Departure Ceremony For Iraq

Although I have had this flyer for two days now, I haven't posted it yet because I wanted to transfer it from a PDF file to a jpg of giff...OR SOMETHING EASY to navigate through on my blog.

Yeah, well, we're talking about ME working on this; thus the delay.   *eye roll*

And....HERE WE ARE!


TAH-DAHHHH!!!!!  

Pretty cool, huh?!

I didn't want to put "Just the facts, mam." on here, when they did such a great job on the COLOR and design of the flyer.

Besides, we need to enjoy the colors of life when they come by; be embraced by them and receive from them.
  

Information and description comes at us everyday in BLACK AND WHITE;  it's "the norm" and that's why we can look right at it and then forget it within 5 seconds.   

"Hey, when is Steve's Departure Ceremony?  Do you remember?  I bet I looked at that info a thousand times but I can't remember it."   

I know that I do that.   

In our busy, cram-it-in lives, it's easy to do.

I'm hoping that catching the imagery will help a bit.  

So this is my latest update.   I do know a bit more right now, but it's not nailed down enough yet, so I won't post that for a few more days.   

If anyone wants to come to this "official" Good-bye Ceremony, PLEASE RSVP the contact person on the flyer.   They need to know how many to prepare for.

Also, please feel free to send the link to my blog out to others who, for whatever reason, I have not gotten their email address.

See Y'all On The Next Blog!

Patti 

Well, It's Deployment Time Again

As some of you already know, my husband, Steve--also known as "Grizz", or "Bear" to many of you-- has gotten the "official call" for deployment to Iraq.  
 

"Going to __?____."    This is something that he and I deal with on a DAILY basis.   

For over a year now it has been, "I'm going to Afghanistan.  I'm not going to Afghanistan.  I'm going to Iraq.  I'm not going to Iraq.   I'm going to Afghanistan.  I'm not going..."   You get the idea.

This LAST round of Going/Not Going, he was told that although his Troop was going, the other 1st Sgt. would be going, but not him.   (You'd need a Program to follow WHY this was so.  I'm not going there.  I've lost my mind once in the midst of THAT ONE; not doing it again.)

 

Okay.   We both had settled into him NOT going anywhere but back to a full-time Teacher/Trainer position as 1st Sgt. to train-up those who would still be going to...wherever.   

Good deal!  We were happy about that, because working for the Indiana DOC is poverty-pay.   And I'm not kidding.

Plus, Steve had different "heads" trying to get him onto their "team".   Sometimes being excellent at more than a dozen things isn't a good thing.   But at least it meant that he would be going back full-time Guard MUCH earlier than expected.   

Or so we thought.    

First mistake:    thinking  l o g i c a l l y.   

LOGICAL THINKING ABOUT ANYTHING MILITARY....

...IS ALWAYS WRONG.    

A  L  W  A  Y  S.       NO exceptions.

 

But we bit anyway.   Annnnnnnd we got bit back.   

Immediately.  

We were out running a few errands and Steve was stuck to his Blackberry, as usual, taking care of 1st Sgt. biz.   THIS particular call was a call BEGGING him to PLEASE come a week early to help Teach a particular course.   

This being a no-brainer...his answer was "Yes, I'll be there.  Just get the Orders cut ASAP!"

All-righty then!  WE were happy.   WE were pleased to know that we would SOON be on Army pay and not DOC pay, as well as being back to FULL coverage on medical.  WE made plans.

WE were WRONG!

THE VERY NEXT MORNING...The Call CAME.   

($#*%!!!!!)

Oh friends...the story is not over.    The NEXT day...he was told that he was NOT going.   I don't have to make up stories...because...

...THIS IS OUR LIFE!!!

I'm not at liberty to tell you why he was told that (it involves another dear soldier who also was in the midst of being jerked around.)

THEN...(Ah-hah!  I can see that you're getting the hang of this.  You KNOW what's next, don't you?)

...THE NEXT DAY...he was told that the "other situation" had been taken care of and he WAS GOING TO IRAQ.   

OKIE-DOKIE...       

And people wonder WHY they don't hear from me for months/years at a time.   I'm usually locked away in a padded room somewhere.

So.   Where are we TODAY?   Getting ready for him to deploy at break-neck speed.   

 

Everyone else in the Brigade has been preparing since last Fall.   They have had TIME to work on the adjustments and to jump through the inevitable hoops that ALL military families have to jump through for every deployment.

WE get to do our adjustment and hoops at light speed.   If there's something faster than that, someone tell me, and I'll adjust my terminology; because, Lord knows that "light speed" still doesn't quite tell it like it is.

We've arrived at semi-acceptance--or--semi-denial, depending on how we feel at any given nanosecond.   

