Coming back from IA

One of Zac's co-workers returned from six months in Iraq the other day. He's actually been gone longer than that, since he had to spend three months on the mainland going though training before he left. Everyone here was looking forward to having him home, no one more so than his wife, with whom I'm good friends. She asked me if I would like to join her at the gate to welcome him home. I declined at first thinking that their first moments together again should just be the two of them. She insisted that it was okay, and that she wanted me there. I realized at that point I could also play the role of 'photographer' for them, so I agreed to accompany her. Zac also came to the gate, representing their office.

It's quite a thing to go to the gate to meet someone, nowadays. I remember being a kid and going to meet people out at the gates at MSP all the time. The metal detectors were all the way down at the beginning of each concourse, and you didn't need a ticket to go through them. It was common to be standing there with a big sign when they came off the plane. After 9/11 everything changed. Yes, security is probably better now, but the airport experience is much worse off. Once upon a time you could go with your friend to MSP, have them check in and then the two of you could proceed into the terminal and sit down and have a last meal together at one of the restaurants. Now you have to wave at them as they go through the security gate and grab your own Cinnabon on the way home by yourself. There's no waiting out delays with them, no excited kids with their faces pressed up against the glass watching the plane pull into the gate. Now you're stuck meeting people in the baggage claim, which is lame. People are always very happy to be getting off the stuffy, cramped plane. That's when you want to hug them. No one is happy at the baggage claim. Ever - no joy allowed. The baggage claim is not the right place to warmly great someone.

All this was in the back of my mind as my friend, Zac and I headed to the USO at HNL (Honolulu's airport code) to sign in. I was delighted at the prospect of actually going to the gate to receive someone home. After we got our paperwork from the USO, we headed up to the airline that the husband was coming in on. They "checked us in" and gave us pseudo-boarding passes. We went through security and headed to his arrival gate. And waited. And waited. Thanks to the snow in the Chicago area his flight had been delayed, but thankfully not cancelled. At that time I was really glad that Zac and I had gone with her because I believe she would have been bouncing off the walls if she had been sitting there by herself for 90 minutes.

Well, not quite by herself. There was another wife waiting for her Navy sailor to be coming home on the same flight. She, and her three daughters, were anxious for Daddy to be home. After watching the three girls, ages six, four and two I'd guess, I could see where the mom was desperately ticking off minutes until his arrival. Those girls had energy to spare. (While we waited the two-year-old managed to set off a type of fire-alarm by opening a defibrillator case on the wall - apparently the same little girl had set off a fire alarm in an elevator the day before. I laughed, because they weren't my kids.) The girls were dressed up in their best red, white and blue dresses and had each made a "welcome home" sign. We talked to the girls and their mother off and on, especially as the arrival grew closer.

The arrival gate was actually fairly full of people who would be embarking the plane once it was fueled and cleaned up for it's return trip to Chicago. Many people made comments about how they were happy for our family member's/friend's service and safe return. Everyone in the waiting area seemed pretty excited when the plane finally taxied up to the gate. (Mostly, I think, everyone wanted to see the little girls tackle their dad.) As each person came off of the plane we watched, waiting to see the camouflage-clad sailors. My friend's husband appeared first and was closely followed by the other sailor. There was a smattering of applause as the girls shrieked, "Daddy!" in unison. My friend hugged her husband while the other sailor embraced his family. I took photos. Eventually my friend let Zac and I hug her husband, but I wouldn't have blamed her if she hadn't let go of him for quite a long while.

The four of us (and the other disembarked passengers) headed over to the baggage claim. When we walked through the doors, a whole host of Navy sailors were there to greet their comrades. There were noisemakers and applause and leis and hugs and a huge banner that read "welcome home". I took more pictures. It was a pretty fantastic event. I can't imagine what it's like for the Army and Marine families when their people come home. That must be one heckuva welcome.

It's quite possible that at some point Zac's name is going to get called to go on an IA (Individual Augment) to Iraq of Afghanistan. I'm not really looking forward to that. And in about 18 months he'll probably be assigned to a ship, meaning semi-regular deployments to sea for 4-8 months at a time. I'm not really looking forward to that either. But then again, why would I? Shocking as it may sound, not only do I love my husband, but I like him too. When he's not around life is not nearly as much fun.

But it's nice to know that if he does go on an IA, or when he goes on those deployments at sea, that there's a nice, established means of celebrating and appreciating him when he gets back. Besides me hugging and kissing him, that is. Sometime the line that I get fed about the Navy being a family gets a little hokey and a little propaganda-ish, but sometimes it is actually accurate. And on those days it's kind of neat.

