Thus goes the saying on a wood plank outside “Hillbilly Hotdogs” in Huntington, WV. I finished my earlier blog post too early. We stopped at Hillbilly Hotdogs following a random jaunt to see the Marshall Stadium. I think I have found the place my mother-in-law (MIL) would die and go to heaven and I don’t mean that in a mean way. My MIL is the connoisseur of hot dogs. While I merely tolerate a hot dog from time to time, she LOVES hot dogs and I have to say that several “Thundering Herd” hotdogs might change my mind. How could you not deep fry a hot dog, top it with secret chili sauce, chili, nacho cheese, onions, slaw and jalapenos and not fall in love? It was amazing. Really. And I don’t like hotdogs. Particularly. The Sailor had the Strictly Business Dog which was the above hot dog with fried spam on top. He’s in love. And the décor is priceless. If you find yourself visiting Huntington, WV, you must stop. It was fabulous.
We may arrive at Lewis 50 pounds heavier, but I am indeed in a better frame of mind. The beer was good too. :)
The Sailor would also like for me to remark that everything in Huntington is named for Robert C. Byrd. It’s on EVERY building. Almost.
We’re off to Kentucky. You might not have heard the end of me yet for the night. This trip is goin’ good. :)
Saturday, May 29, 2010
I have seen the Future and it Doesn't Look Good
Well, at 0802 this morning the trip across country began from Holden Beach, NC. We woke at 0630 to a blistering thunderstorm that rattled the house and brightened the dawn with lightening. The torrents of rain filled me with foreboding that I was desperate to shake off. Two melt-downs over breakfast before I had a chance to gulp down my coffee filled me with concern. Were we really going to do this and survive? I cried as I said good-bye to my parents. Moving is never easy, although I know we will see them again soon, it is just hard saying good bye. I am never good at it.
30 minutes into the drive, Little Miss Sunshine (LMS) started complaining of a tummy ache and proceeded to throw up all over herself. Then the check engine light came on. 20 minutes later, the expectoration seemed to have cured LMS’s disposition and a revoltingly expensive can of air freshener from a gas stationed seems to have cleared the air. We have decided that since the Volvo car place cleared our car before the trip, we’ll just have to hope that the engine light is a fluke. Please pray that it is so.
It took us over 6 hours to make it through North Carolina with a pit stop at Waffle House for lunch. Mr. Hawking has decided that breakfast, lunch and dinner should be at Waffle House. I am afraid his teeth will fall out if he continued to eat the amount of syrup in which he douses his waffles. The manager asked if we had just the left the beach and asked where home was—we got several double looks when we explained we were on our way to a new home outside Seattle, WA. We also passed the NC Wine Festival. You would be proud of our restraint.
325 work emails later, while fighting with terrible connectivity and a @$%^#$&% VPN line, I have struggled all day to catch up with work and convince myself I can work and move across country at the same time. We’ll see how it goes. I have 13 emails still waiting to be transferred out to those waiting breathlessly for my wealth of knowledge and I just found out that they will be doing maintenance on the server all weekend that I planned to work. Hmmmm….already things are not going as planned.
We are now in West Virginia and both Treb and I are ready to stop for some adult libation. The kids are unimpressed without our enthusiastic rendition of “Take me Home Country Roads.”
For all that the state of Virginia is so proud of itself, we’ve got to hand it to WV that not only do we have 70 mph on the interstate again; we have better internet connection; wider roads and better drivers. Take that Virginia! However, we also have tolls. Our toll booth guy’s name is Jimmy (not Jesus—he works on the New Jersey Turnpike).
We are singing songs about the states as 8 hours of Star Wars have finally worn off. The GPS says we will arrive in St. Louis at 2350, although we are not sure we will make it that far. We’ll see. We have seen from experience that plans are not worth the paper they are written on. As the Sailor reminds me, we don’t have plans, we have intentions.
We’ve been through two tunnels thus far that fascinate the kids, but make me grump since it means I lose my connectivity again. I am typing this in Word now, since trying to connect, type and upload online is a hazard that I am not going to attempt. WV is beautiful though. I have never seen so many shades of green. It is amazing.
Best Bumper Sticker: Everyone in Front of Me is a Lap down
Best News: My mom is officially in remission and free of cancer! She celebrates her 66th birthday tomorrow.
Most astounding: Our Stuff has already arrived at Fort Lewis. Go figure. I also have a tan, which I know is bad for my health, but hey, the sun felt great. And my mother and my mother-in-law get along great, but I can still beat them both in cards. They have it out to get me now.