I realize that he's actually going this time.  (Number Four, for those who have kept count with us.)   

But I just cannot wrap my head around the time-line right now.   

Just can't.

Like I've told my best friend, "Until I see the freaking Orders in MY HAND...it's not real."

 

It's always the preparation and "Good-bye" that's the worse.   I can do the space-time separation standing on my head, whistling "Dixie", plucking a banjo, and playing castanets with my toes.   But, that's me.

So for everyone who might be all worried about me being "alone"...don't.   

I LOVE my Alone Time.   

Yes, I will miss my honey.   And if I lose sleep, it'll be from being in prayer for him but NOT from worrying about him. (More on this subject in other postings.) 

And THIS TIME, THIS deployment, I actually have an entire neighborhood who will be taking care of me.   

WOW.   This is a first.   A GOOD first.

Steve does have his Training and Deployment Schedule, and as soon as I can get him to actually write it down for me, I'll post it here for everyone.   

Likewise, when I get a physical mailing address in Iraq for him, I'll post that as well.  Because I am sure that you will want to send him goodies, won't you?

Well alrighty then!  You are up to speed with what's happening with The Deployment.

As I know more, I'll post it.   Also, for all of you ex-military folk, I'll post details about Steve's duties/command.   

Right now all I know is what he's told me, "I'll be herding cats."

THAT just about says it all.

From My Padded Room,

Patti

PS--I'm still waiting for those Orders... 

 

It's Been Almost A Year...and THIS IS ALL THE FURTHER I AM?!?

"I keep waiting for you to write your book(s)", says my beloved Grizz to me one day as I am trying to explain to him the way that I move within  MY creative process.      

So I continue to paint a picture for him as to why I can't just sit down and slam something out.  Or why, when I wrote for newspapers in Arizona, it use to take me hours just to get one column finished.    

His eyes glaze over.....

He says that he understands but then confirms to me that he really doesn't "get" the creative process.  "Why don't you keep little notebooks with you and around the house and car like you did in Arizona?   That will help, won't it?"   (His understanding means that he loves me, believes in me, and will just continue to wait.)




My eyes glaze over...

Thankfully, I have been confirmed over and over again by other writers, that what I do in the way of how I craft my columns and stories...IS NORMAL.   

NORRRRR-MAAAAL...    NOR-MAL.  NORMAL.  

 

Excuse me.   I've been told that the overuse of exclamation marks makes one sound ANGRY.   Especially those of or with Italian heritage.   Seriously.     

YA THINK?!?  

Okay.   So not only does my husband not "get it", but neither do most people.    

I secretly think that is how Critics are born.   They are "word and grammar smart" but don't get "how" it's done; therefore they're critical.   

 

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

I began this blog almost a year ago.   And yes, this is all the further I have gotten.   
 
Lord knows that I wanted to write more than I have, but I don't juggle life in my particular fast lane very well while trying to get my thoughts out and down in an intelligible form while rocketing through life at a thousand miles an hour with my hair on fire!   Somehow I'm not good at that.  

(Excuse that exclamation mark up there.   I'm not angry.   Just exasperated.)

So here we are.  (I'm just assuming that there's someone else here besides my dogs.)   

Ready to launch into a new year of blogging.   And yes, I realize that the first month of the year is almost over. (Please feel free to refresh yourself with what I said a paragraph or so before.)

I already know that this year is going to be a WILD RIDE.   

And there will be many exclamation marks!!!! 

I'm ready to go.   Are you?

Putting More Giddy-Up In My Giddy-Up-Go,

Patti 

   

 

We're The House On The Corner -- Part One: We're Blessed?

It wasn't the house of our dreams.   It wasn't even the house that we really, liked.   

It was one of the last houses that we looked at because the owners of the house, that we thought that we were getting, had messed up the sale big time.   And it was the house that we HAD to take because we were running out of time and money, and we needed something soon!


SOMETIMES YOU TAKE WHAT YOU CAN GET AND HOPE FOR THE BEST.   

At the time, we had NO idea what the Lord had planned for this...blessed mess on the corner.


It was the least ugly of all of the HUD/repo houses that we had looked at.   And boy, had we seen some...winners.      

Not all of the rooms of this last house, had been painted in LOUD, Primary colors, like most of the other houses we had looked at.   Not all.   Just one.   

It was neon turquoise with a FuNkY, psychedelic border around the top of the walls, that I swear, you could see shining out the windows at night.


I refuse to discuss the Pepto Bismol PINK master bedroom with the matching? yellow master bath, or for that matter, the open loft area just outside of the master bedroom, that was painted the most delicate shade of pink with matching fru-fru border.   I guess it was to gently guide the eye into the awaiting horror of The Great Pepto Abysmal bedroom.  


