Music in my husband's circles...

My husby left his hard drive full of music behind for me to listen to at my leisure.
And since we aren't cool enough to have a radio in the apartment, I mostly reort to either streaming Atlanta radio online, or I get crazy with the cheese whiz and blast our amazing music library via the hard drive.
Mike has everything under the sun stored in that little black box.

Bored with streaming radio, and needing something less likely to freeze for background noise, I went with the hard drive option. So as to entertain myself   while I got Michael's clothes ready for movers to ship on the 5th.
I stumbled across a folder of music he got from our friend this past summer.  I found a song in the mix that I hadn't heard since Bush Sr. held office.
I was giddy with the anticipation of retro-gloriousness as I gleefully clicked PLAY! (Yes with an exclaimation point, no less.)

The dramatic beat started up, I was instantly whisked to my childhood. Summertime, in the back seat of the family car, drinking yoohoos in my hand-me-down panama jack tshirt. Smiling with the huge 'i just got my big teeth' gap between my front two. Singing along with the catchy tune, with my skint knees and cabbage patch kid under my arm as the wind blew through my hair.

I had never really paid attention to the lyrics. I never knew what he was singing about. I was astounded.



I think I'll call my dad.

No passport despite the angels....

So, this week, I have been running all over fort meade to take care of little errands here and there.
Let me preface this by saying, there are 2, yes count 'em 2 people who have actually been nice to me at Ft Meade.

One is Chuck in transportation. I liked him for his friendly mustache. There is a difference in mustaches. Some ARE friendlier looking than others.

The second is a woman named Dimple. At tricare she fixed my hospital bill fiasco. Wherein Northside Hospital swore I didn't have Tricare, and they weren't even going to listen to me tell them about my insurance.
Dimple got on the phone and straightened them out.

Well, and I guess I could throw in the crazy-go-nuts woman at Family Health.
I say she's crazy-go-nuts based on the fact that her hair was wild as an albatross nest...AND it wasn't windy outside. That and, She proceeded to tell me of her long lists of husbands and how she's not good with keeping them. I lost count after the 4th husband.
But if someone can't maintain eye contact with you in a 20 minute conversation, it's not a far leap that she can't maintain a relationship.

So ok, there are 3 nice-ies at Ft. Meade thus far.

So Tuesday I get a jump start to try to at least feel like I'm getting things in order to FINALLY get to my husband.
 (Really, I feel like I have to run an triathalon to get to be with my own Husband! and let me tell you, I am so unathletic that if I am within a 10 mile radius, a volleyball will clunk me in the head. It's just fact)

There I am all smart, in my winter coat that makes me look and feel like the stay-puffed marshmellow man. It's stuffed full of feathers. And it proceeds to make me sweat even in subzero temperatures. I feel like I'm really accomplishing SOMETHING. I feel like the volleyball is coming towards my head, and I'm totally getting read to pull a soccer move and bounce it off my head.

I brave the flurries, sweating myself into the old building to talk to Transporation.
After I successfully arranged for my husband to have 500lbs of good shipped to him...I walk up the flight of stairs to room 205.
To ask a question about my official passport. One question. I just need ONE answer. I don't even have to pull up a seat.

It was 11:20am. I have over a half hour before lunch hour, right?

I see the sign on the door says OPEN. However the door is slightly ajar.
I knock.
I can see there's more than one cubicle in there. And by all rights, should just be able to sashay in. But I'm trying to be respectful. I'm new to this world. What do I know? Maybe you need to knock.

She swings the door open like I just woke the baby or something. She barks "Yeah?"
No "Hi, can I help you?"
No "What can I do ya for?"
Phrases like that are for loser wussies.
This was a situation that called for nothing but "Yeah?"

I am stunned. Not for the incredible rudeness, no I'm used to that at Ft. Meade now. What was so stunning was that before me, in her cubicle, along her desk on top of her cubicle and across the window ledge was a showcase of  angels.
At least 75. And that's estimating low. EASY. Angels busting out a variety of different poses. Some standing arms raised to the sky. Some with just one fist raised in defiance. Some watching over little kids, some sitting in rocking chairs, some sleeping against a rock. Baby angels, Old lady angels, Angels in kente cloth, Angels in flapper wear...

