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 |  Life, liberty and the pursuit of sanity. |
My blog in which I make no promises to follow topic or rules.  Current music: AWOL Nation Brian Buckley Band Adele Matt Cardle Mumford and Sons Florence + the Machine  Current books: “I’m Ok You’re Ok” "The Far Pavilions" Read in 2012 "The Fountainhead" "Pride and Predjudice" reread "The Outsiders" "Dog on It" reread "Jheggala" reread "Motivational Interviewing “A Train in Winter: An Extraordinary Story of Women, Friendship, and Resistance in Occupied France” “I Don't Know Much About Indians, but I Thought I'd Write About Us Anyway” "The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks" "A Peoples History of the United States" Quote of the Blog "If at first you don't succeed, don't try skydiving.” |
| Nothing noteworthy is really crossing my brain pan for this entry. I fear it will be one of those mindless, meaningless, rambling, babbling entries. So, I’ll keep it somewhat short. I do have a small excuse for this though. My brain is boggling from mid-term madness. It is limp and exhausted from boiling over with all the boggling facts that I seriously doubt I’ll ever use. I just don’t see myself becoming an electrician! Who knew that it would involve so much math! My Achilles Heel, my kryptonite, my…what’s another famous reference for a weakness? Um, silver for a werewolf? Garlic for a vampire? Don’t know if I really want to associate myself with either of those. Oh well, you get the idea. Math. I mean, I’m sure it has its uses, but still. Ew. If I ever do have to go into the airplane fixing business in the civilian world, I’m definitely not touching the electrical part. Those pilots will just have to search elsewhere. It’s useful, oh yes very. But did the Wright brothers use it? No. They did just fine without it. Sure, we have electrical stuff on the helicopter. Too much of it in my opinion! The chopper I work on is, I’m sorry to say, outdated. Those poor ladies have been flying around since Vietnam. They are just a bit elderly! I mean, their frames and structures are still good, but the technology is just a little ancient. We have boxes full of wiring whose functions could now all be fit into a chip the size of a beetle. These boxes seriously slow the poor girls down. Their Sister ships, the younger newer Blackhawk, must constantly mock my work worn bird. As much as I hate to say it, it is time for them to retire. Find them a nice home in the National Guard or a comfy museum. They sure wouldn’t argue. They’ve been working long enough that they are getting grumpy! You think I’m kidding? HA! They quit quite often now. Throw in the towel without even putting in their thirty day notice! And it is my regrettable mission to bully them back to work. So in revenge, they bite back. Hard sometimes to! I must have lost at least a pint of blood due to that aircraft! Not to mention my recently sprained ankle. (Which is getting me fat since I can’t run on it!) Don’t get me wrong! I’m powerful fond of those old girls. The one that was assigned to me in Iraq, we liked each other just fine. In fact, she liked most girls, but boy did she hate the fellows! She was a hard worker to! Temperamental, but boy could she ever fly! My Commander loved her, so did most the other pilots actually, even if they did call her fat. (Ok, they used the words ‘flying heavy’ but it’s the same thing.) I miss her sometimes. The Colonel even let paint their names on them! Although….well, I wasn’t the one who named my girl. No, my platoon sergeant owned her before me and he named her and liked her about as much as I did so when I inherited her, well, I decided to keep the name. I’m not sure I can put it in this blog since it doesn’t follow the E rated guidelines. No matter, what’s in a name right? Ok, I’ve babbled on long enough about this. Hope I didn’t put ya’ll to sleep!  PS:Above I realize that I inferred age to those of Vietnam age. Um, I meant old in helicopter years, not human!!! |
| Harrumph. I typed out a lovely long blog and then forgot to bring it with me!! Going to leave my head behind one of these days! Guess I'll just wing this one into a shorter, compact entry. Well, just like every other American out there, I'm worrying away about my taxes. Yuck, April 15. Why couldn't they have picked a more evil day? I mean, April is Spring! Sun shining, flowers blooming, children laughing, cotton candy clouds and warm breezes hinting at summer coming! Tax day should be planted somewhere in an already dreary month with drizzling cloud cover and mud. March or February would be perfect!! Then again, the insanity rate might rise if that happened! Happily for me, I've got free tax service provided by the Army. I just get all the paperwork together, fill out a mountain of forms that have nothing whatsoever to do with money (don't ask me why. I don't know.) and hand it over to a hopefully competent clerk. Good thing to. When it comes to finances I'm lost at sea. Midterms are next week!! EEK!! How did they creep up on me so fast? Last night my instructer had us all down at his hanger again to help him tear apart his new plane. Sadly, since I'm working nights again, I had to leave to go tear apart my helicopter. Drat it. His class has got to be the funnest I've ever taken because he believes in so much hands on experiance. The nice thing about working nights is that I get three day weekends since we don't fly nights on Fridays, so I just don't have to go in at all!! Time for relaxation and wandering around WDC!! Actually I need to go study. Electrical theory, ick. |
