By barbara.wilkey
This is a prologue to a novel I'm considering writing. Numerous people I've spoken with through the years have mentioned that I need to write down the experiences I've had raising four boys while being a military spouse. Basically, a geographic single parent. As I've spoken with many of you either through reviews or PM's, many have said 'you need to share that story with all of us.'
I've decided to start this project. It'll be a series of short stories, many will be shared with my granddaughters, some won't. The topics will be varied as I post them, depending on what my muse prompts me to write about at that time. I won't be posting them on a once-a-week basis, but whenever something pops into my head.
If I decide to eventually publish this, I'll group the similar topics together. One of the topics I'm considering is, as I've said, raising four boys. My boys were far from angels. They were honest to goodness rowdy boys, who enjoyed experimenting and exploring. My husband, Brian often mentioned they were a tag team match. One of them was always doing something they shouldn't. When we settled that problem, a different child would start. Something was always going on.
Another topic will be living abroad. We spent a total of eight years in Germany, not all at once. We got to Germany by way of the Army. Along with these stories will be stories of living within the military community and what it's about. It's a different lifestyle, with its ups and downs. I wouldn't change it.
If I choose to write about it, being a battered wife. It's a hard subject to discuss, but it's real. I struggled getting my freedom. Some of this story is discussed in my first novel, 'Two Tattered Hearts'. A huge surprise this is my only novel without a dog. I have often felt I need to go back and change that. LOL
A possible topic would be the death of my infant, Michael and how that impacted my faith.
I could even write about how being retired has affected my life or even getting older. I could also include stories from my former first graders.
These are just ideas I'm playing around with. I'm pretty sure I've forgotten some. I have no clue how this is going to turn out. I've put myself out there a little in writing my novels. I doubt any author can write without sharing a piece of themselves, but this will be the first time I've written about me. Well, I did when I wrote about my experiences going through breast cancer and chemotherapy. There may be a little more about that experience too and its lasting effects.
I hope some of you have found this interesting and will want to read. If not, I do understand. My life is probably boring. I often believe it is. Maybe I can find a way to liven it up. LOL
| Author Notes |
Thank you, Pinterest for the artwork. I may use it on every post. Not sure, yet.
Guess What??? This is only 500 words. Short for me. LOL There are things we don't want to happen, but we have to accept. Things we don't want to know, but we have to learn. And people we can't live without Thank you Pam(respa) for finding this for me. I found this and don't know who said it, but I like it and feel this is what I hope this novel of short stories is about. It sums it up really well. Thank you for dropping by and reading. I appreciate all commets. |
By barbara.wilkey
Eleanor
This is not at all how I had planned this going. I'm preparing a chapter explaining all the family members as the characters, so you'd know each one and have a feel for them personally.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately my just turned four-year-old granddaughter, Eleanor, her birthday was July 29th, gave me something to write about, and I couldn't pass it up.
This story was told to me by my son, Andrew, we FaceTime every Sunday afternoon. Andrew works at Barnes Jewish Christian Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri. He takes Eleanor to the daycare provided by the hospital for their employees every morning.
Andrew had stopped at a stoplight on the way to the hospital. Next to them a car had stopped, and a fluffy spotted dog stuck its head out an open backseat window.
Eleanor sat in her car seat and said, "Daddy, do you see the furry dog?"
"Yes, I see the dog."
"It looks like a nice cuddly dog."
"I'm sure it is a nice dog."
"Isn't that dog beautiful? I like dogs."
"I know you like dogs. You like all animals."
Eleanor was silent for a few moments. "Daddy, can we get a dog?"
"Hurry up light," Andrew muttered under his breath. "No Ellie, we can't get a dog."
"Why not? Dogs are nice."
"Yes, dogs are nice. Your mom and I both work. We're not home enough."
"Charlotte and I'd play with it all the time when we get home. Charlotte likes dogs, too."
"I know you both would. Dogs poop. I don't want to clean up dog poop."
"Dogs don't poop a lot."
"Yes, they do. Remember when we were at Grandma's, and you stepped in Harley's poop. It was hard to get out of the treads on your shoes. You wouldn't like that, would you?"
"When Harley visits here he doesn't poop in the backyard."
"Yes, he does. Grandma cleans it up."
