The most beautiful thing ever said to me.

I was standing in our kitchen, the summer air sticky all around us, while my darling husband made himself a turkey and gouda sandwich.
I was telling him about the book I was reading. Which is a ritual of ours. I drone on and on about what book I've got my nose stuck in, and he listens, adding his own 2 cents in every now and then.
This book, Here if You Need Me by Kate Braestrup, had brought me to tears. She writes about the loss of her husband due to a terrible car accident.

I, emotional from I just read,said to him "Please. Be careful with you. I don't ever want to lose you."
He was holding his spreading knife, with some smears of dijon left from his business of spreading, and said with the softest look in his eyes ever:

"I don't want to lose you from my being lost."

I threw my arms around him as my tears spilled down his uniform undershirt.

The journey of a few thousands miles starts with....a plane ride

So, leaving the states turned out to be harder emotionally that you'd imagine. Sure, I was beyond excited to get to my wonderful husband. But the giddiness didn't start until I was in the air and zooming over Newfoundland.
It is so hard to say goodbye to family. Esp. my sister, mom and Grandma.
It started the day before, as I was driving, Cyndi Lauper's sadist song "True Colors" came on. And when she sang the line "I can't remember the last time I saw you laughing..." I broke down in tears, thinking of my sister's wonderful laugh.
And That is all I will write about that, due to the fact that if I write anymore I will be sitting here, sobbing.
So, that was what started my crying bouts.
My sister made a wonderful dinner for me. My favorite chicken dish. Corn on the cob, and her divine pineapple casserole.
We ate. We laughed. I cried. She made me laugh, saying (even if neither of us believed it)"but it's not sad..it's...HAPPY."
I thought "Oh man. I can't do this. I don't want to go to Germany."
But, then, I'd think of my husband and think "I want to go so bad!"
conflicting emotions are never easy.

Fast forward to the next day.
I stopped by Lynsey's work and hugged her extra hard. And she started crying and so did I.
At Dulles, I checked and got my grandma a wheel chair. She made the long trip to DC just to say Bye to me. My sweet little grandma. I love her so.

I didn't even start to cry until Michael called and told me to tell the trio at the airport (Mom, Dad, & Grandma) Bye for him. I choked up on the phone and had to go, RIGHT THEN.
I cried goodbye and cried extra hard when dad kissed my cheek. I couldn't look at Mom. But then I decided to look back and wave as I was leaving for the underground world of security.

Once through and at my gate, I stopped by Great American Bagel and stuffed my face with A chicken pesto panini and waited calmly for my flight.

I flew KLM. Which is Royal Dutch Airlines, if you are as clueless as I am. I need to say, KLM's seats are...extra cozy. And I was in the middle.
I felt the effects of that panini quite fast, I may add. I felt like I needed to use the airline phone to call Jenny.
A few seconds after settling in a large robust man from Nigeria plopped down beside me.
"Hello. You have ever been to Nigeria?" He asked all in one swooping howdy'do.
"Hi. No. I've not been." I answered.
"Well, I extend an invitation to my country."
I said "oh. Ok. yes. thank you."
he said "I invite you right now."
I scratched my nose and felt awkward. Like "you mean right now? I'm en route to germany...but uhm...thanks?"

Nigeria-man pulled out his Bible as I pulled out my portable dvd player, and tuned into season 4 of sex and the city.
Pretty soon I felt something on my left shoulder. I dodged my eyes that way and there it was....nigeria tuning into my dvd!!!
Not that he could listen in as I had on my head phones. But I noticed that while clutching his Bible he was never missing a samantha scene.

KLM flight crew wears royal blue leisure suits.
That is a random fact you may want to store away for future use...like Halloween.
They were nice though, and over fed us.
Which did nothing for the seating.
We got a hot towel and almonds their first go round. I chose NOT to eat the almonds. Not my style. (I had turned off my show to collect the almonds and coke from the air crew man. Nigeria told me "Do not to turn it off, only pause next time." Ooooohkay.)
Then we got a hot towel and dinner. Which was possibly in the running for the grossest thing I've ever put to my lips.(I arranged everything on my plane to signal to the air crew that I was finished, but thanks anyways. Even placing my almonds on top. Nigeria saw this, raised his eye brows picked up the baggie of almonds and looked at me. I shrugged and said "Go for it." And he DID! He ate my trash almonds!!!!!)
KLM shut out the lights for a few hours, and I tried to steal some zz's.
They popped the lights back on and threw another hot towel (which the euro men right in front of me used to bathe down.) I declined it as I was already like richard simmons listening to run-around-sue.
KLM then threw breakfast at us.
Really?
How could anyone possibly feel the need for breakfast? I could see through their lame attempt at trying to trick us out of jet lag.

