Rust In Peace

Ran across a facebook profile.

Former acquaintance has moved to Florida and we will likely not be crossing paths again - "Well, he seems to be doing well. Good for him."

Same former acquaintance's absolute beater of a Honda (he's probably had it since he was 18 if not 16) has finally died. "What?? No!!"

I form a rather strong attachment to cars with "character." 

Coffee

"On deployment, some of the female sailors have boyfriends, a few have girlfriends. I have decided, next deployment, I'm going to date the coffee machine."
"...?"
"No, it's great. I always know where to find him, nothing about his lifestyle puts a crimp in mine, and he's got at least a 97% success rate on making me happy whenever we have time together."
"Yeah, but you're exclusive. You'd still have to share it with 2000 people."
"....there is that."




So, over the last six months, I have developed a lovely and apparently quite permanent ("stable" may not be the best term for it) relationship with coffee. This was originally developed of necessity - half my days underway are 16 hours long, some are 20, and a rare few run to the 27-30 range.

I usually lose sanity during a week of the latter.

I take this time as an opportunity to experiment with my physiology, basically see how long I can keep running on various forms of alternative fuel - working out, playing with hot vs. cold showers, these particular foods make me feel heavy and sleepy, these others keep me pretty stable, eating every six hours, eating every two hours...and of course, the experimentation of coffee.

Despite the popularity of the "Monster" energy drink, this isn't considered an option. There was an experience in my Apprenticeship school. Apprentice School was a time when, 5 days a week, we were in class from 4 pm til midnight, covering a week's worth of material every night. The proffered Monster seemed like a good idea at the time. That is all that will be said on the subject.


How much coffee. How often. Try espresso instead (in me, we have found that espresso produces more lasting energy, gradually ramping up to peak, while coffee spikes and then drops a bit to a manageable plateau for about four hours). Mix coffee and cappucino. Mix with plain milk. Drink an equal amount of water (this, interestingly, seems to yield the best energy results, but as long as I maintain it, requires that I go find a bathroom about once an hour).

I really like coffee. More specifically, I really like the emotional spike that I get from it. The two people who most suffer the results of this, however, are my friend Lance and my supervisor. At one point, my supervisor actually forbid me from ever having coffee during work hours again. Considering that at the time, I seem to recall being four inches off the ground, vibrating like a 180-pound hummingbird, grinning madly, and unable to put spaces in between my words, he was probably justified in his assessment. Lance is my very married buddy on the ship - his attitude towards me seems to be a sort of enduring bafflement and amusement. The coffee runs fuel much of the second one.





One of the other women I see sometimes, as I have to run paperwork through her office, asked me the other day if I was all right, that I didn't really seem to be myself anymore. I was taken aback, since I was pretty happy and didn't feel as though I'd been putting on any kind of front. She referenced the way I'd been when I first arrived, and I thought about it, and realized that she was referring to a sort of happy innocence I projected. I'd become much more serious over deployment.

Everyone has some issues wrestling with life on deployment. You miss real food, time to think, seeing someone other than the same 30 people every day (yes, the population of my ship is almost exactly that of my hometown, but the ones I actually WORK with are a more select sampling), your loving schmoopsie-poo back home, real food, hot showers, privacy...etc. This was my first experience of life on a ship, so the transition may have been a little rougher for me, I don't know. You only get one chance to do something the first time. But, of necessity after one's first deployment is a psych eval. They concluded that I had some issues with anxiety, and then investigating my lifestyle, decided that I drink too much coffee and should limit myself to two cups a day

Pooh.

Lance learned at some point that I'd taken some creative liberties with this. Not in the sense of redefining a cup (as was proposed by one of my girlfriends, "You just need one of those quart-size mugs!"), but dividing it up a bit. Now, I could fill up my travel mug...or I could put 2-4 oz in it 4 times a day, cut it with milk or something, and just ride a series of little spikes the whole day. Yes yes yes. Medical should be happy, I am happy, as long as I get my work done my supervisor is happy, and Lance retains his source of entertainment. Brilliance.