Growing more impatient with me as I gazed around at the bizarre collection, she said "YEAH?"
I stammered, "Uhm..well, I have some uhm...." (Is that a fat angel?) "questions about my official passport?"
She pursed her lips. Almost to nonverbally say "Are you KIDDING ME??? What do I Look like?"
She seethed out "Do you KNOW what time it is?"
I see the clock on the wall and say "11:20."
She licked her lip and said "Yeah. and I go to lunch at 11:30."
I had at least 10 minutes. I saracastically said  "Ok?"
 When what I really wanted to say was "Yeah, well I need this damn passport to get to my HUSBAND. I AM on more LIMITED time that you. All you have is a date with your sandwich!" But alas, this woman holds the power to my travel....

She said "So you're best bet is just call me some other time. Cause it's LUNCH."
She scribbles the phone number to her angel hut down on a sticky note and thrusts it at me.

As I backed out, all I could think was "For someone who surrounds herself with figurines of something that is supposed to represent benevolence, she sure is unpleasant."
I think, in all honesty, her hoagie wouldn't have spoiled if she took five minutes to answer my question.
She still had 10 minutes until official lunch time began for her.

When I talked to Mike I told him about the crazy lady angel. He said "Yeah! She was RUDE to me too!"
I said "What was up with all those angels? You know that's a sign of crazy to have that large of a collection on display at your work."
He said "Yeah. it is a sign of crazy."
I said "How do you think she brought all those in? A few at a time? Like carrying one in each hand? OR did she stuff her purse with them?"

Because I was wondering...How does a person get such a hefty display of anything into your place of work?
I like to think she stuffed her purse full of them....and carried one in each hand up the stairs to her office, bright and early in the morning...
While spending the rest of her day earning our tax dollars by arranging all those angels juuuuuust right.

An Army Wife.

In my quest for any tidbits of Bamberg information I can gather, I came across several Army Wives blogs.
Some of them who live in Bamberg, some who live in Ohio.
Apparently there is an entire network of women who blog about being an Army Wife.

I decided to read some blogs, get a feel for overseas living. After all, my husband is in the army, so I figured, Hey!we probably have some things in comman.
And, After reading a few blogs Turns out, probably not. I don't have 6 kids whoall  have runny diarrhea or use sharpies on the family dog. In fact, I don't even have a family dog. I don't have one kid let along 6. I don't scrapbook. I don't bunco, or bingo, or book club.

One blog in particular made me realize, some people just refuse to be happy. Her Army Wife blog was a lament. She was bickering with her husband.
She was dealing with a teething child.
She was bickering with her husband again.
She was wanting to go to Bunco but her kid was struck with a case of constipation and it was hold down the fort and bunker down for the event.
She was FIGHTING with her husband.
She was happy her pamper chef was on it's way, but sad that she spent the money when she should've saved it up for decoupage class..

And I realized, I don't think of myself as an Army Wife. I think of myself of Michael's Wife. A woman who just so happens to be married to a man whose job being a soldier. That doesn't make me his rank, and I don't feel the need to toss around military jargon in order to impress other Army Wives at the weekly swap meet.

Maybe they do, but, I don't recall women who marry men of other professions riding the coattails of their husband's job (Well, except for maybe Michelle Obama...I'm the President's Wife.)
But seriously, I've yet to see a tv shows, tshirts, or blogs entitled:

Insurance Agent Wife
Custodian Wife
Garbage Pick up Wife
Fork Lift Driver Wife

Having said that, I am intensely PROUD of my husband. I am proud to be his wife. I'm proud of his accomplishments, his work ethic, his many many sacrifices. I am honored to be his wife. I love him so profoundly, so completely. I support him in everything he chooses to do. My respect for him is boundless. He is a beautiful wonderful man.
 I know his job is all encompassing. It determines where we live and how we live. I am thankful that he has a job to go to everyday. That it's not just a 'job' but a career.
But, I took a vow to Michael to go where ever he goes. To love him all the days of my life, in sickness and in health until I die.
I married the man, not his career.
Maybe it seems bizarre for me to say that, and yes, the army does effect my life. It effects my life right now. While I am finishing up our life in Maryland, he is starting our life in Bamberg.
It's not convient. It's not fun. It's just formality.