| For you who are uninitiated on the info-structure of the military, there are two genera’s of people. I’m sure you’ve at least heard of them. The Officers and the Enlisted. To break down the differences between the two to the most basic of levels, would be to say that the Officers make the plans and the Enlisted make sure that plan happens. There is a lot more to it than that, but never mind about the other stuff. I’m enlisted. Happily so! And at the top of my food chain, is the big boss, the top dog, the Sergeant Major. These guys are the senior enlisted of any soldiers unit. I’ve been placed under quite a few and for the most part don’t interact with them that much. I’m not exactly high on said food chain! But, I and my fellow soldiers usually are somewhat opinionated on what we think of the Big Man since we are often directly effected by his decisions. I know, I know, what is the meaning of this lesson in useless Army knowledge? Give me a minute and I’ll get to my point. In the past, I’ve had Sergeant Majors that were no good at their job. Take the fellow I had while in Iraq. A good enough guy I suppose, but too old for his job. The entire unit was halfway convinced he had the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s. He just forgot everything. Not a good asset to have in a war time leader. Or even the one after him, he had a serious case of no backbone, and allowed are then Colonel to run all over him and the rest of us enlisted. No fun at all! For the most part, the Sergeant Major (I’ll say SMAG from now on) is just a distant figure of authority. The guy whose attention you definitely don’t want because that is usually a bad thing. Now I arrive at my present SMAG. His appearance at the unit occurred briefly after we made the move from FT. Polk to FT. Lewis. Our arrival on Lewis had been expected but not prepared for. So we received the dregs of the post. Old buildings (some had been condemned until we arrived), old equipment and very little room. Well, SMAG showed up, took one look at what his soldiers were living in and got mad. That I even heard some of the distant rumblings of this anger is a testament to how big of waves he was making among The Powers That Be. All to no avail though. Lewis just didn’t have any decent accommodations for us. None of it bugged me overly much. I was just thrilled to finally be away from Polk and Louisiana! Asbestos in the rooms? Who cares! Plugged drains? No problem! Not enough beds? Bring on the sleeping bags! I was way to happy to be bothered by such trivial incidentals! Since that beginning, I didn’t hear much about him. Nothing bad, which is in of itself a good recommendation, but nothing stupendous either. Wait, I take that back, it quickly became general knowledge that he and the Colonel understood each other and got along….as long as the Colonel stayed on his side of the command structure. Anyway, one of SMAGs policies is to meet with anyone in his unit that is planning on getting out of the Army, specifically, me. Well, I was a little nervous. SMAGs make the Army their life. They’ve been in forever and usually love every minute of it. So when they meet with some youngster who is planning on passing up on a second opportunity to follow the life path that they took…it’s not always pleasant. So with my nerves on high key, I arrived early for my appointment to meet my Sergeant Major. You ever had one of those experiences where you not just expected one thing, but assumed it? Then it turns out to be so completely and utterly different that your brain has to do back flips to catch up? Well, that’s what happened. First of all, SMAG is perhaps the most intelligent person that I’ve ever had personal contact with. Second, he actually cares about what I want and need as well as respecting my own decisions. Third, he is young for his position, he can’t be older than his mid-thirties. Fourth, he listened to what I had to say, didn’t pretend to, he really heard my words. Never in my entire existence have I wanted to earn someone’s respect so badly. That forty-five minute interview left me feeling exhausted, drained and glad I hadn’t yet eaten lunch! Not because of anything he purposely said or did, but just because I wanted to present myself as someone worthy of his time. That looks horrible in print but it is true. Though I should add that I didn’t attempt to grovel! Instead I brought all my mental facilities to the forefront so I could at least appear somewhat intelligent!  