We landed in Amsterdam, and I got my very first passport stamp. And searched. As in the whole nine. I even got patted down. I was caked in sweat, as there was ZERO a/c in the airport.
A young guy pulled me to the side "Mind if I cheeek yaour bag, meeess?"
I smiled and said "No, please go ahead."
I had to pull all electronics out of my carry on. and open up everything. Which included: A hard drive. Our camera. The mini dvd player, which I had to take out of the case and open the dvd disc holder.
He saw the dvd inside and said "Sexs in dee see-tee?"
I smiled and said "yes."
he said "Cah-ree."
I nodded.
He said "I loauve dis show. You are tip-ee-cull womman, no?"
I said "I think so."

Then I practically had to run to my next gate and Schiphol is a HUGE airport.
If someone ever tells you that Europeans stare. Believe them.
They do.
They stare hard. In fact, it may be some hobby of sort.
There I was caked in sweat (I could feel it running down my back) and feeling VERY out of place. The dress I was wearing was white and thin. So I had the added worry that it would become like a wet sundress contest of amsterdam.
I finally made it to my tram (yes, we had to tram out to our city hopper plane.)
A man said something to me that sounded rude and I was clueless as to what he was barking at me.
I just looked at him.
He barked it again.
I yelled back "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYING TO ME!!!"
He said "Oh, Dis Way to Tram, Ma'am."

We city hopped over to Nurnberg, and I was seated by the Nervous farter who stole my window seat (He may as well have sank my battle ship!)
The air crew on that flight (Still in the blue leisure suits) asked in her darling british accent if she could get a drink for me, love.
I said "Yes. Coke, please." (Playing it safe with beverage choice)
She said "Would you like Coke light, love?"
I, completely unsure what coke light even is, said "Oh sure!" (Turns out it is just diet coke.)

We landed I collected my bags and Walked through a little sliding glass door and there before me, stood my Michael. Smiling.
And I breathed a sigh of relief.

In-sha-bo-bo and Travels overseas....

Last Tuesday I was in my Grandma's sitting room when the phone rang. My husband was a-callin'.
He said "Good news or bad news first?"
I sighed "Bad first."
I knew it was about housing. And for the past two weeks housing news had been bad, and I was one antsy woman. I wanted to get on with it already and be with my husband.
Having quite the flare for the dramatic, I was announcing with tragic production that I would maybe be in Germany for Thanksgiving, and what's worse? They don't even have thanksgiving...do they? Oh how forlorn.
Michael sighed and said "I went online to check out our housing status. Y'know to see where we were in line for a home."
I said "Yeah?" hearing the dread mixed with agitation in his voice made my poor little balloon deflate completely.
"And we were 29th! I was so upset that I called."
"Oh." I didn't even TRY to muster any positivity. Not that I had much to go on at all.
"Yeah, so I called. We get a place on the 21st! You can come out after the 22nd when they bring in our loaner furniture!"
I was shocked then excited. I said "WHAT REALLY!?"
He said "Yeah. Truly."
I said "If you were here, I'd poke you in the chest for that!!"
He went on to explain we would be living as primative as can be, like Robinson Cruso with out A/C. Apparently Germans are a-gin conditioning their air sweating it out in the summer.
Oh well...C'est la vie...or however they say "That's Life" in German.

My sweet husband in all his comedic glory tried to teach me how to say Excuse me in German. I couldn't help but laugh so hard. He said with such authority that to say excuse me in German...all you have to do is say "Inshobobo."
"In sha what?" I said laughing "That CANNOT be excuse me. That sounds like you're scatting. I think you're scatting."
"No. It's true. Inshobobo is excuse me. I'll prove it."
So when someone walked by he said "Hey. Hey man how do you say excuse me?"
The guy said "Oh that's uhm....Entschuldigen."
"oh. Close enough."
Inshobobo it is...