So I worry, with my perspective, I won't fit in with Army Wives.
 I worry my hobbies aren't the same.
 I don't know how to decoupage, or die cut.
I won't have a baby on the way, one on the hip and one tearing through the swap meet like a maniac off his ritalin.
So I worry about fitting in with the other spouses.
I feel, again, like a new kid in school with no one to sit with at lunch time.

I am in no way reluctant to call myself an Army Wife. I just would like to know what it truly means first. Is it the persona that I've seen at the commissary, at the craft shop, in the network of blogs I discovered? Or is it something else entirely?

Is being an army wife just making awesome scrapbooks for your husband and children?
Or is it being there to support your husband regardless?
Or is it whatever you wish to make it?

Fiasco Burritos

It's snowing again. One cat is snoozing, one is taunted by the birds and falling flakes.

If only snow made me feel frisky or snoozy, it just makes me stir crazy. I want to bake brownies. Scratch that, I want to eat brownies. But there's only so many brownies you can consume, and only so many episodes of Sanford & Son you can watch without feeling....trapped by the frozen fluffy water that just won't quit it already.

Valentine's Day Eve I had a sleep over at my sister's house. Laughing at Voters in the 90's with their mullets, filling in the bubble for Clinton.

We watched Whip it and Couples Retreat. Which I promptly put on my "Must buy" list. We ate moist store bought Valentine cake.

With Lynsey, it was like a barrell of monkeyshines and hijinxs of laughter.

On Valentine's Day Proper, the two G'nos & myself went to Taco Bell/Pizza hut  for Valentine lunch/dinner. My brother in law had his mind made up first, and ordered a T6 combo meal. The guy looked at him like "Oh the pressure...the costumer is always right...but we don't have anything called the T6...."  That's when the giggles began. I couldn't make eye contact with Lyns. I couldn't. She said "Did my husband just order a T6?"

Her turn was up.

My sister proudly announced to the chap at the counter that she'd like a Fiasco Burrito. (Click it, I found a link to a coup for a freebie) Meaning Fresco. I couldn't even place my order.

I was laughing so hard.

I just had a vision of the burrito causing her to need a bathroom and stat, thus causing a fiasco. The more I thought the harder I laughed.

She kept saying Fiasco. I kept laughing.

After the Taco Bell Fiasco, they brought me back to my little apartment. I found Michael's hiding place for my Valentine. I was so careful not to peek until Valentine's day proper.

In there I found a festival of candy.

Even a heart shaped box that played "Baby I need Your Lovin'"

The card itself was funny, the sweetness he wrote inside brought me to tears.

I stood there with the card in my two hands, and felt like it was forever until I go to my husband.

I talked to him earlier today, he said he misses the sunshine. He's yet to see it in Germany. My little Seattle-ite is tired of the overcast...

While he is probably starting his nightly almost-bed-time rituals,  I watch the snow rain down heavy and relentless....

Big Mac Attack!

I heard the plows going outside, and the icicles were dripping, so you can guess that I got giddy with the pompatus of clear roads.
Because clear roads mean I can actually send out valentines.

I took the trash out, and saw that cars were...Gasp! driving! Breezing by. Oh those drivers were so arrogant. Like they were all Roger Miller, and quite proud of themselves.

I see my golden opportunity. I run down salted sidewalk, like a happy bowling ball with mounds of snow standing in as gutter guards. I run up all 43 steps to our apartment. I bust in like 'whodunit!' and grab my valentines.
 And I think, this is a cinch.
All i have to do is move a lil' snow around the tires of the car, and presto! I'm no longer on lock down!
I grab the dustpan, because it is at least shovel like.

And at first, I dig proudly. I'm evening humming king of the road to myself. 
Then I move to the back of the car, To clear off the hump. It was going OK. It was slushy.
 I stop to rub my forehead and there I see him.
A man, we'll call him Alejandro, is standing there. Hands on his hip watching me.
I shrug like "YEAH. It's a DUST PAN! Un Recogedor."