He never condescended or spoke rudely to me. He never belittled my decisions or showed disappointment that I wouldn’t continue my time in the Army. Instead, he treated me as an equal.I believe that now, at the tail end of my military career, I have finally met a natural leader. Oh, I’ve had good leaders before. Excellent at their jobs, able to motivate others as well as relating well to both their subordinates and overseers. But SMAG was the first person I’ve met who made me want to excel, shine and succeed for him. As insane as this may sound, there is a piece of me that would be willing to once again sign on the dotted line so I could continue to serve under him. An even larger piece of me that would leap at the chance to return to war serving under him. Above, I stated that I wanted to succeed for him, but that doesn’t cover it completely. No, it would still be for the mission, my fellow soldiers and the usual reasons, but added to it would be the knowledge that our success would please him. None of this looks right written down. What I’m feeling and saying don’t seem to parallel that well. So I’ll stop trying to put it into words. The entire point I was meaning to make was that until now, I hadn’t really believed in the power of a Leader. Now I know the strange effect it can have on a person. |
Ok, first thing is first! I need to admit when I'm caught in the wrong. Check out David McClain   lastest blog for some awesome facts on Montana. He had the wherewithall to actually go do some research on the subject. Teaches me to complain before knowing the facts!!Secondly, a bit ago I put in a bit of an angry blog. Once again, I spoke to soon! Turns out that dratted safe is BROKEN!!!! Two times now where I've spoke/written before knowing all the facts. Well, perhaps that'll teach me! |
Has anyone been watching the news? Reading the paper? Well, I don’t know about the rest of America, but here in Washington there is, quite rightly, a lot of hoopla about the shootings that killed six people. The first I heard of it was when I walked in the office on Monday and received a lot of flak about it. I was considerably confused until I found out that the shooter was from Montana. Sigh. So, I picked up the paper and found, to my surprise, that he was from the same area I was. Whitefish, Montana. Not exactly my home town but close enough to make it feel like home. Ok, not to sound insensitive to the deaths that happened, but blast it all, why Montana? Other states have plenty of psychos going on rampages, it’s just that they are usually known for something else as well! Montana though? Nope, Ted Kizinski, the Freemen, and now Kyle Huff. In the common occurrence of meeting and greeting new folks, the following conversation (or derivative) usually ensues. Me: “Nice to meet you, names on my left pocket if you want to know.” Joe Snuffy: “Funny. Same here. So, how long you been in the Army?” Me: “Bout six years. You?” Joe Snuffy: “I’m going on my eighth.” Me: “So, you’re a lifer?” Joe Snuffy: (laughter “No, you crazy?” Me: “Ya, me to. Where you from originally?” Joe Snuffy: “I’m over from Texas/Illinois/Puerto Rico/Korea/Alabama/Zimbabwe/California/Macedonia/Maine/Panama….”(seriously. The US Army is a great place to meet cool people! I should tell you sometime about the time I met an African Prince! Wearing Army green no less.) Me: “That’s cool! (here I usually make some comment about something interesting about where he’s from. i.e. “Wow. Georgia? I went through there last year and they had some of the best cooking ever.” Joe Snuffy: “Ya, the food is pretty good. How about you?” Me: “I’m from Montana.” A long blank silence follows. Joe Snuffy: “Montana huh?” Me: “Yep.” Joe Snuffy: “Isn’t that the state that has no speed limit?” So you get the idea. Don’t get me wrong, I love Montana and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, but it just isn’t known for much. At all. No big NFL, NBA, NHL, or Baseball teams. No famous landmarks, no famous monuments, unless you want to count the Battle of the Little Bighorn, no famous people from the good ol’ Big Sky Country. Except certain gun/bomb toting fanatics that have nothing better to do with their time than to ruin other peoples lives. Bugger it all. Actually, I can name a famous person from MT. Evil (or is it spelled Evel?) Knievel. Yep, that crazy stuntster is from my home state. Who else? Oh ya, the horse that played Cisco in “Dances With Wolves”. Do animals count as famous personages? Either way, I’m reaching for straws here! |