Overheard at the Commissary

I decided to swing by the Commissary (grocery store for military members) on the way home from watching the Super Bowl today. I figured that hardly any one would be there so soon after the finish of game. I was right, and got a prime parking spot near the exit. Score! I wish the Super Bowl happened more often. Grocery shopping would be a delight.

As I walked up and down the almost people-free aisles, I realized that I could easily hear people's conversations. There wasn't the hum of a couple hundred people as background noise. As I studied the V8 Fusion selections on the shelf, a dad and his young son walked behind me. They were talking as they approached me and then I heard the child say, "It's kind of like when you fell off the wagon, Dad!" I could tell the dad almost choked and he darted a panicked look at me. "You mean, when I fell 'out of' the wagon," he corrected. "When we were playing I fell 'out of' the wagon." I couldn't help it, but I smirked. The kid repeated earnestly, "Yeah, Dad, when you fell off the wagon."

The dad shot me a embarrassed smile and just shook his head in resignation.

Language is a fun thing.

What's the deal with the (808)?

I've had a lot of people ask what the (808) in the name of my blog means. (808) refers to the area code for the state of Hawaii. And "eight" rhymes with "Kate", which sounds kind of nice.

You may have noticed that my URL doesn't match the title at the top of the page. Here's how we got here. I started this blog back in July of 2007 (!!!) when I was still in Minneapolis. When I signed up with blogspot I didn't take any time to develop something literary or meaningful when I signed up for an address. I thought I'd throw my name in there and some other random info, hence kate-mpls. Heck, I'm not even sure I realized that the name of my blog could be my address too. I just wanted to get something up and running and didn't put much thought into it. (There is probably a way to make my URL match my blog title at this point, but that would take a certain amount of effort.)

While I was in Minneapolis, the blog was called "Kate's Blog". (I have worked with very creative and very gifted writers over the years, and I have never been confused with any of them.) That named worked well enough for me, because for all I knew I was really the only one reading it. Once I moved out to Hawaii I decided to try and come up with something new for a title, since all of a sudden my blog became a de facto communication tool for my friends and family to keep up to date on my life. I wanted the title to have something to do with Hawaii, and I ran through about 10 seriously hokey names in my head before I finally settled on the area code idea. Something about Hawaii invokes really cheesy blog names to me. Maybe it's because I feel a little bit like I live on the set of a 1950s Elvis movie.

Even though I'm not 100% happy with "Kate's (808)", I don't feel like straining my brain to think up something else. It will do for now. I suppose I could just keep renaming it with the various area codes that I'll be living in for the next 10 years. That will be my plan until I come up with something better. Unless some one out there has a better suggestion . . .

It's the ice cream man!

It's free ice cream day! Wahoo!

Every once and awhile, maybe once every two months or so, the company that runs the military housing out here on Oahu sponsors an ice cream truck to drive around the neighborhood, passing out free ice cream to everyone. Every man, woman and child pours out onto the street when they hear that free ice cream truck approaching. Census 2010 workers, take note: if you want an accurate count of how many people live in a neighborhood have an ice cream truck drive up and down the streets, blaring "Do Your Ears Hang Low" while handing out ice cream shaped like Sponge Bob Square Pants.

By the way, I am keenly aware of the inconsistency between my last post about working out and this post about me sprinting towards free ice cream. Judge me if you want, but it was free chocolate ice cream. I'm completely comfortable with being judged.

Ow.

The entire top left quadrant of my back is knotted up. This is what I get for attempting to be healthy. Before the holiday season hit, and I headed to the mainland, Bernadette and I were working out twice a week together. We had been doing that for more than four months, so my body had adjusted to the strength training regime meaning I didn't wake up with screaming pain after awhile. (The first couple weeks were rough, though.)

I don't know if I've mentioned what Bernadette does - she's a personal trainer/massage therapist, though at the moment she works more as a personal trainer at a gym up on one of the Army bases on Oahu. She's a health nut, which is said with the utmost affection. Not only is she informed about the nutritional and physical fitness needs of others, but she's a committed runner/swimmer/cyclist and is in the midst of training for a triathlon for herself. Nut. But her nuttiness was to my benefit, as I put on a few inches around the middle after moving out here. (It was the annoying type of weight gain where the scale doesn't say you've put on more than two or three pounds, but you know something is up because your pants don't fit around the middle anymore and you're looking for shirts with an empire waist.)