He chews his lip. And keeps staring. And now I'm self conscious. He's staring at me and my dust pan converted to hand held shovel. Staring. Like I'm an episode of  Amigos y Rivales. (which by the way, I got addicted to a few years back, So i know what i'm talking about. You just can't help but stare, it's such good bad tv.)
So I turn my back to him. Then I become even MORE self aware because despite eating a crap load of oreos this past week my pants are too big, and i'm afraid they will slide down enough to reveal my underwear.
Then my hat falls over my eyes. I have dirty snow on my gloves. I try the air blow tactic to no avail.
Alejandro is still just staring.

I want to yell "Take a picture, whydon'tya!?" Except he had a cell phone,  and he may think that gives him paparazzi rights. And that wouldn't work because 1. I'm not famous and 2. I didn't really want my underwear showing butt in the air picture plastered all over his myspace.

I decided I was quite satisfied with my digging job, and just KNEW I'd get out. So the time to try was right now.

I hop in.
I start the car.
I put it in R.
I mash gently on the gas.
I move!
I move backward!!
I do a punch-the-air-dance in my head. Only in my head, because I'm too scared to take my hands off the wheel.
So my punch to the air dance in my head only manifested itself via a lip bite/brow furrow.
I move oh, maybe 1 foot. as in A foot. One.
A whole foot, and my tires start to spin, and my car starts to fish tail.

I took a deep breath and tried again. I had visions of pulling off, and flashing the finger to alejandro, for his lack of faith in me and my dustpan. Except, I was a talapia en route to becoming a filet each time I tried.

I pulled forward. I put it in park. I got out. It was a lost cause.  High stepped, snow crunching under my feet, away from my escape. Fighting back tears, I couldn't even look at Alejandro.
I called my sister.

She had made it successfully to the grocery store.
I was walking. fighting back tears.
She told me that yes, she had a mac attack, as in, so stressed from living in/driving in these conditions that she got a Big Mac.
I sniffled. I told her it was stupid to cry about something so idiotic.
And I'd call her back when I was finished at Harris Teeter. (I hate Harris Teeter. It's trendy. Everything is priced doubly. People fill the aisles trying to be trendy choosing gelato flavors, but that's a different soap box.)
So I walk around and around, looking for anything that seems to say "Eat me. Eat me, you redheaded crybaby" (wow, the food at harris teeter is quite verbally abusive.)

I found a nearly $6 pack of hotdogs (they weren't even Hebrew Nationals), and i found some "cold chicken". I called my sister, and I said "what do I want....Hot dogs, or...cold chicken."
She said "Those are your choices?"
I said "yep. that's it."
She said "You should walk over to McDonald's for a Mac Attack!"

To me, that sounded like a fairly good idea. Despite the fact that I don't eat beef, and I'll pay ruthlessly for it tomorrow....
So after I paid for my necessities at H.T. (How Trendy!) I walked right over to Mc Donald's holding my Dr. peppers, and grocery bags, and put in my order for a Number One, Medium size. No shame. Just like that.

As I walked back in the sunset, the roads were becoming frosty and icy again. I looked at my car and snarled at the snow.

Walked back up the stairs and treated myself to a big mac dinner at Chez Suman....

so exquisite that billions are served everyday.

Real Estate, for the Love of Love!

I was watching House Hunters today, a show that Mike got me COMPLETELY addicted to. The couple featured were looking for a new home. They were looking in Baltimore. At row housing. They wanted a view.

A nice city view.

Bless their hearts. A nice view of Baltimore? The best view of that place is the rearview. I'm just sayin'

And it must be said as I was watching them go round the trendy neighborhood,

I liked the men. They seemed really cool, and in love.

I couldn't help but think of my own lovey, and our whole last year in the DC/Baltimore area.

We did go to the Inner Harbour a few times, but it wasn't fabulous.

I thought of our version of Baltimore which went more like....Driving warp speed down Route 1 through straight up CrackWhore Hood. Hoping we make it out alive. Trust me, there were no green tree lined streets. It was dark, the street lights were on the fritz, and the streets of the Baltimore I've seen, are trash lined. NOT tree lined.

