My R&R leave is slowly approaching. I have less than 2 weeks until I fly to Kuwait and then on to Dulles. People love to talk about how quickly the time passes during this deployment. Before I came over, some mentioned how I would be home before I knew it. It doesn’t seem that a single day can go by here without someone commenting on how the days are just flying by. I just don’t see it. Now as I approach R&R, the days seem to be dragging by even more slowly!
This morning, I went to the CSH for my 4th shot in the Anthrax vaccine program. The whole program consists of 6 shots administered over a period of 18 months. After that, the program continues with annual booster shots. My next shot, #5, is due 6 months from now. At that point, God willing, I’ll be home and assigned to the Pentagon.
Last night I noticed some weeds sprouting in the gravel outside my trailer. The leaves looked like dandelion leaves. This morning, I noticed that they had bloomed. So here’s a nice picture of my private flower bed.
We had a lovely morning in DC. I only made a few wrong turns. The trees were in peak bloom and stunning. We parked on Hains Point and walked up to the Tidal Basin. We arrived at 0930 and thankfully, the crowds had not yet descended. The festival officially kicks off tomorrow, so today wasn’t absolute madness. I am really glad we went. It is stunningly beautiful. I took 60 pictures and am hoping that there is at least one good one in the lot. Yes, my camera has film in it. It is not digital. I’m like my father and his polaroid. We visited the Jefferson memorial where the security guard lectured me for being two feet away from my stroller. My favorite bit of that memorial is the quote etched at the top about taking an oath on the altar of God. We then walked around the Tidal Basin, stopping every few inches so I could take another picture and make the kids pose under, next to, or behind some tree. We then came upon the FDR memorial which I had never seen before. I liked the waterfalls and the kids liked the bronze statues of his dog and the men in the soup line. It was unique and well done and I liked it. We then continued on toward Lincoln and passed a photo shoot where the mothers had brought a white table and chairs set up as a tea party under the cherry trees and dressed their toddlers in coordinating pastels. I commented to the kids that I wasn’t that bad. To which Abby pointed out that I had made them all dress alike in white shirts and jeans and, “At least those kids got cupcakes.” She had a point. I was only able to get away with it because Dale wasn’t there to defy me. I appear to be on a “all pictures in DC must be color coordinated” kick. The 4th of July photo is evidence. We arrived at Lincoln and as I walked up those marble steps to see him, I was reminded once again why he is my favorite monument in DC. When my 2 year old nephew Jadon went to see Lincoln, he told his Dad that he was bringing him a present. Howie asked him what kind of present and he replied, “a blue one.” When he arrived at Lincoln, he held out his hand and gave Lincoln his imaginary blue present. Jadon and I are both very fond of Lincoln. After Lincoln, we looked out over the reflecting pool, the mall, the Washington monument and I declared, “Look! There’s the Capitol!” After that, we did the most difficult walk in DC. The kids and I walked along the Vietnam Veterans memorial. That black wall of names never fails to fill me with overwhelming grief at the loss of life brought about by war. We then had lunch and started the walk back. During the ride home, Josiah read us the entire Declaration of Independence from the copy scroll he had bought in DC. It was a lovely day, but I must admit that the cherry blossoms I am most fond of are blooming in my front yard.