I was talking with my Mom about this, who by astonishing coincidence has known me longer than anybody, describing with amusement some of my joyful spazzes with Lance (eg, "It'srainingit'srainingit'srainingit'sraining!" "Sophie, we live in the Pacific Northwest. It rains 4 days out of 5." "It'srainingit'srainingit'sraining!!"). She made an observation that I'd clean forgotten about - that persona isn't at all unusual. Up until Apprentice School, and honestly a good chunk of that time, that's exactly who I was - overhappy joyful spaz celebrating the most menial things.

It seems that coffee simply cuts through all the grey steel of the lifestyle that's weighing everything down, and shows who I really am without the influence of the ship.

I'm very okay with this.

Scent of Rain

Getting out of the car for an early morning McDonalds stop. Breathe. Breathe again.
My Dad refers to McDonalds as, "a fine Scottish restaurant!"
I have experienced rainstorms in Singapore and Malaysia. Around Seattle, three consecutive days without rain is very uncommon.

But the rain here smells different. It's a scent I'd forgotten, that I didn't know I'd missed. Rain everywhere else just seems to be falling water. This, this is HOME.

It helps a bit that my home state is significantly inland by comparison to where I live now, so during the summer months it's much warmer (and during the winter, a good deal colder). Engages more of my senses. 78-degree thunderstorm. Nice.

Coming in, I noticed the absence of mountains. Started thinking about the way I love MN, vs. the way I loved the Bighorns and Olympic Peninsula. I love seeing those mountains, there's so much promise of challenge, interesting places to explore, big quiet to get lost in. MN, feels like I know everything already, there isn't a challenge there...but it's because I know everything well that it's home.

I had a friend who went to both Baghdad and Afghanistan a few years ago. He told me that the reason he could take on the chaos there was because he knew I was a "safe place" waiting for him back home. He could carry the thought of that safe place with him, keep him a little sane on the field, and he could fight to protect that safe place, because the chaos there must not reach here. And maybe that's how I feel about MN. I can go all over the world and take on these big challenging things, while MN doesn't exactly challenge me. Actually, MN's the opposite; here's where I can sit back and breathe. Get my air back, my mind back, so I can go charging up another mountain somewhere else.

Halfway There!

So, just after the halfway point on this deployment, we visit Dubai!

As this is what's referred to as a "working port", rather than a "liberty port," for my division, I cannot say that I've seen very much of the country. But, I've had land under my feet, worn civilian clothing, eaten WAY too much food, and been able to call home.

The last six weeks...well, I can say I've learned a lot. It seems, however, that the more I learn, the less I talk. Part of this is also because I'm a little concerned (somewhere very deep down) about my social skills. I think I've come to the point where I can interact fairly well with the people in my shop, just fine with the people throughout the ship, and decently with anyone else who's been in the military...but I apparently have some sort of sector-specific Asperger's when it comes to civilians.

I don't get the nuances. I don't know what's okay. I tend to be very serious when I do talk, except that it's laced with irony. Very deadly things are funny, because that's just how we deal with them. It's not that we're making light of them, we're acknowledging that they're serious by being funny about them.

I think this might actually be akin to what I think of as Irish humor.

So, the fact that you have cancer? Humor fodder. The fact that you are dying of cancer? Well, we'll first cautiously evaluate how you feel about that from a line or two after you drop that announcement, and then it's great fodder for humor (as long as you're cool with it). We are also the same crew who will all take you to the bar to get socially wasted on that news, if you want to take your mind off it and have a night out with friends who are there for you. Or, we'll stand staunchly by you and knock out anybody who takes it flippantly if you're reeling from it.

Divorce? Yep. Radiation leaks? Definitely. Finding out that thanks to your years of service you can't have kids? Hilarious. Because you're already laughing on it. Because we've got this idea of, "Well, I can't change it, I might as well find some humor in it, and, *expletive*, that actually is pretty funny!"

I have some distant memory that such things were NOT as funny among me and my friends before the Navy. In fact, I think I was one of the people who was always ready to get offended. So, I just sit, and listen. Plus, I'm probably taking in memories to revisit later in my bunk like chocolate-chip cookies*, and don't want to interrupt. My two cents are not needed.