But that Baltimore wouldn't sell homes on HGTV.

I realized...While I love love..

..I hate Baltimore.

I do. No apologies.

It's not trendy. It's icky.

It's not up and coming. It's down and dirty.

I can't even watch their local news. It's so....low quality.

I prefer tuning into DC news.

And I don't think it's just the snow making me disgruntled. I've not liked Baltimore since...well, since I the first time ever I saw it's face.

Bare in mind, it's not all of Maryland that I dislike.

Annapolis is stunning.

Western Maryland is beautiful.

I realized if just seeing the town on tv can make me feel such disgust, it just can't be the snow. I wanted to yell at HGTV "It's NOT a trendy town! It's NOT a pretty town!"

I always try to guess which home they bought.

It's a lame guessing game, I am aware of this, but I guess away anyways.  (Me at the grand finale of House Hunters: Don't choose the two bedroom charmer! Charmer means fixer upper....you'll rue the day!

But in this edge of your seat episode instead of guessing, I was thinking "Don't buy that one! Or that one! OR that one!! Move to Annapolis."

As the happy couple chose their humble abode, I put the remote down, in time to answer a call from my husband.  He is now in Bamberg.

Safe and sound.

He broke the news gently to me that the post is super small, by telling me to "Hurry and get your passport." (AKA...It's boring here, and I want my wife)
We will probably live on post, because it's more affordable. but he has to 'set up' a home before they will allow me to join him.
I feel like it's one stumbling block after another in getting myself across the pond!! (Passports, Doctor's visits, Movers, Travel, etc...)

Mike told me we can walk out the gate into town.  Just like that. Just hello! I'm in Bamberg. And they supposedly have lots of festivals.

I wondered what kind of festivals. Dancing? Beer Fests? Sausage? Christmas? October?
I wanna go to the festivals!!!!
I want to mix and mingle!!

Since we'll be walkin til the car arrives, I realized...I must step up on learning the language. I read about the customs of Germany...

Apparently, when in Germany one shouldn't....
Smile too much. Germans think it's fake.

Mention WWII.

Think it's rude that people are going to gawk and stare.

Never NOT say GUTEN TAG!!! when you go into a store...even if no one looks at you.

Same goes for saying G'bye.

I think I can do all of that and more....so much more!!!

Lil' tidbit of randomness....if you are snowed in and want something good to read...Might I suggest these two really good books: Still Life with Chickens: Starting Over in a House by the Sea by Catherine Goldhammer AND Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World by Vicki Myron.

                                   

Annapolis

Sideways Snow, Oreos, and Quick Phone Calls.

It's snowing. Again. This time sideways and sometimes swirly. But most assuredly, nonstop.

Baltimore had called off plowing, due to visibility.

DC is closed down, and the National Guard are chauffeuring the police about town.

There was a 50 car pile up in Virginia. No kidding. Really. The weather channel doesn't lie.

We've been warned time and again to stay inside and only go out if we must.

And I'm thinking...they called off the plowing. They called it a day. Threw in the towel. The Plowers gave up. Which means...we are stuck.

Thank Nabisco I bought a package of Double Stuffeds at Harris Teeter yesterday, cause I'm in for the long haul. So I'm curled in, tuned into WGN, escaping to the sweet 1960's. To the snow free world of  I Dream Of Jeannie.  (if the next episode even mentions snow, I'm changing channels.)

But even the mayhem of  Jeannie's dark haired 'sister' (Whose voice I believe Kim Cattrell channelled for the infamous loveable Samantha Jones) the antics of Jeannie, the baffoonary of Major Nelson's cohorts AND the Double Stuffeds cannot distract me from the endless fall snow and the unavoidable clean up that will follow.

The highlight of the last two days came via a short phone call from Germany. I was in line at Harris Teeter waiting for 30 mins for my 3 little items, and the phone rang.
I answered quickly and heard his voice on the other end. He said "I miss you SO much."
It made me smile. I told him numerous times that I miss him and love him.