The downstairs and the rest of the house was still the original flat white walls, now dingy and scuffed, from several somebody's who lived there previously.  The fake Pergo floor was WELL worn, as was the carpet that used to be steel blue but was now a dirty, stained, light gray , and all of it complemented the dingy, scuffed walls, and the no-appliance kitchen.


Oh, and let's not forget the fabulous "handcrafted" stairway handrail...made out of two slapped together 2 x 4's and HAMMERED into the stairwell.  Well, it just took our breath away.   

Seriously.    I think I lost consciousness.


The outside of the house was just as...blah.   Of course it was late April, and the light gray house with sun-worn black shutters, was nestled in a rather large receding snow bank, outlined by an icy blue, late winter sky, making the total picture rather depressing.   


EYES THAT CAN SEE PAST THE OBVIOUS.   
YEP.   THAT'S WHAT WAS NEEDED NOW.
 
EYES OF VISION AND HEARTS FULL OF HOPE.

"Ehh, I guess we'll bid on it and see what happens."    Were there EVER such words of faith spoken before?   Yeah, well...


When you bid on a repo house, you never know who you're bidding against, or IF there even IS somebody else bidding.   
So we prayed, wrote out our bid, and waited.   And waited.  And waited some more.   And found out in about two weeks that we had won the bid!   


Yea!   The incredibly homely house on the corner was ours!   ALL ours!   

From the ratty downstairs with empty kitchen, up the "handcrafted"-HAMMERED-in handrail,  to the girlie-pink family room, and from the turquoise, Reefer Madness bedroom, to the Pepto Pink master bedroom....the house was ours...and the bank'$.   


THE HOUSE ON THE CORNER NEEDED US AS MUCH AS WE NEEDED IT.


AND LITTLE DID WE KNOW...THAT SO DID THE NEIGHBORHOOD.

(I hope to post Part Two within a couple of weeks.  You KNOW how I am...)

 

My, My, My! Where DOES The Time Go?

Here it is, well over 2 months since I've been here.   Sorry...

Here's the deal.   It's not that I cannot multi-task--well, at least multi-task life's daily minutia--THAT I can do; like an Ed Sullivan plate spinning-sword-swallowing-torch/chain saw/glassware/dull axe/apple eating juggler.   That I can do.   AND to music!  (Cue: "The Sabre Dance")

What trips me up is trying to di-vide my attention.   My FULL attention to details.  I absolutely stink at dividing my attention.    

This is one of my personal double edged swords; it cuts surgically to bring life when I can CREATE something; it hacks things to pieces when I FLAIL at things.   

And I hate FLAIL-ing.   It's uncomfortably close to FAIL-ing. 

Failing is fine.   Those are teachable moments.   But when you want to CRAFT something, breathe life into it, and see it be able to stand on it's own and then BE LIFE to others--failing ain't so grand.

I don't mind failing.   Privately or publicly.  Both are positions of learning.   I've learned more with my face in the mud than I have with my face in the sun.    

What I don't like is involving someone else in my...my...my machinations of creating or moving forward with a still yet unformed idea.   I don't want them hurt. 

I don't want someone to be trying to follow me while I'm going through my disconnected, frenetic movements of birthing an idea.   It can be more gross and much longer than the act of giving birth, and definitely more hazardous to those standing close to me.   

Plus, it just flat pisses people off.   That, I can do without.    

So here I am, months later, trying to explain why I haven't been here.   Thankfully, my TWO faithful readers, they already know this about me...and still love me.   

When I finally get my first book finished, y'all know you will be first on my dedication page!

And to the others who check in secretly...thank you, too.   

It'll pay off.   One of these days.

Just keep hiding in the bushes and watching...with patience...and snacks.

Welcome Back, Sunshine!

The sun has returned early, here in central Indiana, from his long winter vacation and I made darn sure to welcome him with as much bare skin as the neighborhood could bear!  

I had my hon to drag out my new chaise the night before so all I would have to do is just go out the door, sit, and enjoy my sunshine's embrace.   And I'm NOT talking about my husband!     

It was probably on the third day of our public love affair in the front yard, as I was dancing in my chaise to the i-pod tunes thumping through the ear buds and being totally immersed in Sun's yummy, yellow warmth, when it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't blogged for several weeks.   

Oops!   What can I say...it's been an exceptionally long winter for me.

You see, the combination of sunshine and music has always had a way of reawakening my hibernating creativity, allowing me to crawl out of the cave--both physically and mentally-- where winter holds me captive until well after the snow has left and warmth unpacks to stay.   

Once I feel the sun on my skin, my brain floods my body with those glorious endorphins, which in turn blasts Old Man Winter's icy grip from off of my synapses, and they start to fire back up.

