The Chronicles of Marna

Army Wives, the most successful drama series in Lifetime Television history, won hearts with its fictional portrayal of military families. For those intrigued with the close sisterhood of salutes, send-offs, and solo parenting, my new book offers personal perspectives on life as a service spouse.  In Household Baggage Handlers: Stories From the Hearts and Lives of Military Wives (Wyatt-MacKenzie, May 2008), 47 women share their unvarnished vignettes, some sad, some comic, all heartwrenchingly true.

I was inspired to compile the collection after military wives read my first book and emailed me their anecdotes. I knew these fascinating stories about the courage, stamina, wit, and wisdom of this remarkable group belonged in an anthology for others to enjoy and pass along.

Household Baggage Handlers contains stories about family life from the Army, Air Force, Navy, and Marines, from WWII to the present.

The twelve chapters of the book reveal what it’s like to relocate a family overseas, care for a newborn alone while a husband is deployed, and live with the constant fear of a uniformed officer arriving at the front door bearing bad news.   While editing this manuscript, I must have read each story at least ten times. Still, when I read it today, I laugh at the funny parts, cry at the sad ones, and think “She really hit the nail on the head with this one.” It’s truly a memorable collection.

Marna Krajeski, editor Household Baggage Handlers: 56 Stories From the Hearts and Lives of Military Wives

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A few months before Paul left for Afghanistan, and a few months after President Bush announced the troop surge, I saw my neighbors returning home with their two small sons. “Just get back from a family outing?” I asked, making conversation.

“Yeah, we went to a demonstration in town.”

“What kind of demonstration?” I asked.

“It’s to get President Bush to listen to the American people and bring the troops home,” she said. Of course, then I recalled the demonstration she referred to was sponsored by none other than MoveOn.org, that classy, rabble-rouser organization.

I was stunned by her admission because she knew Paul would be deploying soon, and they considered themselves good friends of his. It seemed vaguely — I don’t know — disloyal. I shrugged it off. Whatever, I thought. This is America and you’re entitled to your own opinion, however misguided and uninformed it is.

I know Army Wives (the Lifetime TV show) is kinda corny, but I like it. After the writer’s strike, I eagerly looked forward to season 2, which began last Sunday.

Season 1 ended with the cliffhanger of a cuckolded sergeant/suicide bomber showing up at the Hump Bar loaded with stolen munitions. Executives of the show announced that one character was killed off, but didn’t tell us much more than that. Oh dear. I’m attached to all the characters. There’s the moral center of the show, Claudia Joy Holden, she of the uber-expressive eyebrows, played by Kim Delaney. The impressive actress Brigid Brannagh stars as Special Forces wife and former cop Pamela Moran. Roxy LeBlanc (Sally Pressman) is the new Army wife and Catherine Bell portrays Denise Sherwood, veteran wife and RN. I like that the cast includes a male spouse in the circle of friends as well: Roland Burton (Sterling K. Brown) is a psychiatrist and husband of the deputy garrison commander, LTC Joan Burton (Wendy Davis).

The Army is officially on board this season as paid consultants to the show. That might explain why a few touches are more realistic such as LTC Burton’s hair is now regulation (she pulls it into a tidy chignon) and the berets look a lot better. My previous blogs pointed out several things that weren’t realistic. Many people wrote to remind me that the show was entertainment, not a documentary, but I stand by my opinions. Many Americans know nothing about the Army, and they DO believe “Army Wives” is the real thing. I can overlook the berets looking like mushrooms, but I draw the line when the script has the Army kicking a pregnant widow out of her quarters and making her MOVE herself. Come on! That doesn’t happen. The sad thing is, some people now believe it does.

Anyway, back to the first episode. There was indeed an explosion at the Hump Bar which killed three and wounded fifteen. We don’t find out until the end (after some sneaky dream sequences) that the casualty was Amanda, General and Mrs. Holden’s college-bound daughter. Wow, that was a punch in the gut. (Yes, I cried.) I’m guessing that the twist will add a little bit more dimension to Claudia Joy’s practically-perfect-in-every-way character. In fact, many of the characters are drawn either consummately good or bad and I hope they all get more texture.

