You can reach me in Denialville...

I had an interesting experience today. I got to drive DH to the nearest non-dinky airport this morning (only 100+ miles away), and as I was driving back into our modest town, I drove the exact same road we took on our way into this town almost two years ago. It's not the nicest of roads. In fact, on that beautiful summer day, we were more than a little worried as we drove past abandoned buildings with broken windows, etc.

As we met with DH's new commander later that week, we found out that this road is affectionately known among military folk as "The Trail of Tears", due to the fact that many spouses are sobbing by the time they reach the base, wondering where in the world their military spouse has been assigned.

I, too, was a nervous spouse by the time we reached our military home that day. Even my children in the car with me had grown quieter and quieter as we drove along. I could feel the mass exhalation of relief as we drove onto the base, met by the familiar military sights and sounds: airplanes on a stick, brown buildings, American flags snapping in the breeze, and the mandatory manicured golf course. Aaaaah--normalcy. It was a blessing to leave the run-down, abandoned, ramshackle town behind and re-enter civilization.

Amazingly, time can heal some wounds. As I drove along today, the same buildings and sights were there, but I hardly saw them. It was familiar, that drive, and that made all the difference to me. I saw the truck stop with the weight scales; the one manned by the sweet lady who helped us weigh our van countless times when we moved ourselves last summer. I saw one of my favorite restaurants, where they make fabulous shrimp fajitas. I saw the turn-off for the community college where my son takes his classes with a good friend. I saw the road with the music store, filled with kind and helpful people that have saved that same son on countless occasions with last-minute repairs and free-of-charge adjustments. I saw the mission where we've taken loads of donations. I still saw some broken-down buildings, but I was shocked at how un-scary the whole experience was. It seems I have developed a fondness for our little town, and especially for the kind people who live in it. They have been the true blessing of living here.

I am holding onto this thought, as we gear up for yet another military assignment. This one is scarier for me, because we are headed overseas. Exciting? Heck, yes. Intimidating? Heck, yes. Moving a family of eight anywhere is a logistical nightmare. Moving one overseas is a real logistical nightmare.

Where will we live? What do we take? What do we store? What can we use over there? How can we find a house big enough, that we can afford, yet close enough that DH isn't spending two hours a day on the road? Where do we enroll the kids in school? How am I going to drive that monstrous van on the wrong side of the road? It's enough to drive a person insane.

So, I'm going to take up residence in Denialville for just a bit longer. I know the move is coming, but there's only so much I can do from here, right now. I am holding onto the idea that something that is scary can become familiar, and that can make all the difference. I'm sure there are some kind people waiting to meet us as we venture across the pond. I'm sure going to miss those shrimp fajitas, though.