He told me about the woes of traveling, how he got kicked awake by a seven year old. He asked me what time it was, and couldn't grasp the time change.


He told me NOT to open the spare room closet door until Valentine's morning. That there is a present in there for me.
I explained I'd have to mail his valentine late. I can't get to the post office.
I don't know when I'll feel "safe" to drive.

Mike told me he hadn't seen much of Germany, to know if it's pretty or not.
Before we hung up he promised to email and to call me as soon as possible.

We hung up the phone, and I walked home, beside the literal walls of snow. Where plowers just pushed and pushed snow into gigantic walls of solid  frozenness.
I was looking at it (Which was triple or fourple the height of me) and I thought "How white. How Racist!"
Which made me giggle.
For a second I stepped up my pace to our apartment, to rush home to tell my husband my new snow is racist joke.

My thought as I walked up the freshly salted stairs in our building: Everything is so much more fun when I'm with Michael....

Crying Goodbye at BWI.

Michael left for Germany tonight.

I knew the day was coming, and mostly it didn't seem real that he'd be boarding that plane, crossing that ocean to start our life in another country before me. Especially in lieu of the tremendous snowstorm that pummeled us relentlessly earlier this week...I had a slither of hope that it would cancel flights and I'd steal at least one more day with him.

But alas, BWI was up and kinda running...or at least limping.

I admit it without shame, I bawled my eyes out. When Red Heads cry, it's not attractive. It's not cutesy. There isn't just one pretty tear drop sliding down your porcelain cheek like in a 1930's movie. It's more like...tears falling ninety to nothing out of puffy eyelids while sploshing over red splotches that resemble hives. I do myself the only favor I can....I buy waterproof mascara.

Anyways, I ended up crying en route. We stopped by the PX on post. It wasn't until after we navigated the huge walls of plowed snow, that we discovered that while the commissary was open for business, the Px, was not.
The roads were a mix of slush, ice and thick slick snow.
Lynsey called me after I'd stopped crying...but hearing her voice brought on the tears again.

Michael wanted to run for the border one last time before boarding the plane to the Land of no Taco Bell.

We finally made it to the airport. He was loaded down with huge duffle bags, suitcases, garment bags, backpacks and a small duffle.

We were directed to the "international' area of BWI.  It was like we were on the nina, pinta or the santa maria discovering new lands. I never knew that BWI had a whole area designated to international flights.
It's not a very large airport, so seeing they had an entirely different area for people who want to fly to exotic places like Montego Bay, Mumbai, Papeete, or Toronto was interesting to me.

Considering they shuffle these travelers to the opposite end of the airport, it makes it seem like a no mans land. Even the random quilts they have on display doesn't combat the edge of the world feeling you get walking through the dark corridor of the airport.

We pass Air Canada as the clerks looked at us longingly like "Ski Saskatchewan? No?" Insert shrug here.
We went directly to Air Command. An elderly gent whose TSA hat was askew said "Orders please? Gettcha Orders out. I needa see 'em."
Mike fished them out of his carry on. While I tried to pretend I hadn't been crying.
He looked over Mike's orders and said "How much ya weigh?" "How many weapons you got witcha?"

What? really? there's a weigh in on international flights? There's over a 2 feet of snow on the ground and this man is laying a weigh in on us? Forget the weapons comment. There's a man guessing weights for a flight to Ramstien? Does this come with some cotton candy or a goldfish in a plastic baggie?

Mike said "maybe it's to figure how much to fuel up."
I said "Well then I'm saying I weigh in at 375lbs."

The elderly gent then proceeded to give Mike sweet cutsies. Infact, we walked around people herder dividers, which had about 50 people probably en route to Toronto.
They held the line for him.

As we made our way to security, I felt my chin tremble again. Mike hugged me and kissed me and hugged me again. I proceeded to stain his shirt with tear drops.

And yeah, I know I'll be seeing him in 2 months give or take...But saying goodbye isn't a day at the carnival, even if there was a man guessing weights.
Saying goodbye to the person you love so completely is even more difficult.

Apparently baltimore travelers have never seen a woman cry saying goodbye to her husband at an airport.
Because let me tell you, people looked. No scratch that. They stared. They sat on the edge of their seats and ate popcorn watching us.

