Growing up I knew I was destined for greatness. I was  going to be somebody. I was determined to sing on stage at The Grand Ole Opry.  You see when I was young I thought I could sing pretty well. Of course I am sure
  half the people who audition for American Idol think the same thing. The difference between them and I is I knew when my voice left and I moved on to  other things, lots of other things, until I finally discovered that I am a  story teller. Yes I am an author but I am a story teller first and foremost. I have been told that anyone can write but not everyone can tell a story. 

As a writer it helps to have a vivid imagination. Everything is a story to me. I eavesdrop on conversations, not to be rude but to hear the stories. You see sometimes fact is better than fiction. I think my imagination is expanding as I become more and more involved in writing but looking back, even in my younger days as an aspiring singer, I would make up  songs. I guess I’ve been a writer all along and just didn’t know it. 
 
That got me to wondering is it possible that everyone’s destiny is predetermined? Is that   knowledge just laying dormant waiting for each of us to find our course? Do we really get to choose or are our paths chosen for us? 

What if you are not a person at all? Picture yourself as a tree growing in the forest aspiring to be the grandest tree of them all, then  someone comes and cuts you down to make you a Christmas tree. Does that make  you less of a tree or are you just reaching your destiny? 

One year we bought our Christmas tree early in the season. It died and we and had to get a replacement tree. Seriously, how awful to not to be good enough to be a “real” Christmas tree. That had to be hard on that poor tree. This is how my mind thinks. 

Now picture you are a pumpkin growing in a pumpkin patch and have aspirations of being a scary jack-o-lantern. You grow and grow to be the best looking pumpkin you can be and someone takes you home and makes soup out of you. Seriously, that would have to suck. It is thoughts like these that  plagued me as I was picking out my own pumpkin last week knowing that I only  wanted him for his seeds. I bought him five days ago. He is still on my kitchen  counter. I haven’t had the heart to cut him open knowing I will be ending his  dream of becoming a jack-o-lantern. 

I was in the pet store today buying dog food. I was at the counter, ready to pay, when a guy walks in, obviously a regular. One of the ladies behind the counter said “rat?” He shook his head and waited patiently for the lady to scoop up a random rat, shove him unceremoniously into a box,  and hand him to the guy. I am sure the rat was ecstatic. He was out of that  aquarium. He was going to be Stuart Little to some child, as that is what he has always dreamed of. Little does he know his dream is going to be shattered the second he discovers it is his destiny to become snake food. 

I asked the girl behind the counter. “Do you think when the rat was growing up he ever thought he was going to be snake food?” She laughed and said probably not. She tried to comfort me by having me look at all of the other rats joyfully playing on the metal wheel. I then asked her “How does it feel being the one who decides who’s the next to go?” By this time the second lady, who was trying to make a phone call, hangs up the phone, obviously deciding I am someone who needs watching. The first girl does not know how to answer my question and merely stares at me. I then decided it was time to relate my pumpkin story to her telling her how long it took me to pick out a pumpkin knowing I was dashing all hopes of it becoming a jack-o-lantern. As I left the building the younger lady was laughing and the second lady was staring at me in disbelief. I beat a hasty retreat but not before I had given them something to think about and probably debating whether or not to have me banned from the store. I hear voices. I worry about the feeling of inanimate objects. I am constantly seeing movies inside my head. I keep a tape recorder beside my bed. Some of my very best friends are fictional. I am not crazy, I am following
  my destiny! 

As most of you know my husband is in the Navy. He is pretty old, okay not really, but old for Navy standards. I laugh as I write  this, because that makes me old by Navy wife standards. That’s alright we are growing old together and that is what counts the most. Together being used loosely, as it is the Navy, and together and the Navy does not always mesh. 

My husband joined back in the day of the dinosaur; otherwise known as 1977. We were married in 1980 so I have been there for most of the journey. Before you start doing the math and say there is no way he is still in, he has broken service. Meaning he got out and came back in, twice actually. I have always said the Navy is in his blood, and apparently the powers that be know this as they kept letting him come back. 

It is funny hearing him talk about the people he works with and realizing he has tattoos older than some of the senior guys. I think he has even shared this bit of trivia with them on more than one occasion. They just shake their head and look at him as if he is some kind of relic. Maybe he is, but he is my relic and I love him.


I have to smile when I hear some of the newer, younger,  spouses complain that the e-mail is down. Or they haven’t had a phone call lately. Don’t get me wrong, a missed e-mail still sends me into panic mode because I have gotten used to them. I want them. I need them. But then I have to remind myself that there was a time when we did not have e-mail. Heck we did not even have phone calls except for the rare occasion when the ship pulled into port and I was woke at 3am from a collect call from Israel or some other   costly place. I can guarantee that phone bill was not pretty on Petty Officer pay!


At the risk of sounding like my parents, who had to walk to school in blinding snowstorms, uphill both ways, I have been there. Afraid to leave the house, because you never knew when the call would come. Before you say it, I have to remind you this was a time even before cell phones. So a missed call was indeed a missed call. There was no e-mail. There was what we now refer to as snail mail. This was race to the mail box everyday in hopes there would be some word, some envelope, that had traveled around the world at a snail’s pace with news so old it didn’t even pertain anymore. Still it was
  that life raft which managed to keep me afloat just by knowing he had sealed each envelope with a piece him himself. You know, saliva, as this was even before peel and stick envelopes!


It is funny what we get used to, and what we come to expect. When snail mail was all we had we dealt with it. But now in the “new” Navy, we bitch when the ship’s internet is down and he can’t get on facebook. We complain when the ships phones are down or heaven forbid they have a delay! It is so much easier now than it was in the past. Through creative code I know when my husband is going to call, or when he is going to arrive at what port. Separations are tough even with all the new ways to communicate but at least the “new” Navy is helping to make the ocean feel a whole lot smaller. I am sure at some point they will have the capacity to Skype from onboard the ship. Of   course that may be years in the works and I am not sure if we will still be in to see that. Of course if they install people elevators on the ship then maybe  we will. As my husband likes to joke that he will retire, when they block his way and tell him he can’t bring his walker onboard the ship! 

I am going to end this now, as I just received an e-mail from my hubby. Have a wonderful day!