I am 39 years old, and I believe in Santa Claus.
Ever since as long as I can remember, Santa ALWAYS came to visit me at Christmas…or at least he left or sent me presents. I have never had a Christmas when I didn’t have something to open from Santa. All of these years, I assumed my Dad (and sometimes my Mom) was Santa’s little helper.
This year, my Dad and Joanne and my Mom sent me lovely Christmas packages. But there wasn’t anything in it wrapped and signed “from Santa”. This is understandable since most post offices advise senders not to wrap packages going overseas. I did receive a “secret Santa” gift from someone who works here at the hospital. It was a wonderful gift. But it wasn’t REALLY from Santa or “his little helper”, I knew this because I, too, had given a “secret Santa” gift.
I really thought that this was going to be my first Christmas without Santa finding me.
Christmas started relatively uneventful. I had gone to Mass on Christmas Eve. There wasn’t any Mass on Christmas day at our Camp because the Priest had gone to another to celebrate Christmas Mass. So instead, I went to work at the wood shop and then went for a haircut.
The hair stylist asked if I would be interested in a facial. I figured I had nothing better to do and I needed to kill at least another hour before I could reach anyone in the States due to the time difference. She said it would take about 40 minutes. Perfect.
I dozed in and out as she applied scrubs and lotions and masks and peels. It was very relaxing. Just what I needed.
When she was finished, I slowly mustered the energy to get up and go pay my bill. The cashier just smiled at me and said, “No charge.” Excuse me. No charge. As in free? But I haven’t paid yet. My groggy mind was having a difficult time wrapping itself around this concept. She then said that the gentleman that had just left paid for everyone. I asked her for his name so I could thank him. But she just smiled and said that he asked to remain anonymous. That he did not want our thanks but to tell us he just wanted us to have a Merry Christmas.
As I walked back to our living area, I got a little teary. It seemed Santa found me after all. Maybe it wasn’t the jolly ol’ elf that we take our children to see, and maybe it wasn’t Santa’s helper in the form of my Dad. But it was the spirit and goodness of Christmas…the giving of gifts with no expectation of a present in return or even a thank you. And if in my mind that is what Santa represents, then yes, I am 39 years old and I believe in Santa Claus. And I hope to continue to believe always.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
The other side
A few weeks ago, I hit a low. I was grumpy, I will admit. I think when you are on a deployment there is this point in the middle that is just not a very good place to be. At the beginning, everything is new. You are trying to learn your job, expectations, how to navigate in your new surroundings, etc. But once all of these tasks are mastered, each day is the same as the one before. Ground Hogs Day.
The problem with these trough days is that you really can only see as far as the next 24 hours. Or maybe to the next Sunday. Sunday is our only day of rest here. I use “day of rest” very loosely. Sunday is the day to catch up on sleep (I average about 5-6 hours per night during the week…and I’m usually an 8 hours per night kind of gal), do laundry, run errands, go to the cleaners, go to Mass, etc. Sundays go by WAY to fast. But I digress…
My point is that when you are in the middle, the end is too far away to even try to grasp. To think about it, to hope for it, to plan for it, is an impossibility. You are so stuck in your mundane existence looking down at your feet to see the next step that you can’t look up towards the horizon in search of the finish line. In marathon terms, you hit the wall.
But we are now 2/3 of the way through. The end is not in sight…yet. But I know that it is out there, and I can start to look towards the horizon. Our replacements should be here in less than two months. I’m beginning to catch my second wind. And just as when running a marathon, endurance will outlast the pain.
I am so grateful to my husband and children for waiting for me and cheering me on just as they have so many times over the years. I will cross that finish line, thankful for the experience, but thrilled to be going home with them at last.
I cannot wait!
The problem with these trough days is that you really can only see as far as the next 24 hours. Or maybe to the next Sunday. Sunday is our only day of rest here. I use “day of rest” very loosely. Sunday is the day to catch up on sleep (I average about 5-6 hours per night during the week…and I’m usually an 8 hours per night kind of gal), do laundry, run errands, go to the cleaners, go to Mass, etc. Sundays go by WAY to fast. But I digress…
My point is that when you are in the middle, the end is too far away to even try to grasp. To think about it, to hope for it, to plan for it, is an impossibility. You are so stuck in your mundane existence looking down at your feet to see the next step that you can’t look up towards the horizon in search of the finish line. In marathon terms, you hit the wall.