Simultaneously, music pours into my ears, my spirit explodes up and out of this frozen-earth-body that I have been trapped in, and in a milli-nano-second---I'M FREE!   And more importantly...I'M ALIVE AGAIN!

Of course, this is all an internal combustion issue.    The only way to tell that something might be going on inside of me is by seeing how much chaise-dancing I'm doing with my Sunshine, on the outside.  Again, NOT my husband. 

With every new song being directly downloaded into my being, comes new thoughts, ideas, and ways to implement them.   I smile, hum-sing, and move to every instrument's note and beat.  It's a glorious symphony of synchronicity within!   And without...well...not so much.

Without,  I suspect that I have the appearance of a great, white, flailing fish that has flopped out of it's water-source and is being baked alive by the sun while moaning.   It can't be a pretty sight to the neighborhood passers-by.    So much for personal decorum.

Ah, but it's a price I'm always willing to pay every Spring, just to be able to fire up the old synapses, get the creative juices flowing again, and dance La Lambada Del Sol: The Sizzling Sun Dance.   

Okay, I made that last part up, but you get the picture.

Or maybe you would just rather avert your eyes, too, and drive on by.   Either way, I will be Lambada Del Sol-ing in my chaise until my husband has to rip my flip-flops from off of my feet and drag me inside, kicking and screaming.

Today...I think I will spend with my love.   NOW I'm talking about my husband.   I'll share the sunshine with my honey and leave the chaise at home.   But just for today.   

For tomorrow I will LAMBADA DEL SOL TILL THE VACAS COME HOME!         

I Want To Be Holy, Too. (Part Two)

"I used to live in those waters..."

As I begin to slowly turn my pain racked self towards the waters, I am so gently reminded of my before-life in those waters, and the warmth draws me to them.   The waters are seething before me and I know that means that they have been specially prepared just for me.  But I stop.

The waters are as angry and deep as my anger is deep.   But it's not tit-for-tat.   It's not a reflection of my anger or even God's anger.  

It is that Deep calling out to Deep.    And where the waters are the deepest, they also move with more power, more...violence.   And violence IS a Kingdom quality.        (Psalm 42:7--"Deep calls unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.")

The violence of the things of the Kingdom of God that lie deep within me are struggling to get up and out, as is that Heavenly violence that is equally waiting to meet me at just the right time/moment so that healing can be accomplished.

It is a terrible battle within the depths of the soul.   The Hand of God comes twisting and tearing through the gnarled, deeply embedded thorny roots of long ago planted barriers.   Reaching through wild thickets of pain where dark thoughts dart in and out, desperately trying to hide from The All Seeing One's grasp.  And all the while, longing to be caught, trying to be caught.   

Caught, healed, redeemed...

But I am.   I am already caught, healed, redeemed.   So why the futile fight?   

Paul's words echo through my being and rattle me to the core:    (Romans 7:15-25, verse 24,"O wretched man that I am!  Who shall deliver me from the body of this death!")

"Dear God.   I've been here so many times before and I know only too well the cost and the pain.   And I do not want to pay it.   I don't.   God forgive my weak, cowardly heart.  I just don't!   Not again."  

But...I must.   His Deep calls to my Deep.   

And the power of that Deep pulls and pulls AND PULLS until 

I can no longer hold on.

. 

No...longer...hold...on.

No longer holding on, I let go.   Limp.   Disabled.   But, I am still tethered to the wreckage of my dead man's image.  Tethered still by one last cord of fear. 

. 

Dead-Man-Floating in The Violent Deep of God

I have no strength to move to cut it.   I bob in God's Stream; not alive, not dead.   Caught by fear.  "Lord, cut the cord.  I cannot."    He cuts, and I begin to move lifelessly through the flow of His Violent Waters, up and finally out. 

Exhausted, I find myself in the troubled waters of healing He has prepared just for me.   The very waters that I could not lift myself towards, He has released me and has brought me to the ordained moment of holiness.  

I wanted to be holy, too.   Just like Sister Blogger.   But...I'm not like Sister Blogger.   I'm MY own holy, conformed to His Image, daughter.

Thank you, Sister Blogger for a life lived well and shared well with the rest of us.  It is not my life, nor was it ever meant to be.   I am my very own book to be read by others.  Granted, my book is more like a comic book or Gary Larson's "Far Side", for not everyone can read Shakespeare.   

Holiness is not what others see you DO that is like Jesus.

Holiness is just seeing Jesus in who you are.  Warts and all.

And maybe being holy is all in the hidden becoming.   Being holy is what happens in the dark night of the soul in our personal Garden of Gethsemane.   Glory comes after resurrection.   Holiness is formed in those places where only the individual and the Father meet...alone.

Thank You Lord, for making me holy, too.