The Sailor informs me that this post makes it sound like today has been a bad day, which it hasn’t really. More of an eye roller; “you have to be kidding me” sort of moment. Don’t I have another post requesting an eye-rolling icon smiley-con? Truly, this is a drop in the bucket and a typical Courie trip. I am sure that there will be more excitement to come.
Tomorrow is another day!:) We are aiming to see the St. Louis Gateway Arch before heading to Fort Riley, KS.
30 minutes into the drive, Little Miss Sunshine (LMS) started complaining of a tummy ache and proceeded to throw up all over herself. Then the check engine light came on. 20 minutes later, the expectoration seemed to have cured LMS’s disposition and a revoltingly expensive can of air freshener from a gas stationed seems to have cleared the air. We have decided that since the Volvo car place cleared our car before the trip, we’ll just have to hope that the engine light is a fluke. Please pray that it is so.
It took us over 6 hours to make it through North Carolina with a pit stop at Waffle House for lunch. Mr. Hawking has decided that breakfast, lunch and dinner should be at Waffle House. I am afraid his teeth will fall out if he continued to eat the amount of syrup in which he douses his waffles. The manager asked if we had just the left the beach and asked where home was—we got several double looks when we explained we were on our way to a new home outside Seattle, WA. We also passed the NC Wine Festival. You would be proud of our restraint.
325 work emails later, while fighting with terrible connectivity and a @$%^#$&% VPN line, I have struggled all day to catch up with work and convince myself I can work and move across country at the same time. We’ll see how it goes. I have 13 emails still waiting to be transferred out to those waiting breathlessly for my wealth of knowledge and I just found out that they will be doing maintenance on the server all weekend that I planned to work. Hmmmm….already things are not going as planned.
We are now in West Virginia and both Treb and I are ready to stop for some adult libation. The kids are unimpressed without our enthusiastic rendition of “Take me Home Country Roads.”
For all that the state of Virginia is so proud of itself, we’ve got to hand it to WV that not only do we have 70 mph on the interstate again; we have better internet connection; wider roads and better drivers. Take that Virginia! However, we also have tolls. Our toll booth guy’s name is Jimmy (not Jesus—he works on the New Jersey Turnpike).
We are singing songs about the states as 8 hours of Star Wars have finally worn off. The GPS says we will arrive in St. Louis at 2350, although we are not sure we will make it that far. We’ll see. We have seen from experience that plans are not worth the paper they are written on. As the Sailor reminds me, we don’t have plans, we have intentions.
We’ve been through two tunnels thus far that fascinate the kids, but make me grump since it means I lose my connectivity again. I am typing this in Word now, since trying to connect, type and upload online is a hazard that I am not going to attempt. WV is beautiful though. I have never seen so many shades of green. It is amazing.
Best Bumper Sticker: Everyone in Front of Me is a Lap down
Best News: My mom is officially in remission and free of cancer! She celebrates her 66th birthday tomorrow.
Most astounding: Our Stuff has already arrived at Fort Lewis. Go figure. I also have a tan, which I know is bad for my health, but hey, the sun felt great. And my mother and my mother-in-law get along great, but I can still beat them both in cards. They have it out to get me now.
The Sailor informs me that this post makes it sound like today has been a bad day, which it hasn’t really. More of an eye roller; “you have to be kidding me” sort of moment. Don’t I have another post requesting an eye-rolling icon smiley-con? Truly, this is a drop in the bucket and a typical Courie trip. I am sure that there will be more excitement to come.
Tomorrow is another day!:) We are aiming to see the St. Louis Gateway Arch before heading to Fort Riley, KS.
Entering West "by God" Virginia.
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Friday, May 28, 2010
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Sunday, May 23, 2010
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Wednesday, May 19, 2010
It's like playing Tetris--only with Luggage
Did you ever wonder if a Volvo station wagon could be redneck? Well, with every suitcase we own, travel toys, uniforms, books, and the beach toys tied to the tailgate, we may be able to compete with the Griswolds for Biggest Redneck Vacation of the Year. The good news is that a good quarter to half of the stuff will get passed on to mom to store for us until the next family beach vacation, thus allowing for rear viewing for the rest of the trip. We hope.