I had to go to Ft. Gordon in Augusta yesterday to file my No Fee Passport. Guess what? EVERYONE was nice. The lady who filed my paper work is an army spouse herself. She gave me pointers about married life and told me how hard her experience moving from Arizona to Ft. Drum and then having her husband deploy.
Kiss that Angel Lady at Ft. Meade!!!

On the route back from Gordon my husband called again with good...no scratch that GREAT news. I have a flight. A real live flight!! Arrangements! Actual ticket info. It became so real when he told me. I leave at 6:30pm from Dulles on the 25th. I will switch planes in Amsterdam and I will arrive in Nurnberg at 10:45am. That's 10:45 am Michael's time. 4:45am real time.
It made me so excited that I couldn't eat.
I gave the rest of my gordita to my dad. Quite pleased with the situation.
Quite excited to see my baldie!
Yet, sad to leave my family and friends.
Which is a quandry. Which should I be happy or sad?
I can't fight the feeling of excitement. It seems like a looong time coming. I've been beaten up by Ft. Meaders. Lonesome from missing my husband.
Had my feelings hurt thinking the Army didn't care about families....
Waited patiently for loose ends to tie...
Waited intolerantly for loose ends to tie up...
And here it is.

I've been so happy to be Georgia. Being with family... spending a summery afternoon with my beloved girls Katie & Jackie..making brand new friends...spending time with Stephanie and Aiden the sweetest cutest little boy in the land...laughing with Mom...going to the movies....and just enjoying the incredible heat and air condition that my wondeful beloved peach state has to offer....

Wednesday was like a Saturday in New Oxford, Pa.

My sister had yesterday off from work. And me...well I have every day off from work, until I finally become an official expatriate. But until then...It's watchin' tv and waitin'...but that isn't what this blog is about...

This blog is about how yesterday was like saturday in the fact that Lyns did NOT have to work, and thus, it was a day of glorious sisterly glee.

Our first idea was to go to DC...so that she could gaze upon those Ruby Slippers..and I could grab a magnet for my ever growing ever beloved collection...Because of all the times I've been to DC...I've no magnet to prove it. Which in a way is a lesson in don't take anything for granted...except it is just a silly fridge magnet...but you know what I mean...

I always knew I'd leave DC...but just didn't know when...Ok I still don't know when...but how about I just didn't think it would be so soon...

Ok..so, we got dressed, we put on make up...we serenaded the bischon. We goofed off. We ate breakfast...and then...it was a little too late to go to DC AND have time to make it back to this area by 5pm for a meeting she had to attend...No...not AA.

So, in lieu of DC...we decided on New Oxford, Pa. Which is a charming place to visit. It's motto is ","The Little Town with the Beautiful Circle," Don't believe me? Check the link. It's all true.

We pulled around the circle in the middle of town, and there like a caffieniated beacon of hope in a historic building stood the coffee house/welcome center.

Which is ingenious if you ask me. You get a cup of coffee, and welcomed all in one stop. Not to mention, they also sell pregnancy tshirts. Tshirts with quippy little sayings like "Don't drink the water" with a huge arrow pointed at your baby gut. Or my personal favorite "Mostly likely to kick" with a swirly arrow pointed to your beach ball belly...

The shop is quaint...with little iron table and chairs out doors...and my most favorite thing about the place? The old doors. The kind with the windows and low door handles....gorgeous!
Once inside, however, dangers lurk behind the pastry cabinet...in case you are wondering...they have a plethora of sugary confections just tempting you from behind the curved glass.

I ordered the fresh apple cake. Apples=healthy. Apple cake=healthy-in-theory.
The lady working shop, who was slightly rude with a chance of friendly, wiped her hands on her apron and said "Want it warmed or what?"
I said "No. Unwarmed is good."
She looked at me like I was running with scissors around the shop. As though my preference for cold  as opposed to warm cake was somehow some way against the Holy Catholic Church and all the Saints in Heaven.
I almost apologized. Only Almost though.