Before Spring Break started, my ninny self was at war with my brave soul over driving into DC to visit sights with the kids. Everyone around here tells me, “Drive to the Springfield station and take the Metro.” We did take the Metro on the 4th of July and with the cousins at Christmas, but the thought of going alone with 4 kids and one of them not getting on or off the train was too much for me worry about. So, my brave soul declared that I had driven in a country where they drive on the left, I had driven in countries where I couldn’t read the street signs. I certainly could drive into DC. I researched to find parking garages available and printed out my google map. Monday morning we set forth. I made good time driving to the city because I was able to take the HOV (High Occupancy Vehicle) lane. I’ve had a HOV for years and just never knew it. I managed to cross the Potomac safely and then promptly missed my turn. The problem with following a google map printout is that if you do something wrong, you’re out of luck. There are no directions on how to get back to where I had been previously. So began our DC scenic tour. The advantage with this tour is that you see the Capitol from all sides. I’d drive around awhile, take a few turns and then “Look! There’s the Capitol!” I’d drive around some more, take a few turns and then “Look! There’s the Capitol” I’d drive around again, take a few turns and then “Look! There’s the Capitol” The kids soon lost interest and I soon lost all concept of NE, NW, SE, and SW. Somehow I eventually managed to find the parking garage (car park) (Just for you Juliet) and I let out a yell of triumph until I read the sign that said it was for monthly parking only. No worries, I had written down the location of another one. It also said monthly parking only. At this point I started to pray. Thankfully, a few blocks down, I found a daily parking garage and pulled in with a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks. We had an enjoyable time at the Smithsonian museum of Natural History looking at dinosaur bones, stuffed mammals, and the hope diamond. I made the drive home without any mistakes and went to bed feeling quite confident. So, I woke up thinking…I’ve driven to the Smithsonian, I can drive to the zoo. Once again I had my google map and once again I started out at the tail end of morning traffic. I should have turned around when I saw I95 at a standstill. There had been an accident two exits north and everything was backed up. I’ll take the alternate route, I decided. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one to consider that option. It took me twice as long to get into DC and when I finally crossed the Potomac, I promptly took a wrong turn at the Lincoln Memorial. We then got to see the Washington Monument from all sides. It is inevitable that I have to make the wrong turn several times until I can convince myself that it is the wrong turn. Connecticut Ave just ended and I was on 17th street. I didn’t want to be on 17th street, the zoo is on Connecticut Ave. “I’ll make 4 rights and Connecticut Ave will not stop at the statue of the guy on the horse,” I said. As Connecticut Ave ended again and I was once again driving down 17th street, my brain finally worked out that I was going the wrong way. If I am at 1000 Connecticut and I need to go to 3000 Connecticut, it might be best to drive in the other direction. I arrived at the zoo two hours after I had started out. The drive was only twice as long as it should have been. Parking at the zoo is extremely limited and they warn you that if you don’t arrive early enough, you won’t get a spot. I drove past several lots that were full and came upon a lot with available spaces. There was a woman about 9 cars ahead of me arguing with the attendant. He got mad at her and sent her and the next 5 cars away. He then listened to something on his walkie talkie and then let the car two ahead of me drive in the lot. At this point, he was busy talking on the walkie talkie and the guy ahead of me and I decided it was best not to make eye contact and drive ahead and hope for the best. We got a spot. The kids liked the Amazonia building, the gorillas climbing on the cables strung over the zoo, and the panda. I took one wrong turn on the way home, but we once again arrived home safely. Tomorrow we are going to attempt the Cherry Blossom Festival. I am quite certain that at some point tomorrow I will declare, “Hey Look! There’s the Capitol!”
