Yes, I Can -- Air Force memories

I grew up with a love of aircraft. My dad had served in the Air Force before I was born as a crew chief, first on B-57s and then on the U2. His job was fascinating to me and I loved to hear is wonderful stories about his time on Eniwetok during Atomic Bomb testing and the crazy things that happened with the U2 before it even had markings. (Think SR-71 Blackbird in the '60s and '70s.) I don't remember when it started, I only recall that I always loved flight. Every year I filled out the survey in my School Years book and one of the questions asked "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Of course it was multiple choice and had different answers for boys and girls. The boys were given the following choices: President, Fireman, Police Officer, Pilot and Doctor. While girls had these choices: Nuse, Teacher and Stewardess. For those of you younger than I a stewardess is a flight attendant. I always checked this box. However, this the first important question to which I was told, I couldn't do it because I was "too...", In this case I was too female. Later - in junior high - CB radios were widely popular. My family owned a home radio as well as car units. We joined CB clubs and you could often find me running radio control. I absolutely loved that radio and nearly every night you could find me on it for part of the evening. It was the first thing I ever loved nearly as much as I loved flight. With my passions in mind it should not surprise you to know that I was thrilled when I was sworn into the Air Force with the job of radio communications. Off to boot camp I went, on November 16, 1981. (This is another story but is also another example of "you can't do that".) That was followed by Tech School where I trained for my job. Another 8 weeks later and I was accepted into school to be an Airborne Communications Systems Operator. To get there I had to achieve a 98 percent grade in the first tech school and have an instructor recommend. But the moment I knew that job was available I set my mind to it. What could be better than a job which combined my two childhood passions?

Training was wonderful except for one thing, most aircraft were not open to women... especially those that were most interesting. The Strategic Air Command had many planes open to women -- at certain bases. But the Tactical Air Command had the more sexy aircraft. They had planes which would allow me to travel the world. Planes which were sleek; which were what I now would term 'hot'. I wanted to fly in the Tactical Air Command. If there were ever a time when I felt defeated byt the "you can't do that" mentality of the world, that was the time. You cannot change your gender.

Soon our class received our orders. Most of the men received orders to go to Tinker AFB in Oklahoma. They would fly on the E-3, AWACS. They would travel the world and spend their lives living out of a flight bag and eating exotic foods. I received orders to Offut AFB to fly on a C-130. The adage among fly-boys was Awful Offut, and "fly around the flagpole'. Where would I travel? Certainly not to Saudi Arabia or Iceland. No, I would fly missions from my home base with far fewer days TDY. I was extremely jealous.

I began a campaign -- I call it Beg the Higher-Ups to Change Policy. I wrote letters to the President and Congress. I talked to flight instructors, recruiters and everyone else who was in the know. Would that accomplish anything? Of course not. I was female. A girl. A 19 year old girl! But I was determined and so, if nothing else, every person who knew me (or even met me more than once) would know that I wanted to fly in the Tactical Air Command. Specifically, I wanted to fly AWACS.

Then a minor miracle happened. TAC opened its doors to women on certain aircraft. And AWACS was one of them. I received new orders the same day! Maybe the person making assignments did not want to hear me beg again. I will never know and I don't care. I had the orders I wanted. I was no longer "too female", and I was thrilled.

I would arrive in Oklahoma in June 1982 as the first female assigned to an air crew on AWACS. There are many more stories to go with that assignment, and many of them do revolve around me being "too female" but that was a handicap which I overcame, and those stories will be told another time.

What was my answer to flight?

"Yes, I Can!

Yes, I can -- the first in a series

I believe. There are many things I believe in. I believe in the enormous capacity of my heart to love. I believe that people are more good than bad and there is vast generosity everyday. I believe in kindness, hope, honestly, loyalty and effort. I believe that I can do my best, or not, and either way it is my choice. But one particular phrase has is my philosophy of life. “Yes, I can.”

"You're too..." Throughout my life, I have been told about the things I couldn’t do. Usually it is phrased something like this: “You’re too young, too old, too female, too quiet, too loud, too smart, too friendly, too, too, too…” Once in a while they say “Don’t get your hopes up.”

These are the ways people try to be polite but discouraging; they think they are doing me a favor. No, they don’t step forward and say “You can’t do that.” But, really, they are saying, “You can’t do that.” It isn’t very encouraging.

Encouraging myself. But, Mark Twain once said, “Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.” I agree with Mr. Clemens. I believe life is too short to live amongst small people. It is important to surround yourself with people who are amazing and to let them encourage you to be your very best, as well. I also believe that sometimes that is impossible and that is when you must encourage yourself. I believe anyone can do anything they want to do and this includes me. I have done it many times I have done the things that people warned me I was “too …” to do. In this series I am going to explore some of my “Yes, I Can” moments. Please share with me some of yours.

