Grand Social - Memorial Day

Today I’m linking up with the lovely Lisa from Grandmas Briefs, for a Memorial Day tribute.  I’m actually linking an old post from last year, one describing a bit of my Air Force Basic Training experience.  Although things have changed a lot, Basic Training is still Basic Training, and every single Airman, Marine, Soldier and Sailor has to go through it.   So come along with me as I describe how clueless and wet-behind-the-ears I was at eighteen, but how proud I was to serve my country. 

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They used to call me Airman

And sometimes Gomer

I was looking at old pictures, which is not something I do often. But when I do, it always turns into a sappy blog post.   So get ready, because here we go again.   Did you ever wonder why there’s such a strict age limit on entering the military?    No, it’s not because old folks can’t do combat!  That’s just silly.   Obviously, you haven’t seen Grandpa chasing rabbits with old Duke and his sawed-off  shot-gun.  And, obviously, you haven’t seen Grandma jet-setting all over Europe with her old sorority sisters in their big Red Hats.   Seventy is the new forty, you know!   Or so I’ve been told.   I’m not seventy, quite yet.

So back to my old pictures.

I found one of me in my uniform and sat there admiring my legs.  Gosh I had nice legs.  They’re all lumpy and stubby now.  And my boobs?  They were amazing.  Now?   Lumpy and stubby, and annoying.   Seriously….I hate the extra time it takes to corral them into my bra and make sure they’re both pointing front and center.  It’s not easy.  I get one positioned just right and the other disappears somewhere under my arm pit.  It’s enough to wear me out, and usually does.   I really think we should start out life as an old woman or man, and get younger.  I would appreciate my youth a lot more now than I ever did when I actually had it.

Oh yea, the pictures. 

So I was looking through the pictures and thought it might be fun to share with you what Basic Training in the Air Force at Lackland AFB, Texas was like way back in 1971.   And I will warn you, it is exhausting, so you might want to sit down…..and have a drink.  Stay hydrated.  It’s good for you.

Just another perk of reading my blog…..the healthy advice you get!

On October 22, 1971, I entered the Air Force, was sent to Lackland AFB, Texas, and was the youngest woman in my flight.  I was also the fastest runner in my flight, which really proved nothing because there were no races.  It was all about the marching.   I was also the only Southerner in my flight.  Everyone else was from New York City.  True Story.  My fellow Airmen (yes we were called Airmen) called me “Gomer”.  (Gomer Pyle, get it?  Southern accent?  Gomer had one. God I’m old).

For those of you non-Air Force types who are wondering what a flight is….it is like a platoon.  And for you non-Army types who don’t know what a platoon is…it’s like a group of 70 or so people, in this case all women, all marching together, showering together, exercising together, eating together, cleaning together, sleeping together (and not in a fun way) for 6 weeks of Basic Training hell.

We got up at 5 am, learned how to get showered and dressed in 20 minutes and in-formation outside by 5:30 am.    Then we’d march to the chow hall for breakfast.   Then we’d march back to the barracks and change into our PT clothes and get back into formation.  Then we would march to the workout field where we would do lots of working out, followed by lots of running laps.  After that…..you guessed it….we’d get back in formation and march somewhere else.  Usually it would be to the academic building for military studies classes, but sometimes we’d have to march to the clinic for shots.   And then there were the times we would march just to practice marching.

Lunch time came, and of course, we marched back to the chow hall for lunch.   After lunch, we might have training or cleaning detail back at the barracks.  And how’d we get there?  Anyone?  Anyone?    Yes We Marched!   In the course of six weeks, I managed to wear out my tennis shoes and a hole in the side of my low-quarters leather (frumpy black clodhopper) shoes.   I marched my butt off.  We even had to march to church on Sunday.  First of all, I didn’t want to go to church on Sunday because I wanted to sleep in.  My cranky old Sergeant would have none of that, though.  We marched our butts to church.

We did manage to turn it into a “flirting” opportunity, however, as the men also had to march to church.  So we primped extra nicely before leaving the barracks.  There was some mega bra-stuffing and skirt-hiking, as I recall, but the Sergeant was one step ahead of us and confiscated all contraband prior to entering the Lord’s house.  We were a bunch of heathens for sure.   Well, they were.  I already had big boobs and really couldn’t leave them behind.

And so life went on at Basic Training for six long weeks.  Upon graduation day, we had to march (of course!)  in a big parade and salute the General.   The only difference was we had our Dress Blues uniforms on and we were strutting our stuff.   It was a proud day.  I don’t think anyone who has ever been through Basic Training would disagree that the last day was filled with Pride.

In a small way, this was my little tribute to our men and women serving their country and keeping us safe.     Keep these people in your thoughts and prayers, along with all of our fallen service men and women. 