We have two ten-hour packing days under our belt and a team of 5 guys (not related to the burger joint) hauling my Stuff to the van. I am hoping we'll be out of here at a reasonable hour, but then again, I thought that yesterday as well. They ALWAYS underestimate how long it will take to move my Stuff. I explain, I have A LOT of Stuff and yet, we go through this every time.
Eye Roll--can you insert one of those smiley faces here to eye roll continuously?
On the upside, I cannot complain with either team's professionalism. I have a group of college students (an accountant major, a finance major, an electrical engineer, a chemist and a 39 year moving veteran on my team). Hilldrup moving gets a thumbs-up in my book. They are a part of United if you are ever in the same situation and want to request a mover. This is the second time (fourth if you include both the outbound and inbound move) we have used them. Good stuff.
Some random thoughts:
1) The crankier I get, the crankier my kids get--note to self: don't get cranky.
2) Beer tastes especially good after a long day of watching others do all the hard labor of moving your Stuff.
3) Thus far, my prayers for no rain are working despite threatening clouds--however, it's freaking freezing!!!
4) God Bless my friends who took my kids out of the house. We'd all be going nuts at this point.
5) I should have cleaned under the beds and under the couch before they moved. I think I have an additional box of found "treasure" throughout the day.
6) Movers seem to prefer Subway to Pizza these days. I remember when my mom would bring home bags of McD's for the guys. I always got excited because that was the only time we were ever allowed to eat McD's growing up--during a move. Now I can't stand it.
7) When your movers hold the financial burden themselves if they damage your Stuff, they take a lot better care of your Stuff than if the moving company holds the financial responsibility.
8) You'd be amazed about the amount of dust that can accumulate behind furniture in less than a year. Don't I have a cleaning lady for this?
9) I am staring at one clock that says 1:10 and another that says 1:11--waiting for this to be done. I wonder if by the time they are done, I'll have figured out the difference in the seconds between the two?
10) I have wasted enough of your time with my random thoughts. I must go supervise.
But aside from all that, I realized today, that I would be annoyed if someone followed me around all day assuming I did not know how to do the job I was trained to do. At some point, you have to point out the things that matter to you the most to the guys and let them do their job. I have to assume that they are professionals too (and they are!) and not dodge their steps. It makes things a lot less stressful and all of us a lot happier.
If I write before the exodus, it will be from the beach next. Don't count on it though fair readers, I'll be on island time.
We have two ten-hour packing days under our belt and a team of 5 guys (not related to the burger joint) hauling my Stuff to the van. I am hoping we'll be out of here at a reasonable hour, but then again, I thought that yesterday as well. They ALWAYS underestimate how long it will take to move my Stuff. I explain, I have A LOT of Stuff and yet, we go through this every time.
Eye Roll--can you insert one of those smiley faces here to eye roll continuously?
On the upside, I cannot complain with either team's professionalism. I have a group of college students (an accountant major, a finance major, an electrical engineer, a chemist and a 39 year moving veteran on my team). Hilldrup moving gets a thumbs-up in my book. They are a part of United if you are ever in the same situation and want to request a mover. This is the second time (fourth if you include both the outbound and inbound move) we have used them. Good stuff.
Some random thoughts:
1) The crankier I get, the crankier my kids get--note to self: don't get cranky.
2) Beer tastes especially good after a long day of watching others do all the hard labor of moving your Stuff.
3) Thus far, my prayers for no rain are working despite threatening clouds--however, it's freaking freezing!!!
4) God Bless my friends who took my kids out of the house. We'd all be going nuts at this point.
5) I should have cleaned under the beds and under the couch before they moved. I think I have an additional box of found "treasure" throughout the day.
6) Movers seem to prefer Subway to Pizza these days. I remember when my mom would bring home bags of McD's for the guys. I always got excited because that was the only time we were ever allowed to eat McD's growing up--during a move. Now I can't stand it.
7) When your movers hold the financial burden themselves if they damage your Stuff, they take a lot better care of your Stuff than if the moving company holds the financial responsibility.
8) You'd be amazed about the amount of dust that can accumulate behind furniture in less than a year. Don't I have a cleaning lady for this?
9) I am staring at one clock that says 1:10 and another that says 1:11--waiting for this to be done. I wonder if by the time they are done, I'll have figured out the difference in the seconds between the two?
10) I have wasted enough of your time with my random thoughts. I must go supervise.
But aside from all that, I realized today, that I would be annoyed if someone followed me around all day assuming I did not know how to do the job I was trained to do. At some point, you have to point out the things that matter to you the most to the guys and let them do their job. I have to assume that they are professionals too (and they are!) and not dodge their steps. It makes things a lot less stressful and all of us a lot happier.