Quote of the Blog “We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.” John Webster For the past (almost) six years, I’ve worked and lived in a very male dominant society. The job I hold in the Army is one of the positions that few females take. I am now accustomed to situations where I walk into a room or place occupied by fifty to a hundred or more people, and be the only woman. This would have terrified me six years ago, but I guess a person can do a lot of changing. When I first realized how few other girls I would be working with, I came to a determination. But let me first fill in a bit of background so you can understand why I pursued my decision. My first duty station was in South Korea, way up north, not even seven miles from the DMZ and Communist North Korea. The Camp consisted of around one hundred and eighty people, three of those being female. After the first few months, in which I acted somewhat foolish, I woke up and knew I had to make a decision on the type of woman I would be in the Army. I am going to do something now that I don’t usually enjoy doing. Typecast. Before I do, please understand that I know everyone is an individual which no typecast can ever wholly define. But typecasting is not around for no reason. People often fit into a certain ’group’ by their actions. I have found this to be very true in military females. There are three basic groups of Army gals, although each group does have sub-groups. The first is the group that wholly enjoy their position of being few women among many men. They use the fact that they are girls to do half the work with the same pay. As a rule, the guys all let it go. These girls flirt on the job, giggle endlessly, and in many cases, hand out…um, favors. This group disgusts me. I realize the guys own some blame because they encourage it, but for the women themselves, I cannot respect them or their manipulative ways. The second group is the butch group. These girls are so aggressively male that they often out do the guys! And don’t get me wrong, just because I said butch, that doesn’t mean lesbian. These girls always seem to be striving to prove something. They are tough and don’t need help from anyone. Many are what are termed as ‘man-haters’. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the word butch. These girls don’t all have the short hair, muscles and man walk often associated with butch. Most look like the more commonly accepted version of ‘girl‘. Anyway, these women are hard. At least they are at work. Tough as nails, take no ****, kinda girl. Maybe they are different in their home lives, I don’t know, but they kind of make me nervous. The third group are the others. The exceptions that stand out. They seem so completely at home in their own skin that no typecast can confine them. They work hard, do their jobs, and are completely woman, no matter what they look like. These women are amazing, they have completely embraced their femininity without throwing it in anyone’s face. Yet I cannot identify with them, they also make me nervous. As for what group I fall under? Well, its always hard to honestly judge oneself, although I know it not to be the first group. All this typecasting didn’t happen for a long time. No, in Korea, the girls I met, both on my Camp and other Camps, fell into that first group. Rather disappointing for the young, eighteen year old me. Anyway, I also had the (heh) opportunity to hear what opinion the guys really held of these women. I won’t persecute you with a repeat of those conversations but lets just say they made an impression. One large enough to make me swear to never, ever be one of those girls. So, I made rules for myself to follow. No, I didn’t write anything down or even conscientiously word them; but there were rules none the less. The bottom line was that when I put on my uniform in the morning, I would no longer be a girl, but a soldier. Which, (sighs) I suppose, plants me firmly in the second group. I decided to strive to become ‘one of the guys’. And, I succeeded! I was so proud. I worked hard, never letting a man do the job I was being paid for. Sure, there were some things I couldn’t do because I’m a woman. Let’s face it, men are stronger than women. But I willfully worked toward never, as we say in the Army, shamming out. And like I said, I succeeded. The first time I overheard some of the guys talking about me and actually using complimentary words, I just about swelled up fit to burst! Ya, success. Ever hear the phrase “Careful what you wish for”? It’s a good one! Being one of the guys gets a little tiring after a few years. Old rules tend to reach out and choke off opportunities which any girl would leap at. Being one of the guys means that the guys will act like, well, guys. That they will talk, act, joke and express themselves in ways that they usually don’t around women. I do set limits. When they get a bit too carried away, I tell them to shut up and they usually do, laughing. Being one of the guys means that I’ve forgotten how to be one of the girls. You might not think I’m serious when I say that. But it’s true. When I find myself, on the rare occasion, of being in a room full of women, I don’t know how to act or what to say. What do women talk about? I don’t know. What jokes are appropriate? I don’t know. The truth is, I’m sick to death of being one of the guys. I want to be a girl again! Funny thing is, when I go home, all the rules slip off. I become me again. No uniform to dictate my actions, no preconceived notions about how I act at work. All that just goes away. But only when I’m home, around my family, friends and familiar surroundings. Hunh. When I sat down to type out this blog, my intention was to express something else entirely. I was actually going to talk about the guys! But this is long enough as is. Maybe I’ll continue the topic later. Or not! Reading back over this entry, it begins to sound a bit like a pity party. Yich. *ponders whether to post entry* No, I’ll (obviously to you) post this blog. This whole idea of blogging is odd when you think on it. I’ve never expressed the above sentiments to anyone really. It’s just not a topic that comes up. But here I am, writing it all out for complete strangers to peruse at their pleasure. I wonder why. . |