Using your common senses

When was the last time you heard someone say, Stop and smell the roses ?   It’s a timeless piece of advice, yet just as pertinent now, if not more so, than it ever was.  Most of us, however, have not stopped to smell anything, because according to us, we just don’t have the time.   Perhaps I should be, but I am not ashamed to admit that I do not fit into this busy mold.   I stop.  And I smell those roses.  And quite frankly, had I not been happily sniffing said roses, I may not have made it through the past few years with my sanity intact.   And it is with this personal in-depth, first-hand accounting that I will make my case for using your common senses.  Let us begin, shall we?

Smell.   I have a keen, high-pitched, delicate and sometimes frustrating sense of smell.  I can smell anything, and I abhor stinky feet and farting smells.  In fact, they bother me so much, I have been known to dry-heave at social activities.  It does not pair well with making new friends.  I should have just taken up farting in public and sporting toe jams long ago.  Then maybe I’d be immune and have a few friends.  What’s up with that, anyway?  Is Putrid the new Chanel?   Perhaps I could design a new accessory for the delicate smeller….a diamond-studded clothespin.   Smelling, for me, is a beautiful thing when my head is draped over a simmering pot of spaghetti sauce.  However, it is an ugly thing when I am plowing through the house, frantically trying to locate that mysterious foul odor permeating my very existence.  Smell.  My cross to bear.

Touch.  Ah, one of my personal favorites of the senses.  In the spirit of keeping it clean, however, I will only say that ‘feeling’ something pleasing makes the world go around.  For example, I love my big overstuffed pillow and my soft, furry blankie.  So sue me.  Other lovely things to feel are a baby’s soft skin, a furry kitten, silk, a new book, an old book, a favorite sweater, and the keys on my laptop.  It’s all about the way something makes you feel when you touch it.    Of course,  there’s the other side of touch, the one where you do everything you can Not to touch…things such as door handles and elevator buttons, and all in the interest of staying healthy.  Some people get downright ridiculous with this.  Especially in public restrooms.   I hate germs as much as the next girl,  but most times I would pee all over myself by the time I sprayed everything down with anti-bacterial spray, flushed the toilet with my foot, placed the paper toilet-seat cover, hung up my purse and pulled down my knickers.  My bladder is just not up with the times, people.  Touch. Getting too complicated!

Hearing.  Ah, music to my ears!  A baby’s sigh.  A love song.  A welcome hello.  Praise.  There’s nothing quite like listening to your very favorite music, the kind that inspires and moves you.  Hearing allows us the pleasure of a piano solo, a well-delivered speech or a riveting theater performance.  Hearing opens us up to the arts, and what could be better than that?   And?  I won’t even go into how amazing pillow talk can be.  Hearing is sensual and seductive.  But, I’m not thinking any of those lofty, angelic thoughts when I overhear my downstairs neighbors fighting or doing the nasty, depending on their level of sobriety.  And then there’s the person who always manages to sit behind me at the movies and chomps on his popcorn while slurping his drink at deafening decibels, after which he belches an approving Yee Haw at his accomplishments.   Hearing can be overrated.   But I do love jamming to a little Rolling Stones and trying to dance like Jagger. Hearing.  We should keep it.  It could come in handy.

Taste.   There are so many reasons I love this sense.   Chocolate. Banana splits.  Steak. Lasagna. Coffee.   Red wine.  White wine.  Cheap wine. Wine in a box.  Taste is obviously a personal fave for me.  All you have to do is look at me to know that.  I  ‘loves’ me some good food and drink.  However, there are other tastes that should not go unmentioned  (I swear I am not going there, so don’t get your panties in a wad)  such as the taste of a glass of clear, cold water when it’s 110 degrees and you’re thirsty as the devil.   And the salty taste of the ocean as the spray covers your face.  Wonderful!  However, people?  Don’t be serving me any liver, okra or sweet potatoes.  Those items give Taste a bad name.

Sight.  Last and my favorite of the senses.  Everything we experience has something to do with sight.  Oh the sights that I have seen, many amazing and wondrous things, and there are still so many more I want to see.  Yes, we should all take time to smell the roses, but what about feasting upon said rose with your eyes?  Nothing quite like it, is there? The delicate, intricate natural beauty and color.  Breathtaking.  Do you appreciate the ability to see such wonder?  I do.   I hope I never take my natural gifts for granted, for they are my conduit to the world. Unfortunately, there is much ugliness in the world in the forms of hunger, violence, ignorance, environmental hazards, and natural disasters.  While we’re appreciating the beauty of this glorious planet, we must also recognize the ugliness and put forth our best efforts to work as a global team in eradicating the suffering and establishing world peace.

Do I sound like a beauty pageant contestant?   “Ms Sonoda, if you could have one wish, what would it be?”

“World Peace, of course!”    Big smile. Adjust my  posture. Exit stage right.

Life is funny. 

Life is hard.

Life goes on.

Life is what we make it.

Life is using our common senses, thus making our lives much less common.