Again, Eleanor got quiet for a few minutes, before she started again, "Daddy, in Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, he asks the neighbors to help. That's what neighbors do. They help each other. We have really nice neighbors. Maybe they'd help clean up dog poop."
"El, it doesn't work that way. We do have nice neighbors, but they don't want to clean up our dog poop. Would you like to clean up their dog's poop?"
"No, but maybe our neighbors like dog poop."
As Andrew's telling this story, I'm laughing and then say, "Andrew, dogs make really good friends. You boys always had a dog growing up, remember? The girls need a dog."
"Mom, you're not helping!"
| Author Notes |
Andrew's wife, Katie is a biology college professor. They have another daughter, Charlotte, who is six and will start first grade in August.
Dogs will teach you unconditional love, if you can have that in your life, things won't be too bad. Robert Wagner This post is a little over 400 words Thank you google images for the photograph of a dog with it's head out the car window. |
By barbara.wilkey
Steven
It seems stories are presenting themselves whether I want them to or not. So, I'm guessing the introduction to my family members will be presented as they do something or I remember something that might, well, sort of maybe, be story worthy.
Lyenochka, one of my favorite authors on FanStory wrote a short story titled, 'Spirit's Nudge'. If you haven't read it, you should. It's well worth your time. This story reminded me of a prayer my son, Steven lifted up while having lunch at Arby's.
Steven, Andrew, one of his older brothers, and I went to Arby's for lunch. Steven was probably around five years old at the time. Andrew was somewhere around twelve years old. My older boys were already living on their own. My husband, Brian, was off doing Army things. We were stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky.
As I placed our order at the Arby's counter, I repeatedly asked Steven, "Are you positive you don't want any curly fries? I'm not coming up here again for curly fries."
"Mom, no curly fries today."
"Are you positive?"
This conversation was repeated over and over again, numerous times, but I didn't order him curly fries.
After Steven quickly finished his sandwich, he asked, "Mom, can I have some curly fries?"
Not at all happy, because of our earlier conversation, I reminded him, "You said you didn't want curly fries. I told you then I wasn't getting you any later."
With his sad puppy dog eyes and a full pout, he continued asking, now almost begging for curly fries.
In full mom mode, I set my mind to making sure I didn't give in and was going to teach this child a lesson. I didn't back down.
A little later Steven changed his question, "Mom, can I have a quarter for a large gumball?"
"Okay." I gave him a quarter.
Steven went up to the gumball machine and got his bubble gum. He danced back to our table. His face glowing and eyes twinkling. "Mom! It has a star! I get free curly fries!"
I gave in and allowed him to go to the counter to get his curly fries.
When Steven returned to the table, Andrew asked, "How did you get that gumball? I've tried and tried and never got one with the star."
Steven held up a curly fry. "I prayed for it."
Andrew shook his head. "You can't pray for curly fries."
I agreed. "You shouldn't pray for curly fries."
"It worked." Steven enjoyed his curly fries as Andrew, and I shook our heads.
| Author Notes |
Thank you Lyenochka for bring up this memory. Please read her post 'Spirit's Nudge."
This post is a little over 400 words Thank you google images for the photograph of a dog with it's head out the car window. |
By barbara.wilkey
Steven's Longhorn
I was searching for artwork to go with Sunday's post and was reminded of another Steven story. In this story, Steven is in high school, probably around fifteen years old.
One of Steven's household chores was to take out the garbage after dinner. He did and when he returned inside, he said, "Mom, you're not going to believe this but there's a longhorn steer in our front yard."
We live on top of a steep hill. On the back side of the hill is a limestone quarry where numerous deer live. I frowned. "Steven, I know you're a city boy, but it's a deer. I need to get you to the country more."
"Mom, it has horns."
"On deer they're called antlers."
"I know. You need to come outside and see for yourself."
We walked out the front door and in our oak tree grove was indeed a longhorn steer.
"Mom, I know a deer from a longhorn."
"You do." I called Brian, my husband from his den, "We have a longhorn in the front yard."
"What do you want me to do about it?" asked Brian.
"Maybe call the police. It's lost and probably belongs to someone."
Brian did call the police and was told, 'We don't do longhorn steers. Leave him alone and he'll go back home.'
The following morning, the longhorn was gone. I guess he did mosey his way home.
