we sat down with all of the kids between us. I mean...what could go wrong? 

This is just a few from the hoards of photos I have from the past 2 years...favorite teachers, city parades (PA loves a good parade), church services on the front lawn, trick-or-treating in the neighborhood and a little of what makes our church unique. And not a single person in these photos is in the military. They were just living their lives, going to church and soccer games and swim lessons. And then we showed up. Strangers. Gypsies. Temporary. They loved us anyway. 

They knew we couldn't stay. They loved us anyway.

They knew the goodbyes would be hard. They loved us anyway.

They didn't know our story, where we came from, what kind of friends we would be. They loved us anyway. 

They knew nothing about military families or what our lives are like. They loved us anyway. 

They don't know if we'll ever be back. (We will.) They loved us anyway. 

Whenever I meet a new military spouse, I tell him/her, "You will get out of it exactly what you put into it." That's true for most things in life. But taking the time to engage with your community and its culture can seem like an unnecessary burden when you are always the new family. What's the point? And it's easy to assume that they are thinking the same thing. But what if they aren't? What if you enrich each other's lives; you help them to understand the sacrifices that a military family makes and they help you to understand what makes their community so vibrant and distinct? What if you are looking for a church and end up finding a family? It is often said that it takes a village and we must not be afraid to ask our neighbors and our friends to be our village when we have moved so far from family. Every military spouse knows that finding your tribe when you live on post or on base happens fairly easily and quickly. But finding them in a civilian setting feels overwhelming and pointless. I'm here to tell you it can happen and that it's worth trying. 

And to everyone who has taken us in, shared a meal with us, come over for a chat or welcomed us into their circle, thank you. Thank you for loving us anyway. It is, by far, the best way to support military families. And it makes us want to continue doing what we're doing. Even though we have to say good-bye, we are grateful for every memory and the chance that when we meet again, it is as friends instead of strangers. Until next time....

The Year of Living More With Less: The Stressing and the Blessing

As I write this, we are in PCS limbo. It happens every 18 months or so. We have been identified as movers, we have ranked the list of open jobs, we are waiting to hear from Human Resources Command at Ft. Knox regarding where we are headed next (they keep having snow days - which happens. When Neal was at Knox we had a snow so deep he had to shovel a path for Blue to walk so we could leave the house.). After a couple of conversations with Neal's Branch Manager, we have an idea of what our options might be. Sometimes it's something in our first five choices. Sometimes it's not. But that doesn't really matter. Like most military families, we rank jobs based on whether they will build or bust Neal's career. We never rank an OK job with an amazing location higher than an amazing job with an OK location. That means we've never been to Germany or Japan or Hawaii or Italy or Alaska. I'm not saying those locations only have low-level jobs, I'm saying we've never been given a list where those locations offer jobs (at that time) that would boost Neal's career. Sometimes the most desirable jobs go to someone in Military Intelligence or Infantry or Signal. However, it is also how we have landed in areas of the country that most people simply drive through or fly over and we have fallen in love with these areas just as deeply as if we had spent 2 years on the beaches of Honolulu or in the piazzas of Italy.

And because so many Americans don't get to experience the kind of quiet beauty that exists in the hamlets of Georgia, Virginia, Kentucky, Kansas and Pennsylvania, I want to share some of my favorite photos from the past 8 years.

Fresh peaches at Lane's Peach Orchard in Fort Valley, GA. I will still drive out of my way for Lane's fresh peach ice cream and wine. 

A spring lunch on the banks of the Appomattox River. And then some 4-leaf clover searching. City Point served as the headquarters for the Union Army during the Siege of Petersburg. But remnants of the Civil War are scattered throughout this region of Virginia.

Tasting sap straight from the tree at a maple syrup festival in southern Indiana. It's not anything you would want to pour over your pancake. 

Watching the Kroger employees craft the Kentucky Derby garland of roses for the Derby winner. They bag the reject roses and hand them out to anyone who stops by. They may not be good enough for the Derby winner, but I was thrilled to have them.

"I'm TWO," said Blue to Santa Claus...in Santa Claus, Indiana. Santa asked Blue about the real meaning of Christmas. Blue said, "Ho! Ho! Ho! Pwesents!" And it was then that we realized we had failed God. And Santa.

The time-consuming task of restoring a carousel horse by hand. Leavenworth, Kansas is home to the fastest carousel in the country, which is not as fun as it sounds. But the horses are works of art that, for some crazy reason, they allow us to straddle.

Not all of life is slower and more deliberate in Pennsylvania. Front Street in Harrisburg is a bustle of legislators and businesses. But here in Lancaster County, we yield to a simpler way of life. 

Sometimes all you need is 1/2 mile on the Appalachian Trail to remind you of what's important. We'll do more someday. Maybe the whole thing. But for now, in this season of life, this is plenty. 

I was writing at full tilt last weekend. Under a deadline with 4 articles to write and 2 days to do it, I answered a text from my editor with "I just started the second article. Beginnings and endings are hard." She texted me right back with, "In life, too." Farm Show chicks are born under bright lights and thousands of inquisitive eyes.

I am taking a moment to remember where we've been, what we've seen because it reminds me that it doesn't really matter what God's plan is for us. Whatever it is, it will work out. And being anxious about the future is simply distracting me from the joys of today. Still, it's easy for me to be paralyzed by fear of the unknown. What if we end up in a horrible school district? What if we don't get along with the neighbors? What if we're all miserable for two years? Except that has never been the case. So much stress when all we've been is blessed.

The season of uncertainty never gets any easier. Do I hold on to these ski pants or get rid of them? Will we need these life jackets at the next place? What will we do if the new house is half the size of this one with a carport instead of a 3 car garage? What if Blue is bullied? How do we keep all this unbridled anxiety from steering the ship? For Christmas, Mama Virgo presented Blue with a Magic 8 Ball because she saw it on some list of top gifts for 5-year olds. While Blue was busy asking it questions like "Where are my Dusty Crophopper socks?" (Goodwill) and "Where is the Build-A-Bear coupon that came in the mail yesterday?" (the very bottom of the trashcan) and "Where are the Duplo LEGOS that I gave to Santa?" (in an unmarked black trash bag in the garage), I wanted to know where we would be next. DC? Not likely. CA? It is decidedly so. There you have it, HRC. My Magic 8 Ball tells me so.

All I know is that we have made our homes where many people choose not to live. Vine Grove, Macon, Leavenworth...these are not pockets of glamour on the American landscape. I also know that I have been dragged kicking and screaming to every new assignment and I've been dragged kicking and screaming away from every old assignment. Beginnings and endings are hard, but being being suspended between an ending and a beginning is the worst. I do not want to say goodbye, I do not want to say hello. I want to be in the middle. But God doesn't strengthen us in the middle. The middle was our rest. Our rest is over. It's time to put on our armor and go. But where? And when?