If I write before the exodus, it will be from the beach next. Don't count on it though fair readers, I'll be on island time.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
My Indian Name is "Runs With Stuff"
Well, we are into day 3 of the massive activity associated with THE MOVE. Yesterday commenced with a required cleaning of all our outside Stuff--due to this pesky critter in Virginia called a gypsy moth. Evidently, if we transport the gypsy moth to the PNW via our Stuff, we may take out all the national parks along the way. This little caterpillar is known for waking up hungry and eating everything in sight. There are days I can relate. So, we washed our Stuff. We took out the attic Stuff (movers won't take things out of attics and crawl spaces, FYI). We put away the homeowners stuff back up into the attic so it doesn't get moved. The piles of Stuff are slightly more organized. Helga has been washed and defrosted. The beer Stuff has been cleaned and put where it can be lovingly packed. The computer Stuff is being backed up somewhere in cyberspace.
Which leads me to my musings on Stuff. I have a lot of Stuff. My friends can attest to my whining on the desire to be more organized, that all my Stuff has it's special place and that maybe people will visit my home and think I've got my Stuff together. And while all that is true--I've even told the Sailor that THIS MOVE, THE STUFF WILL BE ORGANIZED, I still cannot seem to get rid of my Stuff.
You see, as a family on the move, Stuff starts to get important, even if it is just Stuff. My Stuff has a lot of memories built into that even though I do not necessarily enjoy the moving of the Stuff, I am loathe to give the Stuff away, or throw it away. I have an antique Turkish plate that I bargained for three hours in Istanbul that represents everything I love about our trip to Turkey and the memories we had there; I have paintings I have picked up in squares by starving artists throughout Europe; I have 6 binders of art from Mr. Hawking; I have pictures; I have family Bibles and Prayer Books; I have silver and china; I have furniture from my grandparents; we have Star Wars toys from the Sailor's childhood and goodness knows how much Clemson Stuff. And let us not forget the books. We have boxes and boxes of books (Hey! Reading is good for you, you know!). I remember sitting down with another military wife several years ago talking about moves and how her mom (she was a military brat too) taught her about the packing of wedding pictures and silverware and how you would transport that yourself in the car from home to home and how this Stuff made us feel linked to the generations of women who have carried there stuff across America, in a covered wagons to the Old West, or sewn into the hem of their gowns during wars and Depression and we felt how our Stuff made us a part of women in history.
And so, my Stuff makes me feel like I am part of something bigger and this Stuff has become my memories. And while I would like to think that if something cataclysmic happened to my Stuff, I would remember it is just Stuff, I cannot seem to make myself cull the Stuff just because I move. Rather each time we do move, it actually gives me the opportunity to look, and feel and touch my Stuff and wander down memory lane, whereas if I did not move and look through my Stuff, it may just sit on a shelf, or on a wall, or in a drawer, just being Stuff and not the memories of a life on the move.
Which leads me to my musings on Stuff. I have a lot of Stuff. My friends can attest to my whining on the desire to be more organized, that all my Stuff has it's special place and that maybe people will visit my home and think I've got my Stuff together. And while all that is true--I've even told the Sailor that THIS MOVE, THE STUFF WILL BE ORGANIZED, I still cannot seem to get rid of my Stuff.
You see, as a family on the move, Stuff starts to get important, even if it is just Stuff. My Stuff has a lot of memories built into that even though I do not necessarily enjoy the moving of the Stuff, I am loathe to give the Stuff away, or throw it away. I have an antique Turkish plate that I bargained for three hours in Istanbul that represents everything I love about our trip to Turkey and the memories we had there; I have paintings I have picked up in squares by starving artists throughout Europe; I have 6 binders of art from Mr. Hawking; I have pictures; I have family Bibles and Prayer Books; I have silver and china; I have furniture from my grandparents; we have Star Wars toys from the Sailor's childhood and goodness knows how much Clemson Stuff. And let us not forget the books. We have boxes and boxes of books (Hey! Reading is good for you, you know!). I remember sitting down with another military wife several years ago talking about moves and how her mom (she was a military brat too) taught her about the packing of wedding pictures and silverware and how you would transport that yourself in the car from home to home and how this Stuff made us feel linked to the generations of women who have carried there stuff across America, in a covered wagons to the Old West, or sewn into the hem of their gowns during wars and Depression and we felt how our Stuff made us a part of women in history.