She made our coffees, and pulled out my cake from behind the glass and said "Well, is that everything for you two?" Apparently I'd really chafed her perseption of me...by not allowing her to micro my treat.
Lyns, pointing to the bottom shelf of the case, asks "Could I getta slice of the Coconut cake?"
She pursed her lips as she asked "Well, is this to-go??"
She didn't have to sigh a sigh of discontent..I could hear it in her tone.
I said "No. It's to-stay."

She plunked down our pastries, we paid, and headed over to the sofa area for munches.
Note...Even though it is NORTH of the Mason-Dixon, Coffee Co.'s coconut cake tastes like someone's southern meemaw made it in her old fashion kitchen, with her  good old fashion applicances with good old fashion love. Yeah, it was THAT amazing.
and I can say this with honesty, because we forked each other's cakes.
And the apple cake? Well, let me just say...it could replace sex as the nations favorite pastime.

Before leaving, we signed the guest book...and if you ever find yourself there...and are browsing through the guest book and happen across the name Mander Nancy Holsenback from Ducktown Tn...well, just know that you probably have read her blog....and know her real name not just her Pseudonym.

So, the two of us, Lynsey & Mander-Nancy, decided to walk around the circle and found ourselves at a "Thirft Shop" in a historic home. Which is a bonus because
1.) we can dig through some junk.
2.) we get to go into an old house.
Once inside, we realize that it is possibly the smallest thrift store ever with wall-to-wall thick shaggy green carpet!! One elderly lady was running the place. And she looked none too happy that we were trodding in cramping her style and making her miss her programs.

I did however find one very awesome costume jewelry necklace for 2 bucks as well as a 10 commandments charm bracelet minus one commandment.

My sister, post drinking coffee, had to run to the bathroom. I was looking around, and I realized that we were in a Catholic thrift shop. What tipped me off was the giant statue of Mary, and a bust of blue eyed Jesus looking to the sky mournfully. In addition to a fine array of prayer cards, and up on the bulletin board was a brand new church bulletin/prayer list AND a list of Mass times.

I chose my vintage slip off the rack, for just 1.50. It still had the tags on it from way back when.

Lyns busts out of the rest room. She says "Dammit! I just squirted damn soap all over my leg. Look at this! Dammit!"
I mouthed "We are in a catholic thrift shop."
She, not being fluent in lip reading, gave the finger to the bathroom area.
I looked over my shoulder at the old lady pursing her lips in our general direction, and feeling much like a heathen.
I whispered "It's a religious thrift store."
She whispered back "What? How do you know that?"
I whispered "I saw Mary and Jesus statues...in there."
She said "Oooh. crap."

Despite the lady looking at us like we were sure fire on our way to spending some hard time in Purgatory, we made out like bandits!
Seriously, I felt so giddy with the pompatus of getting a good deal, I bought a 10 puzzles in one box jumbo set for $2. I sided with the standoffish old lady....She probably likes puzzles too.

I also had my prized necklace, charm bracelet, and a pair of clip on earrings...yeah, I have pierced ears, but They were just sooo avent garde, and 1950's chic...I couldn't...no I wouldn't turn them down...not with that glorious $.25 price tag they were dangling from.

Once outside and safely on the sidewalk, Lyns said "Can you BELIEVE I flipped the bird in a catholic thrift shop?"
I laughed and said "I know. And I'm walking with my jumbo box of puzzles down the middle of the street, like I'm proud."
She said "But I gave the finger. THE BIRD to a Catholic thrift shop."
I said "A catholic thrift shop bathroom, and that lady was fairly sure she didn't like us."
We had rounded the corner, and were putting all out loot in Lyns' Rover when a frenchman approached my sister...
Yeah...I know...how did a french person FIND New Oxford? THAT is the million dollar question.
And you  may be asking yourself, "But how did Amber know he was French?"
Yes, he was wearing loafers, no socks...but that wasn't it.
He said "Excuse me, Do you know where zee Rest-OH-RAN on zee square ees? I am lookzing fow zis."
Lyns shrugged and said "I dunno. I'm not from here."
He shrugged. "Ok."
I hopped in the passenger seat and saw that we were parked literally in front of the restaurant. He was actually standing under the sign when he asked.

I said "Lyns! Look!" And pointed to the sign.
She hopped out of the car and said "Sir! Sir! It's right here!"
He saluted her and marched back over and went inside.