*not that I eat cookies in my rack. That would be messy and gross. But I can revisit the memory of cookies, and my imagination is now very good at generating such things.

So, when I DO talk, it's sometimes very serious. And this, I think, might also be awkward. It's a sort of, "If I don't get the chance to talk with you for another year, or ever, I want to have at least said this to you."

These might all be the result of 1st year on a ship. Maybe in 2 years, I won't notice any of this. :)

This is the first time I've had relatively open internet in months. On the ship, videos take too much bandwidth to allow, and blogs are considered unnecessary for work, so I'm catching up with these. My youngest sister is kind enough to email me her blog posts, so first priority is in fact a friend of my middle sister's, who plays guitar and writes lyrics that I hang on. Also, Ursula Vernon, whose art, comics, and words I've been following for about seven years. I will likely never meet her, but I love reading her and her art is a lovely whimsy (or sometimes a savagely beautiful whimsy). Forgotten pleasures.

Subway. In the words of Gollum, "We forgot the taste of bread." Oh, but I love fresh-baked bread. I might just go in there and order a foot-long honey-oat loaf for supper tonight. I haven't decided.

Caribou! Okay, to back up a hair, the USO in Dubai has a place just off the pier referred to as "The Sandbox," or "The Oasis," sort of an open-air plaza of everything we've missed most. There's a coffee place, a pizza/grill place, Subway, two electronics/music stores, a smoke shop, some sort of salon, a massage parlor, the list goes on. We are, however, forbidden to take pictures here - this seems to be a common theme through most of this area of the world when we visit. Anyway, I am now fortified with that divine blend of chocolate and espresso that makes my euphoria sing.

I have hit an interesting revelation (because apparently we're not done with introspection yet). I don't want a relationship. I do, on the level that I've ALWAYS wanted to be the Princess pursued by the Knight, but really, right now, for what's going on in life and for where I am emotionally, I really want...a dog.

Seriously. It just occurred to me last week that I have been dreaming about a guy as a dog-substitute. I want a buddy to play with, a running partner, someone who's always happy to see me come home, who I can hang out with and not have to talk to, but whose presence just reminds me of what matters to me.

But, having a dog requires having a house (all right, yes, admittedly, in an apartment, I could have a SMALL dog, but I want an Aussie. Or a Goldie. Or a Bernese Mountain Dog. Actually, I found an Aussie/BMD cross on petfinder last night, and had to fight to remind myself that a) I am in the middle of the North Arabian Sea right now, b) I still live on the ship, not yet a barracks, when we get back to homeport, c) even if I do get to live in the barracks, I can't have a dog there, and most importantly, d) I spend about 3/4 of the year out to sea, and should not get solo custody of so much as a Siamese fighting fish right now.), and suddenly I launch once more into what's been called my "Point A to Point D" thinking, where I cannot afford a down payment on a house right now, so I should start saving, and also intensify my focus on my nursing degree and landing work at Mayo as soon as I get out, and what's the housing market like along this particular road I like near Roch...oh right. I'm still in the Navy.

But, all my limbs are attached, most of my skin is still on, I have received some sleep and still retain a sense of humor (it might not look the way it did before, but it's there!) and am grateful for many, many things in life. I may or may not get to call my family again tonight, and I am scheduled to be back in the States in a few months. Is good life.

And Off I Go Again!

This might be my last post for awhile.

Not that I mean to abandon everyone, but I'll soon be leaving, and where I'm going, the available internet blocks blogger. I've been batting around the idea of switching to a different site for this purpose, but I feel as though I don't have time between now and departure to have things the way I'd like them.

Picky, picky.

I'm now in the Seattle area. It's beautiful here; I'm looking forward to exploring a lot of these hills when I come back. There are trees EVERYWHERE. I walked past a ten-foot holly bush on my way to church the other day, just growing in someone's yard! I've never SEEN holly before, not actually growing and living.

I've long held a special appreciation for trees.

If any man has a place to sleep,
Clothes to wear,
And food to eat
A few good friends who know his heart
And a place in the woods to walk with God
How much richer can any man be?