It is comforting to know my teenage city boy did know the difference between a longhorn steer and deer.
| Author Notes |
Texas is an open-range state. This means the ranchers aren't required to put up fences. Many do, but there are plenty of ranchers who choose not to have fences. Some counties have voted to not allow open ranges in recent years. My county has not.
As I looked at the photo, I realized this isn't a steer. You'll see the same photograph Sunday. This post has a little over 200 words. |
By barbara.wilkey
Chapter 4
I'm going back a few years with this story. Thank you, Iza Deleanu for the memory. The year was August of 1986. My husband, Brian, had joined the Army and left home the previous December for Fort McClellan, Alabama.
I remained in our hometown with three little boys. Steven wasn't born yet. Greg was eight years old; Jeff was six years old, and Andrew was one. I learned quickly what being a geographic single parent was all about, along with being thrown into being a military spouse.
During this indoctrination, my husband completed basic training, AIT, (Advanced Individual Training,) and then he flew to Germany, our first duty station.
I discovered such things as waiting lists for housing. There was no housing for families in Germany, at this time, and there was a waiting list. Of course, I didn't understand that and wondered why he didn't send for us. All sorts of things went through my mind. Since we are still married, you can figure out that I learned about housing waiting lists. He arrived in Germany in June. We received orders to leave in September. We were separated for nine months.
My next problem was navigating the military system to figure out how to get household goods packed and sent to Germany. I, again, learned how to maneuver the military system. The secret, be more stubborn than they are. The old 'squeaky wheel gets oiled logic' works every time.
We were now ready to fly to Germany. Our first flight left from Quad Cities International Airport, in Moline, Illinois, and flew to Lambert-St. Louis International Airport. Our home was a small rural town in Illinois.
I was very lucky this flight was noneventful because Jeff, my ornery child, decided he wouldn't get on the plane. After all sorts of bribery, he decided he would get on the plane. If the flight had been bad, I wasn't sure I'd get him on the flight from St. Louis to Frankfurt, Germany.
Our flight from St. Louis to Frankfurt was on a MAC flight, Military Air Command. Our flight was to leave around ten o'clock that morning. Loading the plane with food, the catering door somehow broke. They had to have the replacement piece flown in from New York.
I'm now stuck in an airport with three young boys. Greg got sick to his stomach, Jeff was his usual pain in the butt, and Andrew had diarrhea. I had packed four outfits for him and plenty of diapers, but he ended up pooping all of them. I had to buy him new clothes and diapers at airport prices. Money was scarce at this time in our marriage. We waited in the airport for twelve hours. For real! My already strained marriage wasn't getting any better.
Finally, we loaded the plane. I see some hope. Nope, we got the pleasure of sitting on the tarmac for hours. It was really hot and crowded. Jeff, my wild child, chose to show his true colors and he had many.
The pilot announced we're ready for take-off. YEAH! But no, Andrew had tubes in his ears because of repeated ear infections. Guess what? Once the jet started rising so did the pressure in his ears and he screamed the entire flight, almost a full nine hours. My anger for my husband rose.
I did everything possible to get his ears to pop. I had weaned him and went back to nursing, hoping it would help. I tried a sucker. The stewardess came to help. I walked the aisles. Nothing worked. The good news is this was a MAC flight. The families had center seats. Active-Duty soldiers sat on the floor along the sides. As I walked, the soldiers had sympathy and made comments about their spouses having to go through the same thing. I began to understand the military community a lot better, but it still didn't get my husband out of trouble.
Andrew was still crying but we landed at Rhein-Main Air Base, just outside of Frankfurt, Germany. My husband was waiting and very happy to finally get his family back together.
I handed him the boys. "Here's your kids!" I searched for the window for the next flight back to the US. Brian did talk me into not making any hasty decisions. Long story short, I survived twenty-three years as a military spouse. This past Saturday we celebrated forty-seven years of marriage.
When we returned after our four-year tour of Germany, our seats on the flight were separated and I refused to sit with Andrew. Brian had too. The funny part was the other two boys, and I sat beside drunk National Guards men, who had just finished training. Probably another story about the return flight. LOL Andrew would've been the better choice. Be careful what you wish for.
| Author Notes |
Please read Iza Deleanu's story 'Stranded At Home'. It's worth your time and is what helped me remember this incident.
Thank you, Google Images, for the photo of a Mac flight. In the 1980's there were not seats on the side. The Active-Duty soldiers sat on the floor. This post is a little under 800 words. |
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