When Bernadette and I got back from diving with the Manta Rays on the Big Island in July we decided to hit the gym to do strength training twice a week. I'd much rather do strength training than, say, cardio because cardio is evil. Cardio makes me feel like I want to die. I don't think things that are supposedly "healthy" should make you feel like the end is nigh. Bernadette put together a nice workout regiment that involved mostly strength training and an occasional cardio session (I suffered through them). I even made it through a couple of her yoga classes. (Did I mention she's a yoga instructor too? Yeah, total overachiever.)

Once the holidays got close, Bernadette had guests and then I headed to the mainland. When we finally met up on Tuesday, it had been close to five or six weeks since I had been in the gym. We took it relatively easy that day, since Bernadette admitted she had only done strength training twice since I left. Yes, she runs 15 miles, bikes 50 miles and swims for an hour a day or something else utterly ridiculous - but no strength training. Was her admission supposed to make me feel better? The closest thing I did to working out while I was away was . . . um . . . nothing. Oh wait, I did 12 push ups at the cabin to show my family that I could do push ups now. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count. Anyhow, due to Tuesday's workout, I was pretty sore on Wednesday.

Then yesterday I went to a kickboxing class with a friend, whom I shall name "Claudette". (Names are almost always changed to protect the innocent.) Claudette is married to one of the guys Zac works with. Since the new year she has attended some sort of organized gym class six days a week. Spinning, Zumba, kickboxing, step aerobics, etc. She's not a health nut like Bernadette, but she's trying to lose a few pounds and has committed herself fully to the effort. Last week Claudette asked me if I wanted to attend a kickboxing class with her. I don't usually do group fitness classes because I have terrible coordination and usually end up fumbling all over the place, making me feel conspicuous and awkward. But it dawned on me that Bernadette and Ken (her husband) will be leaving in April for their new duty station. If I had any hopes of maintaining some sort of exercise program after Bernadette left, I needed to find something new.

Last week's kickboxing was uncomfortable at best. I am no Chuck Norris. Neither is anyone else for that matter - just so we're clear on that. I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would though and, by golly, I worked up a pretty good sweat during the class. Skipping ahead to this week, even though I still had lingering soreness from Tuesday, I went to kickboxing again and pushed through another hour of kick-a$$ club music (I do love that part) and sweat and exhaustion. Last night I had a hard time climbing up into bed. Yes, I said "up into bed". Our bed is very high, and I am very short. I almost need those carpeted stairs that you see on tv that gives little dogs bed access.

This morning I tried to sit up in bed and it didn't go well. Like I mentioned earlier, the upper left side of my back was shrieking with pain. As I'm working on the computer today I've occasionally got a heating pad wrapped around the sore area, taking breaks to stretch everything out. I'd say I need a massage, but I'm afraid that I massage would reduce me to a blubbering mess at the moment.

And as much as I hate to say it, I feel better after a couple of kickboxing classes and weight training. I don't like exercise, but it does actually make me feel better - in the long run. Because in the short run today, it's crummy. Curse my 21st century sedentary lifestyle.

Saturday night on the west coast

I spent Saturday night on the west coast of Oahu, near Waianae. The Waianae side of Oahu doesn't have a great reputation - it's thought of being a little law-less, a little dangerous. Some of this comes from the large concentration of homeless people that populate the beaches with semi-permanent campsites, making it uncomfortable for many people to use those beaches for recreation. Also, the Waianae side isn't as commercially developed as the rest of Oahu, meaning that there aren't as many shiny chain stores and restaurants that make tourists feel comfortable spending money there. (It amazes me that people come to Hawaii and then seek out Denny's for breakfast, Chili's for lunch and Macaroni Grill for supper.)

One of the other drawbacks of the area is that it is a dead end. The road stops a few miles after Waianae, meaning that there isn't traffic moving through the area as people drive around the island. Most traffic turns north before it gets to Waianae since you can loop around the other 2/3 of the island if you go on a different route. As a result you don't get casual drivers coming through Waianae. People live in Waianae and commute out of it to Kapolei or Honolulu and then come back to their large-scale cul-de-sac. There has been some talk of maybe connecting the road on the west side to the north side of the island, but the cost would be high and I've heard that the people in Waianae shout down the idea. I guess they like the quiet of their neighborhood. I can't say I entirely disagree with their desire to keep it low-key and residential, since most of Oahu bends over backwards to appease tourists (sometimes at the expense of locals.)

Randomly, to me at least, there is a military recreation center in Waianae on the beach. There is a collection of cabins that military people can rent out for some R&R. They are staggered in distance from the shore, but the furthest one is only 100 feet from the beach. Not a bad location. Plus, being on the west side, you can watch the sun set over the Pacific. Not a bad way to spend an evening. Bernadette rented out one of the cabins for her birthday and then invited a handful of us to join her in relaxing at the beach and spending the night.