I don't know what that's from, but it comes to mind, especially the last line, every time I'm out in the woods and see the riches spilled like the treasures of Aladdin's Cave. "How much richer can any man be?" I love the woods.

I have some apprehension about this deployment, but honestly, far more about being a tech. I feel like a seal trying to learn rock-climbing. I want to protest, "I'm not a waste! There's so much that I'm really very good at, there's just no use for it here! It doesn't show up on paper. But I do some things well!" Younger-me might have supposed that it's good for my humility, but somewhere along the way it clicked that humility didn't mean that I was supposed to worry and fret and be down on myself - it meant that I was supposed to be focused on something, someone, outSIDE myself. Forgetting whether I'm doing good or bad, forgetting ME, as it were, because someone else is here.

And when I'm trying hard to be good, and doing badly, it's very easy for me to start feeling sorry for myself.

So, no, I'm not really worried about the deployment. I will have forgotten things, yes. I will be short on sleep, yes. I will miss my family, and see many unfamiliar things, and endure the stress of living, working, eating, sleeping, and seeking recreation in what is effectively all the same building. But all of that, I can see past it. I will come back, in some condition or another. As long as I'm alive, I can heal from just about anything, so I'm not really concerned about the stress-damage yet.

But being a bad tech? For some reason, that really bothers me. Possibly because I want so much to be a GOOD tech, and I feel hopelessly unqualified. I know, by Navy standards, I went through school, and actually did very well, but I feel like that had far more to do with my test-taking abilities than my technical abilities. Rock-climbing seal.

Mail is a great, great encouragement, always. I won't always have time to respond, but I'll try.

Irrationale

Social network site points out that my friend has up a photo album of wedding prep. Navy has me out of the hometown loop, so it's entirely conceivable that my friend is getting married and I'm only just now finding out about it.

H and I are the same age, dear friends from college, somewhat drifted over the last two years. The news that she's getting married has me happy for her, and somewhat wistful, feeling as though I should be getting on the ball, by my age, I should be at least having a solid boyfriend with a future possibility of marriage.

But, 3 photos later, turns out that it is in fact H's sister who is getting married. Reaction here says something about me, because it's entirely, "Oh, hey, cool, M's getting married! Go her!" There's no sense that *I* should be following suit.

And M is at least two years younger than I am. My motivations amuse me.

Scuba, scuba, scooby-dooby-doo-ba!

This will be a long one.

So, with many many thanks to the people who love me and push me when I don't go after the good opportunities I have, I was able to squeeze into a basic scuba class before leaving San Diego!

As I leave on Tuesday (for somewhere much colder) and the class is a week long, I am very happy to have been pushed when I was.

This one is the NAUI Basic Scuba course. Had I another week, I would be going for the Advanced Course, although, to be honest, after this weekend, I would be doing a week of something completely unrelated like horseback riding and THEN do the Advanced Course. This takes a lot out of you.

Previously, I have thought, "Ah, I should get in better shape because I need to meet the Navy standard," or, "because I'd like to keep up with my athletic boyfriend," or even, "because I am too big." (This last one is a blatant lie, largely fed because I've been focusing on events that I'm not precisely built for, and completely ignoring those that I'm ideally suited to.)

After this week, lifting. Lifting, and endurance. I could justify an entire new running and workout program with the sole focus of being fit for diving - and I'm already considering it.

Diving is marvelous. I have a lot of trouble explaining it, though. There are these jewels of seconds that I find down there. It's more than the weightlessness, although that's cool. It's more than being able to explore an environment that I'm not made to survive in, although I love that. There's just something about being down there.

But GETTING down there is something that I have to want.

Diving itself is not hard. The act of descending, exploring, keeping track of my buddy, my remaining air, current depth, time before I have to return, swimming through the ocean, and ascending - that's all good.

But! Let us remember, the ocean is not a place that humans were designed for! There is necessary survival gear!