We then took ourselves to Frederick, MD so she could pick up some paperwork at her MD's and then we entertained ourselves at Goodwill in Frederick with a glorious fashion show as the rain poured down outside....

my lil' treasures

Flowers in New Oxford.

Lovely garden statue

Front Porch

Why Motherhood Matters...to me.

I always knew I wanted to have children. Seriously. I even tucked in my Fozzie Bear at night when I was 3. I mothered everything. I stuffed pillows under my shirt, I nursed a rag doll when I was 4. (Ok. I was weird.)

Point is, I always wanted a luscious buttery sweet smelling chubby baby. Or two. Or five. Who can seriously resist a happy fatty that has drool sticking to it's fat fist? (Unless the fatty is over the age of accountability...then that is just Jonathan Winters as Mork's child weird...Although...I loved Mearth. There I was a tangly red haired preschooler tuning into the show waiting to see the "baby" I didn't care/notice that he was full grown.)

I don't think I ever rationalized that it wouldn't be 1.2.3 easy for me.
I didn't imagine that I'd ever get pregnant from a One Nighter...but I didn't think I'd not get pregnant...like the daring young man on the flying trapeze....with the greatest of ease.
Even though that song was about a guy so it's not like he'd get pregnant with ease either...although there was that circus case in People magazine back a few years ago where some guy had a baby...but turns out he was hanging on to the uterus 'just in case'. Greedy!

It could be because birthday number 34 is looming around the corner...and my husband and I have been apart since February....So not only is my biological clock flashing at me like a digital after the electricity has been out "set me! Set Me! SET ME!" but I can't do anything about it!
In lieu of being with my husband...I didn't the  next best thing...I reached for the internet. Don't be dirty!
I did some innocent searching on %s and such. As I read that a 34 year old woman has a 75% chance of conceiving naturally I stared at the screen and thought...is that what it comes down to? My fertility reduced to a statistic...a number....and a not-too-pleasing odd either. But still if the weather woman said there was a 75% chance of rain...I'd take an umbrella...I guess...but still...
Where is the romance in that, pray tell?

I decided right then that I was giving up the ghost of wanting someone in my life who has yet to be created. Just like that...
And oh, I was so smug, so self righteous about it.
I thought, I am happy. My life is good. Why screw it up with sleepless nights spent with a screaming infant? Cleaning up runny diarrhea? Projectile vomit aimed straight at me?
Why willingly lose freedoms like...sleeping in late, cereal for dinner, going to a late-late movie, going to any movie?
Why would I volunteer to have poison control on speed dial, boogers on fingers pointed right at me? Wiping someone's nethers until age  3 (it is 3 that people can wipe their own kit-n-kaboodle, right?)
I actually like making out with my husband right in the living room/dining room/kitchen/multi colored sofa, using off color language and making off color references, and the occasional few cocktails...in a row..., I like not having to censor my words, actions, life.

I proudly announced this to my husband. I could hear him smile as he told me about the weekend that he spent with a childful couple. How the 2 year old threw mammoth tantrums...and all he wanted was to go home.
I said "So, you're ok if we don't have a child?"
He said "I'm ok with it, only if you are."
Good enough for me!
We both high fived each other.
Well, the only kind of high five you can give via the telephone...but you get the picture.
We were on the same no-kids-for-us page.
I wore it like a girl scout badge of honor. The "I decided I don't want kids!" badge. If you're wondering, it's a little embroidered patch with a margarita smack in the middle ...and I sewed it like a good childless woman, right on the front of my modern day grown up girl scout vest.
Then I went out to do more good in the world.
I scoffed at mom's in target who had the annoying 3 pack of kids in the buggy, who were all simultaneously screaming for their lives. A trio of terror. Where was homeland security? I announced loud and proud that I was SO thankful I wasn't in that boat. And "oh sweet vishnu can't she DO something with that?" Yes, I was totally honestly 100% unabashedly objectifying the three caterwauling heathens she'd loaded into the Orangish buggy. I looked down my nose as I looked at the tote bags "Good Ganesh, she sould've used a condom."

And that resolve lasted....it did, really.