In season 1, we had a hostage drama at the hospital and then a suicide bomber at the local bar, major emergencies involving the same people. Whew! I hope the writers lay off the heavy-handed, headline-grabbing stuff for awhile. There’s plenty of daily drama, emotional conflicts, and group dynamics to explore on a major divisional post during a deployment. Draw from that and give us a break from the wildly improbable.

I have to give the show credit: they tried to capture the unique culture of deployment stress and instant bonding and cherished friendships in the military. Unfortunately, Pamela Moran narrated these observations during her radio show, resulting in cheesy lines like “It must be a military thing, the capacity to press on despite the obstacles, to see a mission to its completion,” and “This is the Army, where our loved ones are often far away, but their warmth doesn’t have to be.” Gag. Let’s give the audience a little more credit and remember the first rule of writing: Show, don’t tell.

Marna Krajeski

Read about my latest book: HOUSEHOLD BAGGAGE HANDLERS:

56 STORIES FROM THE HEARTS AND LIVES OF MILITARY WIVES

One of my son’s friends mentioned he was going to “burn a CD,” and I asked (in all sincerity), “Why would you burn a perfectly good CD?” Both thirteen-year olds looked at me with stunned and pitying expressions.

“‘Burn,” I lamely back-pedaled, “that’s another word for ‘duplicate,’ right?”

“Duh,” said Stephen rolling his eyes, which is his main form of exercise these days.

It wasn’t the first generational moment we’ve had. It won’t be the last. In fact, with technology galloping at breakneck speed, we don’t have “gaps” anymore. We have generation canyons. Three recent examples:

Moment #1: I sat at the computer keyboard typing away with my usual lightning speed. I took my first typing class in ninth grade, way back in 1978. Stephen, watching me, said, “I wish I could type that fast.” “I’ve been typing for 30 years now,” I reminded him. “Lots of practice.”

“Oh mom,” he said, punching my shoulder in an I’m-on-to-you way. “They didn’t have computers back then.”

I have to admit I laughed out loud at that comment. “We used a typewriter back then. Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen ‘em in the movies.”

“You typed and these keys smacked a letter onto the paper. It was really loud. At the end of the line, you had to return the carriage. Like this,” I pantomimed smacking the carriage arm.

“What if you weren’t paying attention and you typed off the paper?” he said.

“A bell rang and you had five spaces to finish a word.”

“What if the word was longer than five spaces?”

“You had to split it,” I explained. “Part of typing class was learning where to divide words.”

What a quaint notion. Dividing words. Carriage returns. Carbon paper. Erasing errors. So primitive. So delightfully nostalgic.

Moment #2: Stephen and I were driving around to different ball fields looking for his practice. We couldn’t find his team, so we decided to call another team mother. Unfortunately, my cell phone was on the charger at home, so we stopped at the bowling alley to use the pay phone. I fumbled around in my purse for a quarter. “Call Mrs. B.” I said handing Stephen the money, “She’ll know.”

He patiently pointed out a call cost 50 cents, not 25, so I gave him another quarter. He stood awkwardly in front of the phone, jingling the money.

“What do I do?”

This is the kid who’s programmed my cell phone to ring a raunchy burlesque tune. The one who figured out all the gee-whiz features on our home phone, printer, and DVD recorder. The one who’s a techie whiz at Guitar Hero and Wii. Stumped by a pay phone.

Moment #3: I’m not music literate; never have been. I don’t know song titles or artists, but I sometimes know the lyrics. The other day in the car Stephen punched through the radio stations trying to find a song he liked. He stopped at “Ballroom Blitz” by Sweet. I immediately started singing along.

“How do you know the words?” he demanded.

“That song was popular a long time ago. Well, I guess when I was about your age.”

He cringed, I mean visibly cringed. The funny thing is, he really liked that song once, but it’s blacklisted now.You can’t rock out to a song that your mother knows. Gross.

I just got back from Ft. Polk. LA, where I was invited by the Spouse Club to speak at their March luncheon. Though the journey was filled with plane delays/cancellations/lost luggage, etc., I had a great time once I got there and saw a couple of long-time friends. I especially enjoyed the book signing after lunch when I got to meet the ladies and talk with them informally while I “autographed” their books. They were such a warm and friendly group.

