Service and Sacrifice

(I wrote this post last week after I came home from the memorial service for the crew of Jolly 22.  It has taken me a week to tweak my words and my thoughts).

I normally maintain social networking silence on the subject of military service.  This is a mommy/adoption blog.  I write as JillR, wife and mother.  Private citizen.  Today, it is not so easy to compartmentalize.  And so I break my rule…just this one time.

Today, I attended a memorial service for four people that gave their lives in service of our country.  These three men and one woman were the crewmembers on the rescue helicopter that crashed while on a training mission in England on January 7th.  This crew was assigned to my base, and while I did not know any of these Airmen personally, their lives and deaths have touched me in a way that I find surprising. 

Life on a military base, especially a base overseas like ours, is a lot like life in a small town.  People live, work, shop and connect in a relatively small amount of real estate.  There are few strangers and few secrets.  Military families have a common bond and when you add the “strangers in a strange land” aspect, the result is a pretty tightly knit community.  And when we lose one of our own, the loss is felt.   

My job in the Air Force is in no way sexy or glamorous.  But, when I raised my hand and signed on the dotted line twenty-three years ago, I did so with the knowledge that I was agreeing to put my life on the line for my country.  I was young and maybe a little directionless on that January day in 1991 when I repeated the words “I do solemnly swear” but I knew what I was agreeing to.  

What I do on a day-to-day basis is low risk.  I am not an aviator.  I don’t handle a weapon as part of my everyday job.  I don’t work with explosives and don’t regularly come in contact with people who are hostile, unstable or combative.  When I kiss my family and head to work each morning, I do so with the confidence that I will see them again at dinner.  I don’t wonder if this is going to be the last morning I get to kiss my kids or hear them laugh.    

I believe when it’s your time, it’s your time.  My mom always says “you never know when your room is going to be ready.”  Conscription is a thing of the distant past.  Those of us who wear the uniform chose this life, knowing and accepting the risks that go with it. 

Our base had a memorial service for all four service members.  It wasn’t a funeral but rather a way for the military community to pay their respects and to celebrate their service.  This was an event held in an airplane hangar and open to the entire military community. 

I hemmed and hawed about whether or not I’d go.  I kept making excuses to myself about how busy I was and how my presence wouldn’t really make a difference.  After all, I didn’t know them.  I knew a couple of them by sight, but they weren’t friends.  They weren’t even acquaintances.  My presence or lack thereof would not matter to the four members of the helicopter crew who gave their lives. 

But the real reason I was hesitant to go was this:  hesitation to deal with my own emotions.  One of the fallen Airmen was a young mother of two young boys, married to another military member.  This Airman, this mom in uniform kissed her kids goodbye on a Tuesday and went off to do what the Air Force had trained her to do just like I did.  But on that day, her room was ready. 

It hit a little too close to home and made the “what if I” thoughts that lurk pretty far down in my consciousness rise up and nag.  I keep a pretty heavy guard on my emotions – at least in a professional setting – and going to a venue where public grieving was on the agenda made me uncomfortable.    

I went to the memorial.  It was well done, as those things go.  Being at this memorial was like looking through a window of what things would look like if it had been me or my husband.  Parents, walking with their shoulders sagging, wearing masks of pain, facing the fact that they’d outlived their children.  A husband wearing his service dress uniform holding a child in his arms that was crying for his mommy, not quite understanding everyone's explanations as to why she wasn't coming home.  A mother struggling to comfort her children while burdened with her own grief. 

There were a total of about two thousand people at the memorial.  I doubt all these people knew the deceased personally.  Most were probably just like me…fellow Airmen who came to pay their respects.  There was a big screen that showed pictures of their lighter moments, some poignant testimony about the lives of these Airmen…along with some really funny stories.  These were four bright individuals who loved life, loved their families and loved serving their country. 

I am glad I went and glad I was part of the community showing of support.  If it had been me, I would have wanted my parents, my husband and my children to draw some comfort in seeing how my Air Force family rallied.  As saddened as I was to see these grieving families, I was enriched by getting to hear a little bit about their lives.  They leave behind a great many people who will mourn and miss them, but there are also a great many people who are tucked at home safe and sound because of their service.  They did what they did every day “so that others may live”. 

