Travel Saga

Herein lies the adventure of one Firefly, traveling from her current base to home address.

My base is a training command, which means that we CAN take what's referred to as "Christmas Standdown" - nearly all of the base shuts down for two weeks. This is by no means the case with every military base. One of the girls in my class (former Aviation Technician) showed me her squadron's patch - it was a calendar month with a different image representing every well-known holiday, with a red "no" symbol superimposed over it, and their squadron name beneath. That year, they had flown on every holiday.

The actual dates of standdown are not generally released until mid-November. This is a source of irritation for anyone who wants to fly home - is it best to purchase tickets early, securing a good price but risking having the dates wrong? Or would it be better to wait, have to pay more, but have the dates for sure? Of course the latter is safer, but the general saying is that the two most important things to a Sailor are his time* and his money - because the Navy doesn't give us much of either. :)

*Much closer to the truth are "his girlfriend, and his family," at least for the guys I know, and they prefer having their time and money to spend with these two parties.

I am fortunate - taking the bus is a conceivable option. There's a nice little element of the Midwest referred to as Megabus - it doesn't exactly run on time, nor do they have designated depots, but they're decently warm, fabulously affordable, and sometimes even have Wi-Fi (not always, it must be noted, but sometimes). Ticket purchase ended up being an adventure in and of itself - internet is by no means a sure thing in my life.

The adventure begins Thursday. The past few days, we've been busy setting our rooms aright for this break - in essence, giving the appearance that no one lives there. While both of my roommates are done with their responsibilities at noon, this is in fact when my classes begin (having been moved up for the day).

Some massive shifts regarding my curriculum begin in January - we elected to switch our schedule up a bit and take one of the shorter units this week, rather than the one that was originally scheduled and would have had us testing the day after we returned. Too short a unit, it turned out - we finished and tested a day early. A rare fluff day - we spent it watching Master & Commander, and then released to a short field day on the schoolhouse. I spent the hour polishing two solid brass Howitzers captured off a Confederate ship during the Civil War.

Met with a few friends for pizza that evening, a sort of last hurrah. Over the course of the night, I got nearly 40 minutes of sleep. Reveille was at 0200, superiors wanted us out of the barracks at 0400, my bus ticket was for noon. Brilliant.

David and I were going to take the train into Chicago together, but this meant first schlepping our stuff the two miles from our barracks to the station. This is a simple matter for me, with my solitary backpack and laptop. Not so for David, who is hauling over 250 pounds between his sea bag and two overstuffed backpacks. (David is a foot taller than I am, and we weigh exactly the same. He has years of backpacking experience, but this is still quite the load he's hauling.)

We barely made the first train - really, it was only because of the press of sailors already waiting that we did. I imagine the ride in was uneventful - I slept through it. On David's sea bag.

Having arrived in central Chicago, we discovered that 1) Booters cannot be trusted to wear a dress blue uniform properly through a train station, and 2) Breakfast was in order. In the time it took to consume bagels and coffee (coffee for me, for David, the worst cup of tomato juice he claims he's ever had), we encountered a half-dozen other friends from base. Cheers!

Parted then, he to O'Hare, I to Union Station. To wait. And try desperately hard NOT to fall asleep. I'd elected NOT to travel in uniform (were I flying, that would be different), and it was kind of nice to not be noticed.

Four hours, six pages of journaling, a long conversation with a longer-distance friend, and a path-crossing with one very attractive Marine later, it was time to meet my bus. Or...so I thought. As stated, Megabus doesn't always run on time. The Megabus to Memphis was just pulling away as I arrived at the corner. Twenty minutes later, the 1140 bus arrived. Those of us headed to Minneapolis slightly cheered at this - a sign that our bus had neither vanished nor arrived early, but was running ridiculously late. But, had I known that I would be standing in the snow for an extra hour, I would likely NOT have worn my soon-to-be-retired running shoes.

I don't actually own a pair of nonmilitary boots. It's on my to-do list for this break.

Forty minutes late, our bus arrived. I climbed up to the second deck, found a window seat, and almost immediately kicked off my shoes and hid my sock-clad feet under the seat in front of me, in hopes that some feeling might return to my soaked toes before frostbite set in. Being from Minnesota, you feel a little stupid admitting that you didn't properly dress for the weather.