The following day, I got to tag along on a spouse tour of “the box” which is what they call the reservation at the Joint Readiness Training Center (JRTC). In the training scenario we watched (we were behind a duck blind), a female first lieutenant attempted to lead a convoy through an Iraqi village. It really did look like an Iraqi village, complete with extras in Middle Eastern garb. In the process of clearing the town, the convoy was hit by a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG). While managing that, they received machine gun fire from the opposite side, followed by a second RPG that disabled a vehicle and injured several soldiers and civilians.

I was standing next to an evaluator so I heard all the radio transmissions. One thing I can say: that female Lieutenant was one cool customer. When I was a Lieutenant, I could barely walk and chew gum at the same time, and there she was calmly issuing orders, instantly re-prioritizing, evacuating the casualties, ordering a tow for the disabled vehicle, and maneuvering the convoy out of the kill zone. I was amazed at her composure during this stressful training.

Today’s junior leaders are far more proficient than I was at that age and stage (in 1987). Cognitively, they are extremely high-functioning. For sure, the stakes are much more acute and immediate now than they were in the Cold War, at least at the junior leader level. All the Soldiers are asked to do so much and they rise to the challenge.

My trip to Ft. Polk opened my eyes to the vital work that takes place at the JRTC. I have great respect for all the Soldiers, the Operations Group, and the families at Ft. Polk who support this important training. Thank-you Spouse Club for the kind invitation!

marna at householdbaggage dot com

Paul ran inside to pay for the gasoline while son Stephen and I waited in the car outside the convenience store. I noticed a poster on the window advertising packs of cigarettes for $4 each. I mentally calculated what your typical pack-a-day smoker would spend a week  ($28) and a month($112). “Wow, that’s an expensive habit,” I thought.

Then I thought about my habit of buying a grande nonfat, no-whip mocha at Starbucks. Well, not everyday, but probably every other day. That delicious drink runs me $4 a pop.

I’d rather not calculate how much that indulgence costs me a month. Besides, I can quit anytime–I just don’t want to.

1. She’s fascinated with poop of all kinds(except her own)–cat poop, other dog’s poop, horse poop, deer poop.

2. She likes to play fetch with five foot branches.

3. Everything goes right into her mouth. This includes plastic bags, clam shells, poisonous berries, and Matchbox cars.

4. Her bark sounds like a squeak toy.

5. She thinks everyone is entitled to give her affection.

6. If she’s not being lavished with attention, she barks at you.

7. The sight of the leash sends her into spasms of joy.

8. Looking at her lovely face causes you to have a “cute attack” and you can’t resist repeating her name in a high-pitched, sing-songy voice: “Ooohhh-puhl, Ooohhh-puhl.”

My husband Paul and I recently went to see the movie Atonement starring Keira Knightley and James McAvoy. Since it was nominated for Golden Globes in several categories and there was a big buzz about it, I expected a powerful movie that would change my life, or at least send shock waves through it. The kind of movie I would want to see again and again, like the Matrix or Bridge Over the River Kwai. Disappointingly, Atonement wasn’t one of those movies. But since I am a sucker for period dramas, particular those involving a titled English family and their country estate, I enjoyed it nonetheless.

Sometimes it’s really handy to be married to an Army guy with a PhD in History. He’s a talking, breathing encyclopedia sitting next to me. For example, in one of the movie scenes, a British soldier separated from his unit travels through France to find them. When he finally comes to the coast, he peeks over the dunes and glimpses a military staging operation on the beach. My first thought was D-Day but I wasn’t sure.

“What is that?” I whispered to Paul, as I sensed that knowing was essential to following the story-line.

“That would be the evacuation at Dunkirk,” he said tersely, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“How can you tell?” I persisted.  A two second vignette of soldiers on the beach and he knew exactly what it was???

“I know my history,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the only thing it could be.”

It was that simple. OK. Clearly I DON’T know my history, so when we got home, I lifted the globe from the top shelf of the bookcase and commenced to find “Dunkirk.” It’s a fishing port in France. My trusty Columbia Viking Desk Encyclopedia notes, “In 1940 (May 26-June 4) it was scene of one of most memorable naval actions in history when some 300,000 Allied troops, cut off by German advance on Channel ports, were evacuated to England. Dunkirk was left in ruins. Germans held out there against Allies until May 1945.”

So now I know.

marna at household baggage dot com

www.householdbaggage.com

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