The beaches on the west side are beautiful. (For the record the state is moving the homeless people off of many of the beaches in the hopes that people will be more comfortable using them. Granted this simply means that the homeless have moved to other areas that haven't been reclaimed yet. Why solve a problem when you can just move it a half mile down the sand?) We spent the afternoon sunning ourselves and watching some surfers grab some small waves.

The most fun was watching one young father take his daughter (maybe about five years old) out on his longboard with him. Longboards are surf boards that are, um, well . . . long. I'd guess they're eight feet maybe. Taller than an average man for sure. They're not good for doing cool tricks, but they're nice and stable for riding waves. This father had his daughter kneeling near the front of the board while he kneeled in the middle and paddled out to the break. I think most parents would freak out at the idea of taking a five year old that far into the ocean, but not surfers. Pretty soon the dad had positioned the board to catch a wave and they were riding it back in. As he stood up on the board, his little girl stood up in front of him. Then the dad, in one amazing, swooping motion, scooped up his daughter and placed her on his shoulders. The two of them road in to shore, just like that. I was dumbfounded. I've seen parents paddle out and ride back in with their kids sitting on the boards, kneeling on the boards, and even standing on the boards with them. I had never seen a kid ride in on his or her dad's shoulders. Once they got close to shore he swept her down and they both hopped into the water with huge smiles on their faces. Then they went out and did it again. I really enjoyed watching them.

As it got close to supper time we decided to eat at the bar/restaurant that is located with the cabins. The food was adequate. Well, semi-adequate. Not the best. The bar closed at 9:00, which is fairly early as far as bars go, so we didn't spend much time there. We went back to the cabin and played games for the rest of the night and laughed a lot. I'm not sure if it was the amount of sun we got, or the soothing sounds of the waves crashing in the dark just outside our door or what, but we were pretty exhausted around 11 and headed for bed. That's how it goes on the west side, I guess. Nice and quiet, just like they want it.

The dreaded blue screen of death

My laptop is kaput. I don't know how or why (I'm looking at you, Windows) but on Friday my laptop decided to crash and burn on me. I wasn't a happy camper. I took it in to some computer wizards and they're in the process of trying to breathe life back into it. They believe that it's just a software issue (again, you, WINDOWS) so hopefully it will be on the mend shortly. In the meantime I'm using Zac's laptop for all my computing needs.

I meant to blog a recap of my California/Minnesota holiday season as soon as I got back, but you know how that goes. Best laid plans and all. I figured I needed to get something up soon before the peanut gallery started hollering at my lack of posting again.

The Minnesota portion of my trip was lovely. Frigid, but lovely. I got to spend lots of time with my immediate and extended family. I even got to spend three days up at the Dome, celebrating New Year's as we have in years past. It was cold up there, -24 air temp the morning we were leaving, but that didn't dampen the fun. Usually our winter trips to the cabin involve playing cards and snacking throughout the day. We also usually take some nice walks through the woods, but the bitter cold made that less appealing this year. We enjoyed nature from the comfort of the living room, watching the woodpeckers and chickadees devour the suet from the feeders. So relaxing.

I spent a good part of my time in Minnesota with Lincoln. I think he's simply terrific. The more time I spend around him, the more I am terrified that my kids won't be nearly as cool as he is. Maybe that's a horrible thing to say, but it's true. He's healthy as a bear, he's smart as a whip, he has a jovial temperament (generally - he is two after all, and occasionally he's a terror), he's curious and he seems to enjoy everything.

Lincoln can be fairly easy to entertain. When we were at the cabin Lincoln requested that I blow bubbles for his amusement. I grabbed the bottle of bubbles from the kitchen and he directed me to either "Bubbles up", meaning blow the bubbles so they get pulled skyward in the updraft of the fireplace, or "Bubbles down", meaning blow the bubbles where they drift down so he can destroy them like he's a miniature Godzilla. I'm not sure who had more fun, him or I.

For the record, bubbles are awesome. If you blow them outside on a cold, still day they freeze and shatter. If you blow them around most dogs, the dogs go crazy chasing them. (Have a bowl of water available.) And in all circumstances, they are beautiful and calming. My dad used to keep them in his cubicle at work and when he overheard a coworker having a rough day he'd blow a few streams over the walls. It's hard to be stressed out and angry when bubbles are gently raining down on you.


It's good to be back in the routine of normal life. Three weeks of being on the road is hard, no matter how much fun you had. It's especially nice going back to making meals at home, instead of eating out or having large, holiday meals. It's also nice to get back to work, as I find income enjoyable. Now I just need to get my computer up and running and I'll be back into the swing of things. Dumb Windows.