Crewmembers of Jolly 22 – thank you for your service and rest in peace. 

Bip My Hooter (and other fun stuff)

In late 2010, Lee and I were preparing to move to England.  I have traveled to lots of different countries and England is the fourth country (besides the United States) that I have lived in.  “At least we will understand the language”. 

Not exactly that simple.  While navigating British English can’t be compared to trying to stumble through “cocktail party” chit chat in another language, there are distinct differences in word usage that can bring some funny looks or giggles. 

I’ve picked a few of my favorite “not what you think it means” words but my all-time favorite “British-ism” is and will probably remain “bip my hooter.”  Not long after we’d moved here one of my British friends and I were making plans to go somewhere.  I can’t remember where we were going or exactly how the conversation went, but I do remember being well and truly confused when my friend told me she’d “bip her hooter” when she was ready to leave. 

Uh…say what?  What your what?  In spite of any sort of worldly and sophisticated façade I might fake you out with, I’m really just a nice conservative girl from Texas.  I’m not sure if I’m the hooter bipping type.  Seeing the look of utter confusion on my face, my friend took a minute to explain that “bip the hooter” meant to honk the horn on her car.  Beep beep, bip bip.  Horn, hooter.  Gotcha. 

Enjoy the lesson.  This is just a drop in the bucket and I’ve decided not to even tackle the subjects of regional accents and rhyming slang.  Maybe next time. 

Pants:

In the USA, this means the our jeans, our slacks, our trousers...the bottom garment that has two legs and a waistband...sometimes pockets.  In England, your pants are your underwear.  Also referred to as knickers.  Most of the Brits in this area are used to Americans and if they hear us talking about our pants, they are pretty forgiving.    

Bonnet:

Although this is an antiquated term, most of us know a bonnet is a type of hat.  As in "she has a bee in her bonnet".  Something is buzzing around inside her headgear and getting her all agitated and stuff. In England, a bonnet is the hood of your car.  So...if someone says they need to look under your bonnet, it doesn't mean you should take off your hat.  It may mean that something is out of whack with your car engine. 

Boot: Footwear, right?  Shoes that come up and cover your calf.  We have rain boots, cowboy boots, stiletto heeled boots that hit you at mid-thigh that I like to call stripper boots...and so on. Not quite the same thing in England.  So, if someone comes up and hands you a bag...say, a grocery-sized bag...and tells you that it will fit in your boot, don't look at them like they've sprouted a second head.  Because here, a boot is the trunk of your car.  Car boot sales are synonymous with tag sales, garage sales or rummage sale.  So, if someone asks you if you want to go to a car boot sale, don't assume you are going to go shopping for footwear to wear whilst driving.   

Biscuits:  We think of fluffy baked goods made with shortening and baking powder.  We have them for breakfast topped with sausage gravy or for dinner with butter and honey.  In England, a biscuit is a cookie.  A scone looks like a biscuit, but it doesn't taste quite the same.  I'm pretty sure no one here has ever considered whipping up some white flour gravy and slapping it on top of a scone.  Even I think that sounds kind of gross.  

Dummy:  I think of the crash-test dummies, a dressmaker's form or someone who isn't smart.  In England, a dummy is a pacifier...some call it a binky. I guess it makes sense - a fake nipple.  

Jumper:  Most Americans would think of a dress worn over a blouse...some might call it a pinafore.  In England, a jumper is a sweater and a sweater with buttons up the front is a cardigan.  Although not officially on my list, they call what I've always referred to as a "vest or puffer vest" (an outer garment with no sleeves) as a body warmer.  Interesting, huh? 

Flats: When we talk about flats, we might think of women's shoes that have no heel.  In England, a flat is an apartment home.  Apparently, being on one level is not a prerequisite for calling it a flat.  

Rubbers:  When I hear this, I think of condoms or footwear we wear when it's raining.  In England, a rubber is an eraser.  So...if you hear second graders talking about needing rubbers for school or having a stash of rubbers in their backpack, don't panic.

