This morning, I bumped into a link which an acquaintance had shared on FB...she, like myself, is a military brat, only in her case, her daddy was Navy. Well, I read it and I started to write a comment, then changed my mind and made a full-blown FB post on it. This is further expanded...you might want to read the article first.

For my civilian friends--with love from an Army Brat. 

Even though my dad retired when I was 13--I can so relate to this article. I was born and will always be an Army brat--no matter if I live the rest of my days outside of an active duty military household. I grew up in a world where I understood early on that the world was bigger than "here". That won't leave with the passage of time. I am afraid I even get mad sometimes when I think my friends and acquaintances cannot see beyond their noses--or at very most, the borders of their country.

I grew up understanding that our world was geopolitically connected and if we went to war at any time, my Daddy could be leaving for something longer than a couple of weeks of TDY. He might never come back. That is a mixed feeling--shrinking fear and blazing pride. This, my dears, is why I simply cannot listen to Taps without the tears gathering--I think of the men who have gone and did not come back and I am sad and proud--of my boys. I love Taps--it is beautiful, calming, haunting, tear-jerking.

I knew instinctively that nothing lasts forever--the longest we ever were stationed any place was 4 years. It was four of the best years of my life, but they ended, as I knew all along they would...and I moved on...and made new friends and loved life. I STILL love to travel and see new places and meet new friends. I know at least one sister shares the "travel-anciness" that crops up every year or so. (When I first learned that some people only go five miles from home for "vacation", I was so flabbergasted I had no words. That's no trip! Five hours just about the beginning of a trip.)

I have felt lost in this civilian world. I have struggled with understanding people (civilians) who haven't the slightest idea really of what a military family is--and yet think they do. (More than once I've been incensed against people who tried to come across as "knowing" and in doing so made themselves look more foolish than anything. Please, civilian friend--don't pretend to know because you really cannot.)  I cannot explain it...but no civilian will ever really understand military community until they themselves have spent time in the military.

The military IS family--regardless of generation or branch. (Any wonder why when I broke my arm and found out my doctor was both military brat *and* veteran that it was like going to see a relative?) I see "Veteran" hats on men of varying ages and sometimes have to resist the desire to go give them a squeeze like a long-lost uncle or brother. Few things cause me to fly into a fury faster than a perceived attack on "my guys". You might as well have slapped one of my sisters across the face or called my dad a murderer.  (I actually had a young man once tell me that he thought the military was basically a bunch of guys just waiting for an opportunity to do tyrannical and sinful things. Somehow I refrained from throwing all my weight on him and smashing his head into the brick wall he was standing in front of.)

Where we live now, it is the house my grandma grew up in--and from the kitchen window, I can look across the fields at what once was my great-great-grandfather's home...and I wonder what it's like for people in this tiny town who have actually lived here for six generations. I don't belong here (being a full-blown Southron doesn't help in this neck of the woods either), but it's a passing thing. I will probably eventually move on again (Lord willing at the side of my husband) and home will be wherever my family is. There are only two places in this world that I call home for real--where I live with my family, and the great portion of this country called "The South". I am culturally a southerner since both of my parents were born and raised in the Sunny South. But even there, I have a similar sense of "not belonging" because, once again, I'm the child who is from nowhere in particular. Whose early years where spent going from one base to another (and I happen to know that I have been less places than other military brats!) Who always knew that these friendships of today may not last after my departure--some have, some did not. I have always been the new kid. I have nearly always had to be the one to initiate friendships (that always aggravated me to an extent); probably because, like the author of the article says, if we were to have friends, we had to make them faster--because we weren't going to be around for more than a couple of years. I never had thought of it that way, but maybe that is why I worked at making friends with people content in their own bubbles. I LIKE people and I always did like them to return the, well, affection I quickly have for the people I call my friends.