My seatmate turned out to have been a stage-management major in college, and then moved on to nonprofit humanitarian work (two years teaching English and theater in Romania with the Peace Corps, among a lot of other cool things). Very cool conversation, comparing some of what she does with nonprofit with the way things run at Camp (I was wearing both a Camp hoodie and t-shirt*).

*This was actually not planned - I just own more Camp t-shirts than anything else.

There's something so, so nice about having someone waiting to pick you up when your bus/plane/train arrives. You're perfectly capable of making your way the last leg if you had to, but the fact that someone cared enough to meet you, and is happy to see you...wow.

We don't really do, "happy to see you," on base. It's dangerous to be too happy, it attracts attention. You can do a, "Hey, cool, you're here," or if you're feeling especially good, you can divert it into sarcasm. We divert everything into sarcasm - the more emotional we are, the more we sound like jerks. It's like a code where we interpret it and bond over it, but it's a whole lot safer than actually expressing what's going on. The fact that you're somewhere where people DO means that you're safe again.

Dad and I spent a most enjoyable ride home. Everything from Dr. Demento to discussions about Catholicism. Dad and I can talk for hours about anything...as long as we're in the same room. We're awful at phone conversations.

But now, I am home. And it doesn't feel weird at all - really, it feels as though I never left. :)

Body Mist and Umbrellas

I smell delicious. Like chocolate, mostly, but not quite chocolate. Perhaps chocolate and caramel? Mixed in a house where the air is heavily laden with cinnamon? What IS that?

Oh well. I actually make a point of leaving most of the real pleasures at home right now. Thanks to the relative proximity of the base, I can visit home once every month or two. That'll be changing now, with on-base duty changing around and snow flying in (I do NOT fancy driving seven hours by myself in this stuff - that accident on the way back from Sheridan left a fair shiver of respect in me for winter driving), but for the last eight months, I have left a fair number of the things that make me happy back there.

It's not that here is exactly terrible. It's just a little rough. And you never really let your guard down, ever. You don't ever really trust people - you think you do, and then you come home, and you're with friends that you'd fall asleep on, that you'd open your heart to, that you can be happily vulnerable with. And then you realize that, oh, wait, I don't do this with anybody on base.

It's kind of like an umbrella, that's all. Stuff keeps coming at you, and you've got to get your work done, so you don't ever open yourself up to getting hit, and that way you can get some work done. (I'm noticing that this is a common phrase with me. Someone asked me about my biggest peeve the other day, and it was, "Guys who try to flirt with me when I'm trying to get work done." Ironically, I don't know that my work is ever done.) When everything's good, you kind of loosen up a little, but it's only with your closest friends that you're really you.

Which all sounds tremendously emo. I don't know how best to explain it. I'm happy enough, certainly. Working hard, always have a challenge in front of me, and friends to laugh with. It's good.

But I leave my comfy pajamas at home. Because if I got THAT comfortable, here, I might not be able to get that umbrella back up in time before going outside.

Anyway, I smell really good. Yum.

Es Schneit Aus!!

It snowed!!

And we had a Christmas party for the kids!! (this was awesome, by the way)

And I wiped out on the ice in ranks!!

But that's okay because it snowed!!


I can't stop grinning, but that may be because the muscles in my cheeks are frozen.

Recovery Time

Brian has a saying - every time you break, it's easier to put yourself back together, because you know how the pieces go.

I don't know if that's what's going on or not, but I talked with Joseph and one of my sisters and got some sleep and thought about Cheryl, and I'm feeling a LOT better today.

Reacting

I'm a little numb today.

I don't know why I'm reacting so strongly to the hit-and-run, except that I know and like the two girls who were standing there. Maybe it's just that it's easy to see how, twenty seconds earlier, it could have been them instead of their friends. Maybe I'm just tired of people dying.

Sigh. Days like this make it very hard to remain motivated about the details of life here. If I leave out my shampoo bottle, have a scratch on my belt buckle, get some dirt under my boot laces, who cares?

I was a real mess earlier today. Things tend to take a few days to hit, sometimes. Talked to my sister, talked with Joe, and deleted a few friends off Facebook. I have no idea why, but this made me feel better. Well, not 'better', exactly, but like I could actually get through lab tonight and learn something.

We'll start Radar next week. This is when we're really supposed to start losing people.

(It should be noted that I had an absolutely splendid Thanksgiving, but since my friends clearly didn't, I feel very mixed.)