Nappy:  When I hear someone talk about "nappy", I think of kinky, fuzzy, unruly hair.  In England, nappy means diaper, although I am pretty sure most people know what you're talking about if you say diaper.  

Wardrobe:  The sentence "I need a new wardrobe" makes most of us think that you're intending on going shopping for a lot of new clothes.  In England, a wardrobe refers not to your clothing but to the free-standing piece of furniture that you hang your clothes in.  Most British homes do not have built-in closets and people must buy wardrobes.  We might call them armoires. 

Lift:  When we say "lift" we generally mean that we're picking something up, like a box or a sack of groceries.  "I'm going to lift" might meant you're going to the gym to pump some iron.  "Can I give you a lift" might mean someone is offering to take you somewhere in their car.  In England, a lift is an elevator. 

Trainers:  This is the common English term for tennis shoes or sneakers, not the mean lady (or dude) you pay to stand over you at the gym and tell you that you're a out of shape blob that eats too many Little Debbies.

Chips: Usually, this word brings about visions of deliciously fatty, crunchy pieces of potato product fried in oily substances guaranteed to give you a heart attack. They come in bags stamped with lovely words like "Lays", "Ruffles" or "Pringles" and are seasoned with wonderful things like sour cream and powdered cheddar or "cool ranch". Isn't most everything more yummy with a shot of cool ranch?  I think so.  In England, chips are French fries.  Everyone has heard of "fish and chips"...well, that sure doesn't mean fish and a side of Lays barbeque.  In England, chips are called crisps and they come in really interesting flavors like roast chicken, steak and onion and prawn. Don't knock it until you try it.  I'd choose roast chicken crisps over my favorite sour cream and cheddar Ruffles any day.

Pie:  Needs no explanation.  Cherry pie, chocolate pie, pecan pie...I could go on.  In England, a pie usually means a savory meat dish topped with some sort of pastry crust.  Steak and ale pie...chicken and mushroom pie...I could go on.  Very tasty and not low cal.  Our kind of pie is usually referred to as a pastry or a tart.  And, I think a tart as a euphemism for a loose woman is probably universal.  

Cheers:  This is something that we commonly say to each other when we clink glasses.  Alcoholic beverage is optional.  "To your health, bottoms up, down the hatch." Sometimes I say "Prost" because that's what they said in Germany...I have no idea what that really means.  In England, "cheers" is used as an informal "goodbye". 

Mobile:  Most of us think a mobile is a colorful gizmo (sometimes with music) that we hang above a baby's crib.  In England, a mobile is a cell phone.  Mobile phone.  Makes perfect sense.  When we were stationed in Germany, they called cell phones "handys".  

Tea:  In the U.S.A., tea is a beverage.  In the South "would you like tea" is assumed to mean a glass of iced, deliciously sweet tea.  In England, tea is always served hot, commonly with milk and sugar, but "come over for tea" doesn't always mean "join me for a beverage".  Many Brits refer to "tea" as their late afternoon/early evening meal.  Our kids have "tea" at around 4:30 at childcare.  It is usually something savory, like beans on toast or a pasta dish.

"Give me a ring":  In the U.S.A., this might mean "We've been dating for two years.  Get serious and put some bling on my finger or else." In England, it is much simpler.  It means "call me". 

"Knock me up":  Most of us know "knocked up" as a euphemism for pregnant.  The first time I heard a female coworker say "I'm going to knock Emma up", I thought to myself "well, that is just all kinds of weird", but it actually refers to knocking on someone's door.  

So...bip your hooter when you're ready to go shopping. If I don't answer, knock me up. I've really got to get to the store, because my child's teacher insists he has to have some rubbers to keep in his desk - in case of mistakes, you know.  We can put whatever we buy in my boot - lots of room in there.  And, I hope you're hungry because we'll be done in time to have some tea!  Cheers!

 

Sunday Snapshot

I thought "first Chuck Taylors" was photo worthy.  Have a great week!