The Chronicles of Marna

At the end of November, I had the privilege to visit Ft. Drum, NY, to speak with the Army spouses stationed there. Like many of the major division posts, Ft. Drum has faced non-stop deployments in the last five years, with some families experiencing as many as three since the War on Terror began.

Despite their weariness, the ladies were welcoming and upbeat. The program director of the Spouse Club is an organized, energetic and imaginative sparkplug named Lisa Sweet. Her theme for this luncheon was “PCS Moves,” so the menu featured — naturally — a box lunch (submarine sandwich or Cobb salad) and cans of soda.

Decorations included the familiar stacks of brown cardboard boxes and packing paper at the entranceway. The table centerpieces were really cute and clever: small cardboard boxes topped with a plate of brownies and a card that said “Welcome to the Neighborhood.”

(Lisa Sweet with PCS table decorations.)

The ladies on the decorating committee had spent the evening before writing hilarious descriptions on the boxes with black Magic Marker. We’ve all chuckled (or cringed) at these misspellings, malapropisms, and combinations during our moves:

FRAGIL CHANDALEER

TOILET BRUSH/FINE CHINA

VERY FRAGILE
THIS END UP w/arrow (Box placed upside down)

GARBAGE CAN WITH TRASH

LIVING RM/LOOSE CHANGE/DUST BALLS

CANDLES/LIGHTER FLUID/MATCHES

COMBOS
POLISH POTTERY
BOX 1 OF 43

BASEMENT JUNK–NOTHING WORTH STEALING

KITCHEN–SPICES FROM 1997
WET DISH RAGS/OPEN CEREAL BOXES

BAR ITEMS–
ABSOLUTE, WILD TURKEY
EMPTY BUDWEISER CAN
SODA BOTTLE SEALED WITH DUCK TAPE

To get the program started, three women competed in a packing relay. They had to wrap and stuff numerous items in a small box, tape it shut, and race to the spot on the wall with the assignment of their choice: Italy, Germany, or Ft. Polk. Guess which one was picked last?

In my talk, I shared a little about my book, Household Baggage, and why I wrote it. As an Army wife, I wanted to capture our world and help my readers appreciate and acknowledge their challenges and strengths. When I read this passage from my story, “Climate Shock,” they laughed knowingly:

“I think families should get a clothing allowance when the military moves them from a hot southern climate to a cold northern one.”

Watertown, NY (outside Ft. Drum) is known as “Snowtown USA” with an annual snowfall of 101 inches, approaching 200 inches in the snowbelt areas. Upstate New York was freezing when I arrived, and the signs around my exit were so obscured with snow that I could barely find my way around. Ironically, the winter safety briefing scheduled for the night before was postponed due to bad weather!

Despite the cold, I was warmed by the company and truly grateful for the opportunity to visit the ladies of Ft. Drum.

Marna Krajeski **marna at householdbaggage dot com**
www.householdbaggage.com

Despite arriving home to Rhode Island late on Dec 31 after a long drive from Virginia Beach, husband Paul and 13 year old son Stephen were determined to maintain their New Year’s tradition of plunging into the icy waters of the Narragansett Bay on Jan 1 (aka Polar Plunge, Penguin Plunge, Pier Plunge). At 1130 am we hustled out of the house to get to the beach by noon. Parking is often difficult because this is a popular event. As we drove east, we passed swells of bundled up walkers/bikers/runners purposefully moving towards the water.

“The rush to the sea,” I commented.
“Like lemmings,” Paul added.

Some past New Year’s Days had been downright balmy; this one would test a plunger’s mettle. The weather had deteriorated to overcast skies with light rain and high winds. As a spectator, I donned a warm scarf, long wool coat and gloves. Lastly, I grabbed my black fur-lined “babooshka hat,” which we affectionately call my “vodka swilling headgear.”

Paul, a five year veteran of the plunge, took a less-than-serious approach. Looking like the neighborhood flasher in his cadet bathrobe, he also wore a Hawaiian lei and cowboy hat. “If only I had Elena’s moviestar sunglasses,” he said.

Temps were 41 degrees and falling, and my cheeks were freezing as we struggled from the car to the beach carrying an impressive load of towels and blankets. I felt the beginnings of sleet. “This is the worst weather ever,” I mumbled, glad once again that I was only watching. It was even windier on the beach and the surf looked fierce. I absolutely cringed as a trio of skinny teenagers darted by (shivering) in bikinis, their skin goose-bump-pale.

The cold weather did not deter crowds or participation. As always, there was a robust gathering of young and old. Paul and Stephen undressed to their swimsuits in the light downpour and prepared for the annual test of manliness. As the noon horn sounded they sprinted towards the surf. I lost sight of them, so I ventured into the onlookers, but couldn’t find them. When I returned to the picnic table (our staging area), I found a forlorn-looking and soaking wet Stephen wrapped in a wool blanket.

Paul looked none the worse for wear–this was old hat to him.

While they recovered, I walked our 3 month old yellow lab to the water. This place was dog central: labradoodles, spaniels, great danes, newfoundlands, mastiffs, and lots of labs. I caught sight of a lab puppy who looked vaguely familiar.
“Is that from the Berns litter?” I asked its owner.
“Yes it is,” he replied.
“Opal! One of your siblings!” I shouted. They sniffed each other disdainfully but registered zero recognition of their shared dna.

I looked around; the beach had quickly cleared. Traditionally, people hung out in an impromptu Jan 1 meet-and-greet. Not this time. The exodus to heated cars was swift and dramatic. Just 25 minutes after the plunge, we too were on our way home, and the New Year’s demonstration of psychotic behavior was but a traumatic memory.

Happy 2008 to You and Yours!

Marna @ householdbaggage . com

www.householdbaggage.com