Re: My Supposed Best Friend

Does anyone know a polite way to express, "I'm sorry, I have no idea what changed, but you're driving me crazy, and I just don't want to be around you anymore?"

I was thinking a week off would do it, but I am apparently mistaken. He's just way too happy about ME, and it feels like he's trying to make this a dating relationship without me noticing.

Firefly doesn't DO ambiguity. At least, on my end. Apparently I cause it in almost everyone else's lives. But I'm not sure how to handle this one without burning the bridge to the ground.

A Very Happy Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving, then!

This was a wonderful interlude. I brought my friend David along - his family is in California, and visiting them over the break wouldn't work out, but I felt that unnecessarily spending Thanksgiving on base was stupid. Since my house is within 300 miles of base, and since he works for the chapel, his paperwork for this only needed a week to process (unlike the rest of us, who needed about a month's advance notice).

We rented a car for this. There's a Hertz on base, and I've used them before for the occasional duty-free weekend. I tend to get compact cars, as it's usually just me traveling and they tend to charge significantly less for them. David is a foot taller than me, but his mom assured him that he would indeed fit in a compact car. We figured that if he had to lay down for the whole trip, that is indeed a "fit", but it actually worked out fine. Make and model were another story. They gave us a powder-blue Nissan versa. Girliest thing I've ever seen that wasn't parked next to a Barbie's Dream House. Eh, whatever. The heat works, the headlights work, the brakes work, and the music works. These are the major concerns for us.

My sisters had arrived the night before, in time to see my parents' show. The week or so prior to this happy holiday, we'd been thinking of it with no small amount of excitement and trepidation. All three girls were planning to bring a male associate (mine the only one not holding some sort of romantic status), Mom and Dad's show opened that weekend*, and the first really good (or bad) winter storm was kicking up for right around that time.

*If you don't have anyone in your family who does theater, let me explain: The week before opening night is called tech week. Your significant other/family member/best friend actually vanishes off the face of the earth during this time, and when you do see them (awake), they usually have wild eyes and their hair's out of control as they feverishly mutter lines to themselves.** It's great fun.
** My Mom is much more refined. I can't actually see her doing this. I've just seen all my friends and both my sisters doing this. Great fun. Bring them food, set it down, and back away slowly. You'll see them again opening night, and they should be back to themselves at the afterparty.***
***I have one friend who doesn't just act or play, he also directs. He's a case from about a month before the show to a week after the run is done, and randomly disappears for weeks at a time. You just sort of take it in stride.

My Mom does Norman Rockwell-style Thanksgiving meal. I love this. There is turkey. There is in-the-bird stuffing, and stovetop stuffing. There are probably five different kinds of potatoes and squash that have been mashed, candied, and/or baked. There is green bean casserole (a personal favorite of my sister's - I by contrast tend to devour the mashed potatoes). And there is pie. Lovely, lovely pie. Blueberry, and pumpkin, and apple - and it's all made with you in mind. (This is a difference you can taste. The galley food NEVER has this.) So good. So so good.

One of the boys couldn't make it, thanks to the impending doom that the weather heralded, but it was nonetheless a splendid time. Traditionally, we tend to go around the table and each talk about something we're thankful for this year, but we only made it as far as me and David. I had said something about the Navy, or the tests that I've made it through, and that sparked interest, and then David and I took turns fielding questions from everyone else for what seemed to make up a lot of the rest of dinnertime. Oops.

But AFTER dinner, it was game time. Not the football game, no. My family's big on speed scrabble. Mom was elsewhere at the time, otherwise she would have decimated us - my Mom is brilliant with wordplay. The boys were playing for the first time - speed scrabble is based on evaluating very quickly what you have and what you can make out of it, and doesn't use the board, so it's a little something to get used to.

Taboo's another favorite - David and I were on the same team, which was fortunate because about half of what comes out of my brain now is Navy-related, and no one else would have understood. This was followed by Pictionary - I'm not sure why, but I am spectacularly awful at Pictionary. It's not that I can't draw; it's that I can't communicate through drawing. Elizabeth's the only person who ever seems to be able to guess what I'm thinking, and she was paired with John. It was a lot of fun, though.

There's a statement that you learn more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation. And I've also found that one of the swiftest ways that I grow closer to a person is to laugh with them. And these are both events in which my family excels.

It was so very good to be home.