Perhaps I should put it this way--PEOPLE are home for me in a way places are not. My PEOPLE--the ones I love most and would greatly grieve their loss, no matter who they are or where they are from or where I met them--these are home. This is why I can be "at home" anywhere. People y'all...your people...are more important than stuff--and yet, like the lady in the article--sometimes our stuff, collected over a transient childhood, is home like no structure is. I collected magnets all over the US...and I confess that sometimes flipping through them, I get an ache and tears sting my eyes. And it is then that I miss the old life. Once in a while I may be heard to hum or sing that Iriving Berlin song "I Wish I Were Back in the Army!"...and I may really be meaning it. Because, sometimes I do...there have been times over the past 12 years when I have told the Lord, "Oh God, I wish we were still in the Army!" Why? Does it matter? Don't you miss home and the familiar when you've been gone for awhile? I admit that it wouldn't be as familiar now, but the military will always be with me. 

You can take the child out of the military...but you can never take the military out of the child.

From the heart of an Army Brat,

Sometimes, novels really have a knack of getting a point across--or a way of wording something in a way that opens a different view of a subject to you. Even if it's something you know sometimes novels can word things so concisely that the eyebrows go up in a "I haven't heard it put that way before" style.

I am talking, by the way, of historical novels in general. Historical fiction is one of my main favorites for reading since it revolves around history without necessarily being entirely constrained to word for word quotations and even entirely "real" occurrences, thus giving both the author and the reader a little leeway to use their imaginations. NOT that I condone messing with actual fact. Let's get that straight.

I do not usually read "biographical novels" (which, let's be honest are historical fiction based on a particular real person's life) preferring to get my facts about people from their own writings and/or biographers who have done extensive research. Anyway, I am currently reading The Smiling Rebel by Harnett T. Kane. It's about Belle Boyd:

I'm not really here to delve into Miss Belle's exploits at the moment though...remember where I started "when novels..."?

I was reading along and around page 198, Belle and her papa are reading a newspaper account of Lincoln's "Emancipation Proclamation" (which, y'all really, if you read the wording is absolute poppycock since he had no jurisdiction over the areas in which he declared slaves "free"). So? So this:

And how, my dear readers, is the War for Southern Independence, remembered by the majority of people these days--from both North and South (and internationally)?

A war for or against slavery.

Was slavery an issue? Yes. Was it the issue? No. Was slavery part of the "States Rights" issue/debate? Yes. Was it the cause of the war? No; even though some people can make a compelling case that it was a strong factor. 

But look again at that quote...altered the conflict...in both sections and also for the people of other nations. Do you see it? Do you see what I saw in a way I hadn't seen before? 

When Lincoln declared war on slavery (remember peeps, he said right out the gate that his goal was to "preserve the Union" [union? when the sides hate each other? what kind of "union" is that?] and if he could do it without freeing a single slave, he would)...well, when Lincoln declared war on slavery, he defined (I should say, redefined) the terms of the conflict and very likely put the final nail in the coffin of British support for the South--since the Brits were very anti-slavery. The man who defines the terms has an upper hand. 

In conclusion of this probably slightly incoherent post, may I just say that allowing our enemy (I don't care where or when or what we're talking about) to define the terms of the fight (while occassionally inevitable) is a foolish thing to do. We end up spending our time trying to defend ourselves rather than being on the offense. We have justify our actions. Or maybe we don't have to, but we feel obliged to because we really just want to live in peace and maybe if they understand they will leave us alone. People. It doesn't work that way. The Enemy of Truth is never going to listen to Reason, Logic, or Good Morals. Live it. Fight it. Breath it. Teach it. But don't become an apologetic apologist--and I mean the person who apologizes for being right; be the apologist who unapologetically pronounces the Truth. 

P.S. I believe this stuff passionately. But...every time I talk about it, I feel guilty. I don't practice it enough. So...these pep-talks are aimed at ME as much as they are anyone else. I, like the next guy over, needs to be reminded to stand fast on the firm ground of Truth (all true truth coming from the Bible and a biblical worldview)--to define MY terms and not accept an alternation definition. We cannot let the Lincolns or Devils of this world to define our fight for us. We need to put THEM on the defense. How? Standing solid in the Word of God and what it teaches--regardless of the cost. It's easy, oh so easy, to say that. God Almighty, grant Your people the steadfastness found only in YOUR strength!! (Philippians 4:13)

Right, so that sounds like there was something really exciting that happened. Well, not so. It just wasn't a "usual" Saturday. 