And so, my Stuff makes me feel like I am part of something bigger and this Stuff has become my memories. And while I would like to think that if something cataclysmic happened to my Stuff, I would remember it is just Stuff, I cannot seem to make myself cull the Stuff just because I move. Rather each time we do move, it actually gives me the opportunity to look, and feel and touch my Stuff and wander down memory lane, whereas if I did not move and look through my Stuff, it may just sit on a shelf, or on a wall, or in a drawer, just being Stuff and not the memories of a life on the move.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
When Military Families Move, It's like Moving an Army
I thought I would share some of the joys of military family moves. I was talking with a friend on facebook that I thought after 6 moves as a military wife and I don't know how many as a military brat, that I would sort of get used to the moves. And on the one hand I am used to them. I am definitely the sort that gets the itch to see something new every couple of years and that part excites me a lot. I wax and wane between the poles of "the movers are going to move, why get worried" and "maybe if I get everything organized this time, it will come out more organized on the other end." Neither is the reality, but the pendulum swing between the two constantly gives me grief. Compiled on top of this, the Sailor is definitely in the column A, "the movers are going to move, why worry" category. If you could see the evidence of his laundry that he doesn't put away because he figures the movers will pack it up and move it for him--this has been going on for four weeks now as a part of his "preparations." His hope is that the new house will have a large enough closet this time to unpack all of his clothes at one and be done.
HA. Like I am going to share a closet if we get one that big for a change. He can get in line. :)
The clutter of piles will surely drive me mad and we only have 4 days before the movers arrive.
There is the pile to pack in luggage--one for the beach and one for the trip across country. We anticipate a climate change between 30 degrees to 90 degrees at various points across the route.
There is the pile of activities to keep the kids entertained while driving 12 hour stretches at a time.
There is the pile of goods from my pantry that if only the food shelter wasn't so picky about half opened boxes that I _might_ be able to feed all the starving children, since I only know how to cook for an Army.
There is the pile of refrigerated good that will be bequeathed to my sister in law.
There is a pile of books, because we all like to read.
There is a pile of uniforms that we have to transport just in case there is a fancy dress ball before our goods arrive or a courts martial, or some other military event that requires 3 different uniforms.
There is the pile of files, pictures, documents that we couldn't possibly allow the movers to move, in case the truck combusted en route and we lose our identity.
There are probable other piles that will be created--all the cleaning items, candles, pressurized containers, propane cylinders that cannot be transported and will be given away.
It's expensive to move. My mom estimated that it cost my parents around $2,000 every time they moved just because of everything you have to give away and then resupply at the new duty station, gas, hotels, transport, food, etc. It is never easy and you never really get used to it, you simply "embrace the suck" as one of my dear friends likes to coin each time things are challenging.
But the best part of this is, I am one of many thousands of other military wives who will be doing something similar this summer. I take great comfort that I am not the only one growing gray hairs, adding a couple of wrinkles, gaining several extra pounds (from eating out the whole move) and looking forward to the adventure around the corner. It's good to be a military wife.
HA. Like I am going to share a closet if we get one that big for a change. He can get in line. :)
The clutter of piles will surely drive me mad and we only have 4 days before the movers arrive.
There is the pile to pack in luggage--one for the beach and one for the trip across country. We anticipate a climate change between 30 degrees to 90 degrees at various points across the route.
There is the pile of activities to keep the kids entertained while driving 12 hour stretches at a time.
There is the pile of goods from my pantry that if only the food shelter wasn't so picky about half opened boxes that I _might_ be able to feed all the starving children, since I only know how to cook for an Army.
There is the pile of refrigerated good that will be bequeathed to my sister in law.
There is a pile of books, because we all like to read.
There is a pile of uniforms that we have to transport just in case there is a fancy dress ball before our goods arrive or a courts martial, or some other military event that requires 3 different uniforms.
There is the pile of files, pictures, documents that we couldn't possibly allow the movers to move, in case the truck combusted en route and we lose our identity.
There are probable other piles that will be created--all the cleaning items, candles, pressurized containers, propane cylinders that cannot be transported and will be given away.
It's expensive to move. My mom estimated that it cost my parents around $2,000 every time they moved just because of everything you have to give away and then resupply at the new duty station, gas, hotels, transport, food, etc. It is never easy and you never really get used to it, you simply "embrace the suck" as one of my dear friends likes to coin each time things are challenging.