I watched my husband go through security. He turned back and waved. Once he got his boots back on his feet, he looked up, and searched til he saw me, he blew a kiss to me. I blew one back. And he turned around towards Germany.

I drove home on the dodgy roads through the ice and snow. Wrestled the car back into it's parking spot, sank into the snow trying to get to the path to the apartment, fought the keys to unlock the door, came inside and found a card from Micheal to me.

Telling me he loved me and he is carrying me in his heart.

And yeah, I cried again.

Blizzard of 2010...and people wonder why I hate snow.

There we were...all cocky about building a fire. You have a fireplace. You buy some logs, you throw a match in it, and shazam. It's a roaring fire all toasty and warm.
It's picturesque. Snow is falling at maniac speed. It's cold. We have no where to go....
Fire+Snow=isn't this how it's supposed to be?

Fireplaces and snow go together. It's just science. It's 1970's ski lodge romantic, without the sideburns and awesome fashion.

We put our logs in the grate thing-a-ma-bob. We get our 'starter' paper. We light it, put it under the log. And....
Nothing.
We try again. Nothing.
We move the logs around.
Nothing.

So there we sit, in front of our fireplace. For 2 hours. Trying to get a freaking log to burn.
Mike scratched his head and said "We'd be terrible arsonists."
Finally. After even the cats gave up on the idea of curling up next to the heat, the log caught fire and we were in business.

All the while the snow just kept piling up outside. And there was nothing we could do about it.
In fact, while I sit here, the snow is STILL piling up outside.

I woke up to a window full of snow. It made me growl. I literally growled. Seriously? Is over a foot of snow at 8am necessary? I looked out the front door and saw the Guatemalan workers shoveling the sidewalks. I caught eye contact with one soul. We shared a knowing nod andI could tell he was thinking "Could you tell me again what was my reasoning to move away from Huehuetenango to Maryland?"
I shrugged.
After we were fully up and at 'em and filled up on the standard snowday breakfast of  Pillsbury Orange Sweet Rolls, we decided to take a walk to access Mother Nature's damage.

Yeah, the shoveling those men did, it was all in vain. You couldn't even tell they'd been out there.

We walked down to Hwy 32.
And it became apparently clear to me....No one is going anywhere for a while. Everyone is stuck. No cars can get out. No airplanes flying to somewhere fabulous like Cinnamon Bay. At least not from BWI.

So, here we are...just me, mike and mounds of snow.

Man, I wish we'd bought those Double Stuffed Oreos yesterday.

It's snowing....again...

The news people warned us. I tuned into My Fox DC like it was the Chicago Bears doin' the Superbowl Shuffle circa '85...basically, I was hooked.
They had the little snow flakes falling around the backdrop, warning us all of impending doom and peril that accompanies all major snow storms. Promising that today at promptly 10am the snow would begin and not cease until Saturday night.
Schools were closing in advance.

We had an ample warning. At least 3-4 days of forewarning. Mike & I bought our supplies in advance. The Commissary wasn't a-buzz. Unless you consider a-buzz retirees stalling out in their store provided electric mobility 'abuzz'. Or if you consider a random military wife, (whose hobbies include but are not limited to, scrapping and procreating) standing in front of the chef boy-ar-dee trying to decided if their 4,3, 2, and 1 year old would rather have beef-a-roni OR ravioli, a bruhaha, then... well it was mini-a buzz.

But suffice it to say, we bought our bread, and milk for hunkering down in our apartment in advance. We even bought a small bundle of wood.

This morning, however, we had a few more things Mike had to gather before he says "Bis Bald" to me and hops his flight to Germany.
Like stopping by Transportation to get extra info on our move. Picking up records.

I have to say, Transportation Man was the very first nice person I've dealt with at Fort Meade. And I mean that.
I liked him instantly. He looked like...well, the good humor man. Without Ice Cream, but wearing a "heard it's gonna storm!" cosby sweater. He told me his name was Chuck, and there would be a pop exam on all the info he was about to bestow on me. I told him I'd study hard...to make him proud. He gave me packets of info on getting Mike's truck to the port in Dundalk.
He suggested we not move all our stuff, since digs will be smaller in Germany.