Wetsuit, hoods, booties - keep diver warm. Water snatches body heat away about 25 times faster than air does.
Weights, buoyancy control vest - human body is naturally buoyant, these allow the diver to reach the bottom or remain floating at the top, depending on the inflation of the BC.
Cylinder, regulators - most iconic part of scuba, carrying one's air along, and the couple of stops to keep 2000 PSI from blasting a diver out of the water every time he/she inhales.
Mask - turns out human eyes are designed to see through air*, and so need air between the pupils and the water in order to see detail through the water.
Snorkel - for any swimming at the surface; diver doesn't need to use up air, but we're designed to have the eyes and breathing orifices on the same side of the body, which doesn't work so well for surface swimming
Fins - Method of propulsion. Also, personal note - having tried both paddle fins and split fins, I HIGHLY recommend split fins. They are wonderful.

*I'm nearsighted, and as a kid, I thought things were blurry underwater because my contacts didn't work underwater.

It's not the most I've ever carried, but it's enough to keep anyone but Special Forces from jumping around.

Then, there is the little business of surf. Now, I grew up in a region with lakes. Many lakes. We don't HAVE surf, save for the Great Lakes, and that's not the same thing. Surf, I have concluded, is like the safety rails on a ship. God put it there to keep things from wandering into the ocean by accident. One can choose to leap the rails of a ship, just as one can choose to try to penetrate the surf after having been manhandled and thrashed upside the head twice.

There may have been an accident. I perhaps may have swallowed a little too much seawater. It's possible that, while traveling out through the surf, I stopped to wait for my buddy to catch up, since he was having more trouble with his fins than I had (towing was not feasible at this point). It would be likely that standing still while still inside the surf zone, one would perhaps be pushed further towards shore, say, into waist- or thigh- deep water. There is a REASON we put fins on in chest-deep water - you can't walk forwards in them, and you can't get your feet back under you when you're getting pounded and they're three feet long. You need to come up to breathe, you can't stand up because you can't get your feet under you, and the next wave keeps coming in and pushing you down again. I may have at some point gotten thrashed and dragged back to knee-deep water. There, I struggled to get my fins off, stood, and calmed down. Before charging in again.

Well, you can't QUIT. That would just be silly.

My buddy came back for me, figured out what happened, and we set out again. The second time, I lost my mask - THEN I was just MAD. Went charging after it, recovered, and we eventually fought through. I do not care for surf.

Then, one begins a long paddle-kick out to where one wishes to drop. This isn't like bicycling or running, or even most of swimming. It's using all the same muscles in a totally different way. It's like using your abs to control your knees. But it's peaceful, if the weather's good. Waves at this point are from the wind, not water columns hitting the bottom, and you go up, and down, and over, but they don't break on your head. And when the two of you (really, the leader - always choose before you go out who of the pair is leading) think you've gone far enough, you descend.

And THIS is when diving gets fun. You see things that you couldn't see anywhere else. You can play with them, if you know what they are and that they won't sting you, (My instructor has a great story about his dad playing with what he thought was a dead shark until he punched it in the head). Our instructors teach us, "Take only pictures, leave only bubbles." Ideally, we control our buoyancy, and don't touch the bottom unless there's something on it that we want to touch.

And you can SEE so much. So much that you would never get to see if you hadn't come down here.

We can also see what's called a thermocline. This is a layer of water probably ten degrees colder than the one we're in right now. It shimmers a little, and feels heavier when we get into it. This is what leeches our energy most, I think.

Wrestling with a wetsuit (ours were still wet today), carrying the weight, fighting through the surf, and then the slow leech of body heat. I had breakfast, 2 Power Bars, 2 Clif Bars (these are my favorite), 2 bananas, and half a pound of peanut M&Ms, and I was STILL exhausted when I came back that night.

(Before you recommend anything to me: as of 12 hours before a dive, we can't have alcohol, anything acidic (bananas are about the only okay fruit), anything fried, anything dairy, or anything that would cause gas to build up inside us. Gas forming in one's body when one is under the weight of 3 atmospheres is no good thing.)

I'm so, so glad I did this. And I am so, so ready for a long nap. I would say, if it's like this, I would take one weekend every month to go diving, and practice swimming like this thrice every week in a pool, but every other weekend I would spend on something less taxing, like marathon training. :)