Then I saw Fozzy Bear in the back of my car...how he got there, I don't know. Well, could be I'm taking my prized possessions back to Georgia (Don't judge, Fozzie is prized to me!) and I tossed them all in my car.
But nevermind all that,  there he was...looking at me like "Waka Waka...you're gonna bail on me? What happened to all the gotta-tuck-fozzie bear in at night routine? What happened to lil' miss mommy?"
I pursed my lips and told him "I was 3 and you should count yourself lucky that you aren't in a warehouse in Virginia."
"I'm just saying...." He retorted.
I looked in my review mirror...there he sat, love worn, full of jokes. Eyebrows raised at me, questioning my newly embraced I don't want no kids crampin' style philosophy...

I thought of my own real life Fozzy Bear living la vida europa... who at that very minute was snapping a picture of himself and emailing it per my two days ago request.
"We both already decided. We like our life... I'm getting too old. Right?" I asked no one but myself.

Later I opened my email and saw Michael's ocean eyes smiling back at me from his self photog moment. So endearingly that I smiled back at the computer screen. Suddenly, the image of his sheer joy of having my best friend's child asleep in his arms came into my mind. I heard his excited voice whispering, to not wake the baby, "I really want us to have one." and all of our "I hope it looks like you!" "NO! I hope it looks like you!" conversations came rushing back.
My heart stopped beating, my eyes misted over....

And from the back seat of my car I heard a fuzzy worn bear lovingly say "Waka. Waka."

My Passport in my hands.....

Yesterday, coffee still in my cup...the fed ex man pulled into Lynsey's drive on a mission.
The fed ex man in his fed ex shorts knocked on the door in a fed ex fast fashion. Each knock yelling URGENT!
Chloe went crazy-go-nuts at the commotion and decided biting someone/thing would be appropo. She took out her aggression on her raccoon toy named Bobby.
I opened the front door and he held out his little electronic scan tron with a No. 2 computery pen for me.
I signed the little signature pad, in an excited scribble. I knew. I just knew what was safely sealed inside the flat envelope.
As soon as the door was shut, standing in Lyns' foyer, in a beige vintage night gown, hair still proudly displaying the fact that it hasn't been awake long, I ripped the little "pull to open" tab across the envelope.
I saw a blue legal sized envelope.  Stamped: RETURN TO CSM OFFICE
I gulped...thinking...noooo...what!
But I cast it aside and looked deeper into the darkness of the fed ex envelope. (turns out it was just my birth certificate.)
There...quietly in the darkness was the glorious navy blue booklet.
I lifted it out, held it in my hands and thought "This is what cost us $165 bucks?"
I opened the front page, Saw Francis Scott Key and the first part of the National Anthem...quote by Abe Lincoln...yeah yeah yeah..I'm not gonna forget that stuff...
And I turned the page...
There in all it's gloriousness...The Bald Eagle standing guard over the photo of me...in my brown cord jacket...kinda smiling...kinda not...but mostly looking like I'm smelling poop..and my face...looking a lot fat.
Awesome.
I was smelling something stinky when the picture was made...but it was more of a vegetable soup and sandwich variety. I thought of Chef...snapping the picture in the old musty building there at ft. meade.
The way he referred to himself in 3rd person while he was out to lunch.

I did a happy dance. Which was more-or-less some disco shuffle mixed with a lady ga-ga arm punch/leg kick. Which wasn't as stylish as Madame Garland's 'c'mon get happy' dance routine...but I didn't have the ensemb of men falling at my feet while I shimmied to a show tune.
But, it was my dance o' joy. My one-step-closer-to-my-husband-who-is-living-in-Europe-already dance.

I realize that I'm not going to Germany tomorrow..and there is still the whole waiting on the paperwork thing...but...
If I HAD to get to my husband...at least now, I know I could :)

SJP NYC & Letters from the State Department

Saturday, in all of it's glorious overcastness...found Lynsey & I in her yard. Planting.
She bought the  most amazingly stunning Azalea. Whom we named Eleganza. Partly because of Rupaul, mostly because it is literally the essence of eleganza. Yeah. It's that gorgeous.
So, there we were, two sisters and a shovel, digging up her rocky soil.
We got Eleganza safely in the ground and started digging the hole for her wine cup plant, named Martha.
Michael called, and I sat on the porch to talk to him. As he told me the news about why his buddy Carl called me at 1:30am, my time, looking for my husband, Lyns kept digging the hole for Martha.