But we are now 2/3 of the way through. The end is not in sight…yet. But I know that it is out there, and I can start to look towards the horizon. Our replacements should be here in less than two months. I’m beginning to catch my second wind. And just as when running a marathon, endurance will outlast the pain.
I am so grateful to my husband and children for waiting for me and cheering me on just as they have so many times over the years. I will cross that finish line, thankful for the experience, but thrilled to be going home with them at last.
I cannot wait!
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Refined Latrines
Warning, this is one of the odd observation posts I mentioned might occur at some point. But it just struck me as a bit unique, so I thought I'd share.
Our base recently acquired “classy” porta-potties near the DFAC (Dining Facility). On the outside, it looks like a regular-ol’ Johnnie-on-the-spot. You know the type, hard green plastic outer shell with a door that swings open and a spring that slams it shut. On the inside, it has a typical urinal attached to the left-hand side and a wall mounted hand-sanitizer unit. But instead of a wooden base with a hole and a seat cover, it has a porcelain commode that actually flushes. I don’t quite understand how the process works. I didn’t see a single pipe leading away from the structure…yet, the contents disappeared. It’s like magic. AND best of all, it doesn’t smell. ..which in my book is BETTER than magic!
Our base recently acquired “classy” porta-potties near the DFAC (Dining Facility). On the outside, it looks like a regular-ol’ Johnnie-on-the-spot. You know the type, hard green plastic outer shell with a door that swings open and a spring that slams it shut. On the inside, it has a typical urinal attached to the left-hand side and a wall mounted hand-sanitizer unit. But instead of a wooden base with a hole and a seat cover, it has a porcelain commode that actually flushes. I don’t quite understand how the process works. I didn’t see a single pipe leading away from the structure…yet, the contents disappeared. It’s like magic. AND best of all, it doesn’t smell. ..which in my book is BETTER than magic!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Navy beats Army!
It was Friday night. The crowd started gathering about 15 minute before game time. The bleachers were filling quickly, at least on our side of the field. This game was not a championship round, but it was the game that needed to be won. EMF-K: Kilo Detachment (Navy) playing 3rd MDSC (Army).
3rd MDSC is the command over us; they are our “boss” over here. Bragging rights were at stake. The smack talk had started days in advance. This was the match-up that mattered. This was a must win.
The game: flag football. And it was going to get ugly.
Picture it. Two teams lined up across the middle of the field, each side with matching gym shirts to designate their respective team affiliation. The lights shining brightly down onto the field. The ground, hard and dusty, not a blade of grass to be found. A slight breeze wafting through the air. Silence in anticipation of the start of this epic meeting. And then, the whistle blew.
On the side lines, there was an explosion of excitement as the Kilo cheerleaders danced and chanted with their shredded paper pom-poms and home-made signs. The crowd, in matching t-shirts specifically bought for the occasion doing the wave and yelling the chants as directed by the cheerleaders, watched the show before them—the game and the divas. The atmosphere was that of a small-town football game…a combination of pride and nothing better to do on a Friday night.
The first play ended with the mighty Navy running in for their first of many touchdowns. Although the “mercy” rule was never enforced…it should have been. Final score…Navy 33, Army 7.
The “real” Navy/Army Football game will take place in a few weeks. But here in Kuwait, the one that matters has already been played...and won.
Navy beats Army…oh yeah!!
.
3rd MDSC is the command over us; they are our “boss” over here. Bragging rights were at stake. The smack talk had started days in advance. This was the match-up that mattered. This was a must win.
The game: flag football. And it was going to get ugly.
Picture it. Two teams lined up across the middle of the field, each side with matching gym shirts to designate their respective team affiliation. The lights shining brightly down onto the field. The ground, hard and dusty, not a blade of grass to be found. A slight breeze wafting through the air. Silence in anticipation of the start of this epic meeting. And then, the whistle blew.
On the side lines, there was an explosion of excitement as the Kilo cheerleaders danced and chanted with their shredded paper pom-poms and home-made signs. The crowd, in matching t-shirts specifically bought for the occasion doing the wave and yelling the chants as directed by the cheerleaders, watched the show before them—the game and the divas. The atmosphere was that of a small-town football game…a combination of pride and nothing better to do on a Friday night.