When spring arrives the innate urge to plant something in the ground can be overwhelming for a gardener. The back left corner of my yard seems a perfect spot for my vegetable garden. Last fall, with Dale gone and my focus of painting and organizing the house, I knew it was not wise to prepare a bed for spring planting. If I wait for Dale to return, he can help me and if I do it correctly, my garden will be more fruitful next spring. But this spring is here and I am truly my Mother’s daughter in planting without preparation. My Mother had a terrific garden in Minnesota, but it was a hodgepodge that lacked a cohesive plan. She would buy a plant or be given a plant and say, “I have to plant it somewhere” and so she would. Because of her house renovation this winter, her new garage is now where her garden was and her plants have been dug out and scattered amongst friends and neighbors. She gets to start her garden anew and has asked a friend to help her with the plan. I know if my husband returns for his two week break to find me with a rototiller, he will be a bit irritated. I have told him that he does not have a to do list and that he may sleep for the entire two weeks. So, I must accept the fact that a rototiller is detrimental to our marriage. I have decided to instead focus on the existing flower beds. I have planted various things at most of the houses I have lived in and have hated only one garden. Our house in Australia was a professionally landscaped garden that was drought tolerant. It was full of spiky things and spiders and overrun with weeds that I would battle all summer long. I loved only the camellias that bloomed when it was cool. After I moved into this house, I asked the previous owner to walk the garden with me and tell me what was planted where. My Mother followed along with a piece of paper making a rough sketch. The previous owner has planted many trees, shrubs, plants and bulbs. I have planted many of these same plants in various places we have lived, but never saw them mature. I really feel it is a gift that I am able to enjoy the 28 years of care that he put into this garden. I know I need to make an accurate sketch, track the amount of sun, choose a color palate, amend the soil, coordinate bloom times, research the best place to purchase plants, etc. Yesterday, I went into the home improvement store to buy a pair of loppers to battle the wisteria. “I’ll just look around a minute,” I thought. “Oh, pincushion flower…I love pincushion flower.” Oh well, “I have to plant it somewhere”.
We attended the neighborhood Easter Egg hunt today. Spring is taking off with the forsythia, quince, pear trees, and magnolias in bloom. It felt like Easter should be arriving soon. In Australia, I had to constantly tell myself that the holidays were still in the same month. Because the seasons are opposite, the holidays never felt like they were at the correct time. When you live 39 years in the Northern hemisphere having Easter in Autumn, the 4th of July in winter, and Christmas in summer is difficult to get used to. Easter Egg hunts were a major part of Dale’s childhood memories. His Mama was a children’s pastor for years and they would hard boil and dye countless eggs for the church’s Easter Egg hunt. Dale will have to comment with the number of eggs they dyed each year. He told me the number once, but all I can remember thinking is…”how can you possibly boil that many eggs?” I love hard boiled eggs, but am hopeless at cooking them. I know it is supposed to be a simple cooking task, but for some reason I only occasionally do it correctly. The Manrys would have a massive egg hunt at the church and eat hard boiled eggs for a week. I, however, grew up with the tradition of hunting for my Easter Basket. My Mom would hide our baskets throughout the house and we would wake up Easter morning and search for them. We would attend sunrise service and then the church would host a pancake breakfast that the men would cook. When we returned home, we would continue searching for our baskets. One year, my Mom hid mine in an old cigar box that was piled up with a bunch of junk stacked next to the steps. That one took a long time to find. I know I am getting old because instead of always wanting to celebrate holidays differently, I am now quite nostalgic for traditions of my past. I want to wave palm branches on Palm Sunday, I want to attend Good Friday Service and contemplate Christ’s death on the cross, I want to wake up for Easter Sunrise Service and stand outside singing the praises of the resurrection. I want to hear the same passages read on those days year after year because they are the most significant reminders of why we follow Christ. I admit that Easter Egg and basket hunts are not as important as the other celebrations of Easter, but I find them fun none the less. In a combination of traditions, our kids usually attend both an Egg hunt and an Easter morning basket hunt. The egg hunt for years was provided courtesy of Army mandatory fun. Some units still hold Egg hunts and Christmas parties. In Australia, we attended the egg hunt on the grounds of the American Embassy. The challenge during that hunt was avoiding the magpies that would swoop down, crack the plastic egg, steal the lolly and fly away. Being Australian magpies, they thought of it as a lolly not a candy. Todays Easter Egg Hunt had separate areas for different age children, a large decorated white chair with an Easter Bunny sitting in it for pictures, and a table of cupcakes that someone cleverly made look like baskets using a piece of red licorice. I considered it fairly self explanatory, but it did not stop a kindly woman from attempting to inform the crowd about what to do. She of course could not be heard over the wind and the children, but she was not deterred. Zeke ran about jumping over various eggs and picking up others at random. Josiah was trying to determine why Zeke was jumping over the eggs. I told him that it was impossible to figure out the thought process of a 3 year old in the midst of an egg hunt.