Quote of the Blog: “Like a dull actor now I have forgot my part and I am out, even to a full disgrace.” Shakespeare I’m on lunch break right now and blasting this entry out in hopes of relieving some frustration. Which may be a mistake to give angry vent in a blog, but this to is a piece of me. I am in charge of the communications shop for my troop, at least on the enlisted side. This is just one of my extra assignments added to that of my regular job of crew chief. Since I’m usually working on the helicopter and don’t have much time for anything else, my counterpart, in the form of a Warrant Officer, usually takes care of the communications (commo) shop. Problem. He is on leave right now. Part of running the commo shop means being in charge of several highly classified pieces of equipment that are used on the helicopter. These are kept behind two locked doors and in a safe. Ok, so you’re wanting to know why any of this has any place in a blog? The safe is a (insert bad word) to open. The combination itself is complicated and the door likes to stick sometimes. Add to that a certain trick to getting the latch to twist just right and believe me, the equipment is definitely hard to get at! Now, the Officer showed me the combo once and I got it. At least I thought I had it. Now he is gone, I didn’t know he was leaving and that equipment is needed. Today. And I can’t get that dirty, rat blasted, worthless safe open!!!! And it’s my fault. I should have practiced more in opening it. I should have made sure of his schedule and when he would be here or not. I should have had him show me again and again until I could open it in record time! But I didn’t. And now I’m failing in my duties, failing my chain of command and failing my fellow soldiers because I decided to shrug off my responsibilities!!! So I’m mad. Mad at me. I hate it when I fail. I’m furious with myself for..for..for not doing what I should be able to do! After lunch, I’m going over to talk to the Officer In Charge Of All Things Secure, and ask for her help. Her help doing my job. The worst part was in telling my First Sergeant that I had failed. He didn’t get mad or anything. I wish he had! I wish he’d dropped me, smoked me, whatever! No, he just looked…disappointed. Ouch. The problem with having people trust you, is that you need to fulfill that trust daily. They learn to rely on you and when you fail them…it just hurts. I hate days like this. Days that I’m confronted all over again with my invariable fallibility. |
| Ok, so I had a nice long entry all made up for my blog, but the dratted computer won't open up my thumb drive! Growl. Snarl. Hiss hiss. Ok, I'm good now. I'll just have to try again later. Started school again yesterday! It's all about electricity and I was surprisingly interested in it all! This term doesn't look to be nearly as hectic since I cut my schedule down a lot. All in all, it looks good. If everything goes smoothly, I should have my degree by June!!! And having graduated Embry Riddle always looks nice on paper.  |
| Hopefully I can put in another full entry by tomorrow. I feel like I'm shamming out on this thing I've begun. A bit bummered out right now since I managed to sprain my ankle yesterday at work. I'd had a ski trip planned for this weekend and now that's out of the question.  Oh well, it will give me a chance to explore some more authors here at WDC. A lovely surprise happened when I opened my mail to find I'd been featured in the comedy newsletter! Thank you Beyond the Cloud9  ! Quite made my day. |
| Today I arose early to enroll in next term colledge courses. I'm really excited because if all goes well, I might be able to get out of the Army with a degree!! This is awefully important because then I could go straight to my major next fall. Me and Julia, a good friend of mine, have been wanting to attend together. So if I earn my general assosiates we could follow through on this plan! I'm not going to write further because my brain still needs to be jump started with coffee and I fear that my spelling is taking a turn for the worse because of it. |
| What was I saying yesterday about working nights?? Oh yes, that they allowed one to enjoy the mornings. And boy do they!! I enjoyed this morning so much that I stayed up until 0430 just to get better aquainted with it. YAWN My blogs might be a bit sparse for the rest of the week. |
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