(picture it...1:30am...phone rings. Strange number. I answer immediately and in my sleep daze I'm thinking it's Michael. Cell reception here is horrible I say in my "hey! i was asleep" voice "hello?" bad connection..."Hello? hello, honey? Michael? Honey? hello? can you hear me?" Dead connection.
I call back "I just got a call from this number..."
"Yeah...I'm looking for Mike...Michael...This is Carl...His buddy."
I said "Michael's in germany. this is his wife."
Carl says "Germany? How long's he there for?" Clearly Carl was bright eyed and bushy tailed and to his alertness I responded "3 years. I'm drowsy."
He said "3 years! Wow. I guess I forgot about the time difference. I called to tell him about a guy from our old unit."
I said "ok. I'm drowsy. but I'll tell him you called, because...he has a magic jack...and I don't know the number. but when he calls you...it's a washington state number. And...I'm drowsy."
Which, clearly the re-announcement of my drowsiness was part of my I-can't-keep-my-eyes-open-ness.)

So, there I was sitting on the porch listening to the scuttlebutt as to why Carl called me so early in the A.M.
And my sister is cussing. And throwing rocks out of the hole she was digging. Jumping on the shovel, and basically digging to china.
Then she announces with glee and a slant of pride "I DID IT!" She had proceeded to dig a rock...no scratch that...a boulder out of her yard.

After digging, and talking...we went to Ft. Meade. To shop the PX, to check the mail, and to get groceries at the commissary. In. that. order.

We skip out of the PX with our new fragrances in tow....SJP NYC. And it smells Y.U.M. We walk down to the P.O.
As I put my key in the box I say to Lyns "I am not getting my hopes up that there will even be a passport in there."
She said "yeah. don't blame you."
I pull out out some junk mail and a letter marked United States State Department Washington Passport Agency.
My eyes are like saucers. I rip it open. Heart beating faster
I see it's just a letter.
My heart starts to sink.

I unfold it and read the first line:

Dear Mrs. Suman (Since when am I "dear" to them???)
Thank you for your recent passport application. We need your help in order to continue processing your request. (My eyes scanning the letter faster. I started to gasp for breath.)
You will need to provide your permanent street address ( I started to struggle to breath. I don't have a permanent street address. I don't even have a home...but I could use mom's address, but that's in GA and I need this passport to show the no-fee passport angel lady that I have it...and I need it soon...and...)

If we do not receive .....blah blah blah... your application will be denied....blah blah blah...

Although the letter in itself doesn't warrant a sobbing breakdown right in the middle of Ft. Meade Post office. The letter wasn't bad or worded wrong. Or offensive, or even boasting any typos.
But it was the straw that broke the camel's back.
So, right there, in Fort Meade post office... Right by the window that looks out into the parking lot... While SJP NYC still lingered fragrantly on my arm where I'd spritzed a sample on not 20mins before.
While gasping for breath I began to sob.

People came in the post office. And I continued to sob. Some cries you can't stop just to be polite and spare other people from witnessing your moment of weakness. And this was an all-get-out-can't-stop-it-cause-the-dam-done-broke cry.
Lynsey read the letter. She listened as I sobbed. She walked with me out to the car while I sobbed my way to my paint chipped ford, in the drizzle.
I got inside and said
"It's..." gasp "just" gasp "So" gasp "MUCH to put" gasp "on one person." SOB.
I apologized for sobbing 'like an idiot'
I said I was never going to get to Germany. I was releasing all the stress that a had piled onto me since Michael left.
My eyes were puffy. I stopped crying and sobbing and got hold of myself.
I said to Lyns, before going into the commissary "Does it look like I've been crying?"
She said "yeah. A lot. Here...put on some more make up or something."
So i did.
I said "What about now?"
she said "Hmm...try on my glasses.. that may help."
I put them on and looked at her "well?"
"Hmm.." she said looking at me. Her face an open book. Clearly, my break down was still visible to anyone who chose to look at me..
I said "well, let's just go in anyway."
I entertained her with my antics walking in her glasses into the commissary.