The first play ended with the mighty Navy running in for their first of many touchdowns. Although the “mercy” rule was never enforced…it should have been. Final score…Navy 33, Army 7.
The “real” Navy/Army Football game will take place in a few weeks. But here in Kuwait, the one that matters has already been played...and won.
Navy beats Army…oh yeah!!
.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Apple pie anyone?
Last weekend, Anna and I were on our way to an afternoon lecture. We were standing in line at the coffee shop to get some much needed motivation for the stimulating topics to be covered during training. Suddenly, someone behind us said “Hey, you know the guy from American Pie? He’s right over there!”
We glanced in the direction the gentleman was pointing, and sure enough, there was Jason Biggs. There had been no announcement that he would be visiting, but there was no doubt he was who he was…he looked just like you would expect.
We immediately got out of line to go over and greet him. (Remember, we were in line for coffee, so voluntarily stepping aside without coffee in hand emphasizes the importance of the meeting.) He shook our hand and thanked us for our service. Chatted for a moment and then was told by his handlers that they were running late and that he needed to go. He shook our hand again and headed for the door.
I was SO bummed I didn’t have my camera! And then I spotted it, a glorious picture taking device in the hands of young soldier. “Please, please, please Mr. Soldier-guy, please take our picture.” He reluctantly agreed. I don’t really think his reluctance was in taking the picture, it was more in the running through the Exchange, out the door, and through the parking lot to chase down the already departed Mr. Biggs. But just as before, Jason was gracious and almost flattered that we had gone through so much trouble to have proof of our meeting.
Thank you, Mr. Biggs, for humoring us. And thank you, Mr. Soldier-guy, for capturing and providing the evidence.
We glanced in the direction the gentleman was pointing, and sure enough, there was Jason Biggs. There had been no announcement that he would be visiting, but there was no doubt he was who he was…he looked just like you would expect.
We immediately got out of line to go over and greet him. (Remember, we were in line for coffee, so voluntarily stepping aside without coffee in hand emphasizes the importance of the meeting.) He shook our hand and thanked us for our service. Chatted for a moment and then was told by his handlers that they were running late and that he needed to go. He shook our hand again and headed for the door.
I was SO bummed I didn’t have my camera! And then I spotted it, a glorious picture taking device in the hands of young soldier. “Please, please, please Mr. Soldier-guy, please take our picture.” He reluctantly agreed. I don’t really think his reluctance was in taking the picture, it was more in the running through the Exchange, out the door, and through the parking lot to chase down the already departed Mr. Biggs. But just as before, Jason was gracious and almost flattered that we had gone through so much trouble to have proof of our meeting.
Thank you, Mr. Biggs, for humoring us. And thank you, Mr. Soldier-guy, for capturing and providing the evidence.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Crazy busy
Ok, blog followers, it seems I owe you an apology. I haven’t been able to post in a while due to work induced time fillers. Unfortunately, this won’t be much of a post either as I am still playing catch up. I had 3 projects all due the same week…a presentation on eyeballs to the medical staff, an update of the instruction and report for the Executive Committee of the Professional Staff on Medical Record Review, and a presentation to the Board of Directors on productivity and workload of the hospital and clinics. Now that the presentations and reports are finished, I have to complete all my record documentation of my patients that were placed squarely on the back-burner over the last week or so. I am hoping to be able to breathe again sometime later this week. I will try to then update the blog and post some picture on Facebook. Cross your fingers I don’t have any short-fused taskers pop up between now and then.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Star-struck
I am not one to be a groupie or follow a band or care much about celebrity. But WOW! Aaron Lewis was incredible. He was humble, and personable, and carried on a conversation with us. And his music…unbelievable! He did a solo acoustic performance. Just the man and his guitar.
In a time when music is overly produced, synthesized, smoothed out, sang over, with back up and instruments and more technological gadgets than I can list, to hear a performer just sing was refreshing. It was gritty and pure. His voice is truly amazing and when he belted it, like only he can, I got goose-bumps. And for one glorious evening, I was able to forget where I was and just enjoy the music.
In a time when music is overly produced, synthesized, smoothed out, sang over, with back up and instruments and more technological gadgets than I can list, to hear a performer just sing was refreshing. It was gritty and pure. His voice is truly amazing and when he belted it, like only he can, I got goose-bumps. And for one glorious evening, I was able to forget where I was and just enjoy the music.
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