Dining Out in Norfolk

Brian and I have Jill to thank for making it to the "dining out" formal dinner last Friday for Brian's new command, the USS Nassau. (And for the photo, which was the only one we got all night, regrettably!)

And we're happy it was really dining "in" as it was pouring outside.



Otherwise, we knew what to expect since we'd been to our first dining out less than two years ago for the hospital command in Japan. We weren't sure if we should expect this one to be a little more traditional than one through a medical command. But it was about the same. Good thing, because my college roommate's husband, Don scared me a little when he described the gross grog he'd experienced, complete with candy bars floating in it--you may imagine what they represented. Our versions (both alcoholic and nonalcoholic) were fruity punches and only alluded to this tradition in that they were served in a child's potty, hopefully one that had never been used.

Spouses are usually not put on the spot to drink from the grog, which is a form of ceremonial public humiliation in jest (a sort of hazing, really, especially since rumor had it the nonalcoholic version tasted particularly nasty). So luckily, I enjoyed sips of table wine and port for the series of formal and informal toasts throughout the night, but Brian finally had to partake of the grog near the end of the evening. Mr. Vice (sort of the MC of the evening) summoned Brian by calling out "Doc!" as he went around the room and singled out the few who hadn't gathered around the grog yet. At least there was strength in numbers. Despite the "Captain Stubing" uniforms, as you can imagine, this is no Love Boat.

Fitting in with "the Real Navy"

In largely general terms, there's the sense in the Navy that people who have worked their way up through the ranks in the "real Navy" look lightly on those who "slid" into officer's jobs easily (like Brian). And even more than that, military and war-related commands seem to exude a VIP attitude over auxiliary commands (those serving the needs of the "real Navy's" family, like Medical).

But who can blame them? The "real Navy" is a tough workplace. Being lower in the chain of command could leave anyone feeling powerless. You earn less money. You get less recognition. You are following the many rules at work and the Navy even has control of many of your actions outside of work. For example, lower enlisted ranks are not allowed to own cars on bases overseas. And, if you're caught in adultury or drinking-related violations, you're kicked out and lose your job (thankfully, this is true for enlisted and officers alike!) Not that I'm condoning these actions, but would your civilian employer even find out and more importantly, would they care if it wasn't happening at work?

Of course the "real Navy" may also include people who have crossed over from enlisted to officer by earning college degrees, usually while working without the carefree luxuries of many typical college students.

Most of the "real Navy" folks commit 20+ years until they retire. This career will yield some recognition slowly but surely as they rise through the ranks, if they keep to the straight and narrow, flying under the radar. They'll earn a pension and full medical benefits for life for their families. They may explore the world as they PCS (Permanent Change of duty Station; it's code for "moving") every 1 to 3 years. It's very admirable that they serve their country with their entire lives, working often in the bowels of ships, deploying in wartime, leaving families behind, even getting wounded (or worse--killed).

But then again, where else would, for example, a shooter or a cryptologist find civilian work? They're stuck in the military with their very military-specific specialties. It's a life that they chose, but somewhere along the way, this life chose them and there is no turning back. They are the "real Navy" whether they like it or not.

But maybe if you only look at things on these general terms, there will always be a "them" and "us" attitude within the Navy. It seems the only way to deal with this undercurrent is to try to ignore it because it is not productive. And then interact with humility and respect on a personal level, which is one of Brian's strong suits. In other words, he's not your typical doctor or your typical "slider."

And if I ever find out there's a spouse's group on Brian's ship, I hope they realize I'm down-to-earth, too. Many great mentors in the COMPASS program (Navy spouses mentoring newer spouses about the military ways of life) have shown me that there is always something other than--and more important than--rank to relate us. Then there's my friend Kathy, who is not your typical Captain's wife, and maybe the best testimony to this is the fact that she's my only friend who's a Captain's wife. But what I admire most about her is the way she mingles with everyone, reaches out to those who need it, and finds something in common. I'm hoping it's a skill and not a gift...so there's hope for me. I know it's too much to ask to find someone like her in Norfolk.

I Can't Keep a Secret

Don't worry friends, I hope you know by now big secrets I can keep. Especially if you tell me not to tell. But the small seemingly harmless ones I find really hard to keep under wraps.

I hear now that Brian's on a ship, we're not allowed to talk about his scheduled (or unscheduled) comings and goings, particularly on the phone or in email. Operational Security. Sounds like a big secret? Maybe. But no one (except the AFN commercial I watched continually for three years in Japan) has told me directly to keep my mouth shut...

Maybe it was in the welcome packet?

As friends and family try to gauge how lonely I am by Brian's schedule, it's putting a real damper in my usual run-of-the-mouth conversations. Not to mention their plans to visit me (or us). And more importantly, the ship's schedule is always changing, so I can't even find out up-to-date information from Brian when he calls or emails while underway.

So, I've decided (at Jill's suggestion) that Brian and I need a secret code. I don't know why I didn't think of it. We'll get right on that. Just please don't ask when--I might tell you. I've already slipped up saying things like, "when Brian's back on Friday," or "see you tomorrow." And then I found myself wondering--someone might be listening to little old me. Imagine that. It might be the only time I've ever hoped not.

Isn't it Ironic?

Now that Brian is immersed more deeply into the real Navy, it's funny to me that I would feel so out of touch with military life while in Norfolk--the largest Navy base on the East Coast.

Coming from Japan, even though we lived off base the whole time, we relied on the base community. I was pleasantly surprised by the close relationships that developed from day one merely because we were thrown together in the same foreign circumstances and needed to help each other. But even though we've lived in Norfolk before, I still don't exactly know how to connect with any military services beyond the PPO (the VIPS in charge of getting your stuff back to you). I can't even seem to find the closest pool.

I feel like trying to blend back into the civilian world since that was my identity last time I lived here. Although I was working full-time and didn't have children for most of those two years. But I am a military spouse, I'm not working, and I can only shop so much with two nagging small children. So, what am I to do with myself?

Unpack. Which will take quite a while.

Then if one presents itself and I can swing it with Brian gone so much, I'd love to have a part-time job as an RD/diabetes educator. But until then, I'm hoping to start by meeting a friend or two in the other moms at Sydney's preschool once it gets started in another month. So far, she's been going occasionally to the summer program there, but everyone's coming and going at different times so I haven't met any other parents.

Anyway, it was at this preschool where I first decided how strange it is to have such an apparent lack of structure (that is, military bureaucracy) in my everyday dealings. First, before Sydney started this casual summer daycare program, I needed no orientation--let alone one only offered at certain inconvenient times. Then, I showed up at 8am Monday without a reservation, which was no problem, and left Sydney until 4pm while the movers were unloading. Finally, I packed her lunch for the day, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, with reckless abandonment for any allergy sufferers.

It is somewhat liberating and refreshing to have some of the restrictions of typical Navy life suddenly lifted, at least in regard to daycare/preschool! But I honestly felt a little unnerved, too. Without an official orientation, I felt like I didn't have enough information about how to prepare Sydney and her things since I didn't ask enough questions, which was confirmed when I showed up without a sheet for the bed at nap time. And maybe it's the dietitian in me, but I actually felt a little worried that someone might have a peanut allergy (not enough to ask about it though, since there are so few things Sydney will eat and I was glad to be able to pack PB&J for her!)

I realize I've come to rely on things being done a certain way in the Navy. And as much as I complain about the rules most times, I stopped today to at least appreciate the dependability they can offer in some times of uncertainty--the world's and mine. Now if I could just get that welcome packet we've requested three times, I'll know how to plug myself into Brian's command.