I started out this morning making myself a list of things I wanted to see get done (so far, I've gotten all but one of those completed). 

First up was straightening up the living room. I wouldn't say it looks spotless, but it's certainly better than it was! I still have sewing stuff out, but at least it's not completely filling two chairs and spilling haphazardly onto the floor from the card table I have set up. There is something rather satisfying in taking five minutes and turning chaos into order.

I had two other main jobs slated for today (other than the usual Etsy, cooking, dishes, etc.): plant my flowers and go through the doll dresses.

I actually got started on the doll dresses first. I sorted them into "put on Etsy" and "not good enough" and then I took a break and betook myself outside. It it unseasonably warm for February (not that I'm complaining!) so I was comfortable with my sleeves rolled up past my elbows while I played in potting soil and flower seeds. I have to say, I think Snapdragons have the tiniest seeds of any plant I have ever played around with! Wow...and I though carrot seeds were small........

I planted a rather huge (for a greenhorn on flower growing) selection in the potting tray. A couple different kinds of carnations, dahlias, zinnias, celosius (?), two snapdragons, a couple others I can't remember...oh and some pink daisy. That's what I put in the trays. After that, I puttered around with the stuff that the packages said could be direct sown this time of year and poked those seeds in various spots. Yeah. Real organized. I did try to be tasteful in where I put things though. And out of the way of mowers. Oh well. I'm planting flowers for the bees I need to order...so I'm going to be praying that they come up and grow nice and bloom delightfully. 

I had a wonderful time getting dirt up my fingernails and playing with cats between time. It felt downright delightful to be OUTSIDE in the sun.

I came back in and after a good hand-washing, readdressed myself to the doll clothing. I went through and sorted it further into "lots"--which I then wrote down a piece of paper for quick reference when I begin to list them. (They all have "inventory numbers" which is quite helpful.) Since each Etsy listing cost $.20, I figure I might has well put as many outfits per listing as logically will go. Different styles paired together (I mean, stuff of the same style)...or color paired together. For instance, I have a 'Red Dress Lot' (four entirely different styles, but all with a red base) and I have a 1940's Style #1 (there are actually 4 1940's Style lots)--it only has two dresses in it, but it's the same style. I think I may have fun getting these listed. I also, naturally, have other nick-nacks and the like left to list too...but I might as well get these dresses up along the way. Some of them are still hanging around from 2012!!

I think I had better go get started on supper... ;)

I got distracted this afternoon when I went to the barn and cranked Annabelle, the green Ford, and the "Navy Ambulance Van". I got distracted for sure poking around my truck. Not my GMC pick-up in Florida...but my 1942 Chevrolet Army Truck.

I poked around, got in, sat behind the wheel, turned the key--which did absolutely nothing--mainly because I later realized she's not hooked up to a battery at all. I crawled up on the fender and peered into the engine, calling out to myself the various parts of the engine I know and am at least vaguely aware of how they function. There is some wiring that needs replacing for sure. 

Then, while waiting for the other vehicles to run a little longer, I went and I sat in a green plastic chair and just looked at the old girl.

That's when it hit me. I knew she needed a name (most of our vehicles are named, you know) and it came to me all of sudden and felt right.

Bobbie Mae.

Bobbie--because she was Grandpa's before she was mine and his name was Robert. He went by Bobby as a boy.

Mae--because I thought "Bobbie Mae" sounded like a nice 1940-ish name. Maybe something a feller would have nicknamed his ride--be it a truck or a plane. (I also had a great-grandmother on my dad's side with that name as her second name.)

Anyway, Bobbie Mae needs work--a lot of it. Like several thousand dollars worth, I reckon. Still...someday, I want to restore her to her former glory. And so...I day dreamed. 

I hardly think I'll be able to get started on her this spring like I half-seriously dreamed last fall...but it sure would be nice. I need to do reading, parts research, historical research...and learn how to drive a manual. :D 

Too many projects--and not a one of them galloping along with any speed. You'd think my projects were all astride an ancient nag...eh well. We'll have to see if a good night's sleep puts any pep back into that nag... ;)

Off to bed shortly,