But the best part of this is, I am one of many thousands of other military wives who will be doing something similar this summer. I take great comfort that I am not the only one growing gray hairs, adding a couple of wrinkles, gaining several extra pounds (from eating out the whole move) and looking forward to the adventure around the corner. It's good to be a military wife.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sailors don't have plans, they have intentions
This is the basic outline of our trip. We've labeled a lot of places that we'd like to visit -- if we feel like it, have time, etc. -- and marked those on this map.
If you've visited any of these places or know anything we've overlooked, feel free to leave a comment!
View The Trip in a larger map
If you've visited any of these places or know anything we've overlooked, feel free to leave a comment!
View The Trip in a larger map
There and Back Again....A Courie Tale
Well, for those of you who have known me a long time, I was blogging before blogging was cool. I wrote of our travels throughout Europe from 2001-2005 in the uncool, "Germany Journal." I have been told it was amusing. The reality is that I find the need to write everything down as I have the memory of a toilet bowl. For a reasonably intelligent individual, I cannot seem to remember much of anything useful. I do remember the names of my children which from henceforth will be known as Mr. Hawking and Little Miss Trouble. We'll call my husband the Sailor, for lack of anything more creative. I was going to call him the Lawyer, but he seemed to take offense at that. I will have to think up something witty to call myself.
Regardless, I am starting up my "blogging" again in order to chronicle our next big adventure: our travels during our move from the Blue Ridge, through the Blue Sky and onward to the Evergreen state. In military speak, we PCS (permanent change of station) from the Army JAG (Judge Advocate General) school to Fort Lewis, now known as Joint Base Lewis McChord (JBLM). (I guarantee that if you follow my writings long enough you will be officially proficient in military acronyms.) During this time, we've decided to see a bit of America in transit. My usually unorganized Sailor has the trip chronicled out by days, hotels, things to see as well as a Google Map of many interesting sites (hello SPAM museum? If you don't believe me, click here: ) in which we should broaden our horizons. We have jokingly discussed trying barbecue in every state we visit, to which the Sailor quips: "Barbecue is a noun, not a verb and if it's not pork, it's not barbecue." To my darling Texas friends, you'll have to take it up with the Sailor as he maintains that brisket is not real barbecue. He is such a pig snob. We have also in our more stressful moments discussed ouzo in every state, which is a salute to our sailing days of a shot of ouzo in every port safely reached. If you were to care to inquire, I prefer Ouzo Number 12. YAMAS! OPA! I am also convinced that in another life, I was really Greek. Perhaps I shall refer to myself as the Greek Goddess. :)
I don't know that each move with the military gets any easier. In fact, this one may be our most difficult of all for a variety of reasons, but I have to say that the advice I got from my mom when we entered the Army still rings true for me each time we change ports, "Make it an adventure." And so we will. I invite you to share our travels. If the past is any indication of the future, I can guarantee it won't be boring.
Regardless, I am starting up my "blogging" again in order to chronicle our next big adventure: our travels during our move from the Blue Ridge, through the Blue Sky and onward to the Evergreen state. In military speak, we PCS (permanent change of station) from the Army JAG (Judge Advocate General) school to Fort Lewis, now known as Joint Base Lewis McChord (JBLM). (I guarantee that if you follow my writings long enough you will be officially proficient in military acronyms.) During this time, we've decided to see a bit of America in transit. My usually unorganized Sailor has the trip chronicled out by days, hotels, things to see as well as a Google Map of many interesting sites (hello SPAM museum? If you don't believe me, click here: ) in which we should broaden our horizons. We have jokingly discussed trying barbecue in every state we visit, to which the Sailor quips: "Barbecue is a noun, not a verb and if it's not pork, it's not barbecue." To my darling Texas friends, you'll have to take it up with the Sailor as he maintains that brisket is not real barbecue. He is such a pig snob. We have also in our more stressful moments discussed ouzo in every state, which is a salute to our sailing days of a shot of ouzo in every port safely reached. If you were to care to inquire, I prefer Ouzo Number 12. YAMAS! OPA! I am also convinced that in another life, I was really Greek. Perhaps I shall refer to myself as the Greek Goddess. :)
I don't know that each move with the military gets any easier. In fact, this one may be our most difficult of all for a variety of reasons, but I have to say that the advice I got from my mom when we entered the Army still rings true for me each time we change ports, "Make it an adventure." And so we will. I invite you to share our travels. If the past is any indication of the future, I can guarantee it won't be boring.
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