I thought kind of wistfully..."oh sweet couches named Darrell and Gary...you must remain behind. Germany is no place for you. Go. Keep your Baltimorey selves right were they belong..."

We bid Chuck adieu.

It was 10am when we walked outside. Lo and behold, to my dismay Sue Palka didn't lie. Tiny little flurries were lazily falling down right in front of my nose.
We made our way to the commissary for 2 more bundles of wood. Realizing if she was that on-it to predict the exact time the snow would start, then we gonna need more wood!

Our first tip should've been the parking lot. It  was full. as in...I've never seen every spot spoken for at the commissary ever. Finally, after many minutes of searching, we find one empty spot at the very end of the parking lot. We cut off and elderly asian lady and a man with a seeing eye dog just to get it. Don't worry, the dog was there to look for him. He didn't get hit.

We walk inside, and have to wait for a buggy. Tip off number 2 that we should probably just leave. Alas, Sumans don't give up that easily when there are Double Stuffed Oreos in the store a-waitin.
We did get our Double Stuffed, and some juice, and basically nothing we needed since we had everything already.
Then we see it.
The line.
As in the line to check out. It started in the back of the store in the produce section, and quite literally it wrapped around the store to the front. My jaw dropped open. Mike parked the buggy beside another of it's adandoned siblings and we went to Weis.

Where we found 2 bundles of wood. The Double Stuffeds were sold out, and so we settled on 3 bags of Jelly beans to ride the storm out with.

We have since been home, watching the snow fall steady and begin to stick to our balcony. We watched a few episodes of Gilligans Island...and I wish I was on an uncharted desert isle where it was nice, warm, and not a chance of snow.....

The Newness of a New Blog....

After keeping a blog for many years on another site, I decided to move it all over to this site. I figure newness is in order.
Being a newlywed in a new decade, and moving to a new country
New Blog seems in order, if only to me.

It's still strange to think of myself as 'a wife'. I still smile everytime someone calls us "The Sumans" or when I overhear Mike say  "My wife....".
There's a calmness and a happiness that I feel bubbling deep inside when that occurs.

Before re-enlisting Michael asked me how I felt about living in Europe. I have to admit, I didn't hesitate in my answer. I romanticized it completely.
Picturing myself in Paris. At a cafe. Eating crossiant. Pretending to fit it lovely, ignoring that I'd stand out as American without even opening my mouth.
And that's how I picture Europe. Very Parisian. Very romantic. Very Avant-garde.

Except.....we aren't moving to France, with all it's art and love.
And it's not England with it's refinement.
And not Italian with it's food and family.
It's Germany.
Land of the Robust. Land of Pork Products.

We have been duly warned that Germans will sit at our dinner tables at restaurants. Awkward. How does THAT conversation go?  Guten Tag....Hope your sausage is......sausagey. Cheers to the Beers!

But then, my dear husband found out we are moving to Bavaria, specifically.
Mmmm....Bavarian Cream!

Throw in Wife and mix it with Expatriate. It seems unreal. The realness of living abroad hasn't sank. It seems like a dream, or some far distant pie in the sky kind of plan.
We are still here in snowy maryland, kicking the snow off our boots and talking about living Europe. And in my mind it's still some fairy dream that only exists in our 'one day' stories.

In reality, Michael leaves on Monday.
And I really need to Rosetta Stone it. If Michael Phelps learned Chinese, and retained it with all that pot he was smoking, it has to work! Hopefully that stone that is beloved-by-olympians will teach me very useful phrases. Like all learn language fast programs do. After all everyone needs to learn vital phrases like "I washed the dishes" "the dog is brown." "The taxi is fast."

By the time my sister visits in 2011 I want to be able to say "The Shirt is Yellow." and "I like to play Tennis." and "Do you speak English?" to every person we meet in Germany.

I know I have a few months before I join my zany husband...and so I'm not going to think about saying Goodbye to my family just yet......
I'm going to think of Goodwilling it with my sister on Super Sundays.