Skeletons in your closet

Halloween is nearing and with it comes a slew of memories surrounding the spooky holiday. Over the years I have eaten tons of the sugary stuff, uttered the phrase 'trick-or-treat' with the hopes of scoring something especially good, stuck my face in ice water chasing an elusive apple, and worn multiple plastic masks with holes through which I could peek while hopefully avoiding tripping over branches, roots and other children. Halloween is filled with child-friendly ritual. Now I am the mom and my job is to purchase said sugary stuff and toss it into plastic pumpkins and pillowcases thrust forward eagerly by princesses, pirates, and all manner of cute and ghoulish pint-sized characters. As we make our plans for Cora who has borrowed a lovely Pocahontas costume this year, I am remembering. Every year I hoped to dress as a Princess. Not any particular princess, and certainly not a Disney princess. Costumes weren't so specific in my childhood. (Although one year my brother was the most adorable Casper the Friendly Ghost.) I simply wanted to wear a frilly pink dress with lots of lace and a glittery crown. I wanted to fee beautiful, and in my mind that costume was the magic ticket to be the fairest girl on the block. It did not matter that October 31st in South Dakota meant covering myself head-to=toe with warm coats and other woolens. When I was 7 or 8 my mother was hospitalized in the days leading up to Halloween. As was true for most children of the day, moms were generally responsible for the purchase of costumes. The day snuck up on us, and as it turned out my dad completely forgot it was Halloween. When he stopped to visit my mom after work she questioned why he was not at home dressing my brother and I for the annual begging of candy from the neighbors. My dad rushed to the nearest store seeking costumes for Bob and myself, finding one in each appropriate size. I was not a princess. The pretty pink dresses had sold out long before that fateful Halloween eve. Nope. I was a skeleton. A skeleton does not lead a girl to feel pretty. But it was worse than that. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. I had knock-knees, glasses, and I was horribly skinny. My constant accesory was a book and I got perfect grades, but I had no ability to do anything physical. I was always the last pick on the playground and the kids taunted me by labelling me a skeleton. And now I had to dress as one? What kind of crazy irony was that? I sobbed my heart out and my poor dad now had a wife struggling with a sick heart and a heart-sick child. Somehow he got me out the door to fill my pumpkin with that beloved sugary stuff, and I came away with my only real 'story' to tell my children about Halloween-past. There must be a photo somewhere...

Random thoughts

Some random thoughts that have passed through my mind on this particular Sunday... 1. I love the movie "The Sound of Music", and prefer the mountains to the beach. But, I cannot sing, even when I am on a mountain-top. I wish that I were a singer though. 2. If I write about my thoughts will it cause my friends and family concern because they see how little I really do? :) 3. Why eat spaghetti noodles when you can have spaghetti squash? 4. I wish that I could tour the country and the world with my family and experience the sites known to the locals rather than the tourists, so we could experience the culture of each location. 5. If I write another post about music, or about another childhood memory, will that bore you to tears?

Our view out the window today.

The early morning view in our neck of the woods. I love where we live. I have been a resident of SD, IA, TX, MS, OK, MI, NY, and CO. There is something to love at each of these places. But this is the first place I have lived where I hope to stay the rest of my life. The view alone makes this place heaven on earth.

First Loves, Crushes and Celebrities

Do you remember your first love? How about your first crush? More aptly, do you remember your first celebrity crush? You were probably about 9 or 10 years old if Cora and I are any indication. For her it is a crush on three cute, dark haired, teenage boys known by their last name. You must know who I am talking about... right?

That's right. Cora's first crush is on three boys named Kevin, Joe and Nick. They are cute, but... well, my first love is much better. He was also cute, dark-haired and wildly popular with the pre-teen and teenage girls. The odd thing is he is now 51 and a grandfather but he is still a cute, dark-haired boy. And I love him. Yes, I know I wrote that in the present tense.

My best memories of childhood revolve around him. I papered my bedroom walls with pictures that I carefully removed from issues of Tiger Beat and 16, which I purchased with money I earned from babysitting. In the 70s that was generally between 50 cents and 1 dollar an hour. At Christmas time I would visit with cousins that I hadn't seen in months and we would argue over who was cuter: Donny Osmond, David Cassidy or Bobby Sherman. The answer, of course was Donny Osmond! Sheesh, everyone who was smart knew that!

Donny and his brothers defined an entire generation of girls which at that time we referred to as Teenyboppers. It was the 70s. It was an era hip-huggers, bell bottoms, peace sign belts and fringe reigned supreme. If something was good it was "groovy". Oh, and boys looked like... well, girls. But we didn't care. That was probably because we couldn't see. Our own hair was long, straight and parted in the middle so that it generally hung in front of our eyes. And, no we didn't constantly braid it like Marsha, Jan and Cindy on the Brady Bunch. Ok, so Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy also had great songs that made my little heart go pitter-pat. But there is no song as great for a little girl as "Puppy Love". In fact, Cora now has it on her iPod. I had it on a 45 record which I bought with $1.00 that I earned from my uncle Chuck. The technology has changed but the emotions of a little girl listening to the high, clear tones of that boy have not. Actually though I loved the songs "The Twelfth of Never" and "Sweet and Innocent" even better. I knew he was singing those songs to me. Heck, even the Ouija board said I would marry him. Talk about a shock when he married a pretty blonde girl from Utah named Debbie. What happened? He was mine.

I remember when The Osmond Brothers came in concert to Denver. I would have happily died the day after the concert if it meant I would get to go see him sing. Unfortunately a ticket to a concert was not in my family's budget, so I had to skip it.

Many years later -- 1996 to be exact -- I was living in Detroit with my husband. I was pregnant with my first child, due in the summer. I learned that Donny was touring with the Broadway show Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat and they would be in the city that September. I immediately purchased tickets. My parents-in-law, Greg and I would go, and I would finally see Donny live! We hired a babysitter for the first time and drove downtown to a beautiful old theatre where I looked at the marquee and it said.... starring Sam Harris. What??? I did not want to see Sam Harris. I especially did not want to see him in a loin cloth. There is nothing wrong with Sam Harris. In fact, he is a talented guy. But I was there to see Donny (in a loin cloth at that)! I enjoyed that show and that date, but it was horribly disappointing. I would have to live another 12 years for another opportunity. But last September I flew to Las Vegas met my friend Debbie there and we saw Donny & Marie put on a fantastic show. I was thrilled. And yes, he did sing "Puppy Love" and "Sweet and Innocent"! We bought the best tickets. We sat right there in the front row where I could practically reach out and touch him, and followed that up with a meet and greet. We stood in line with a bunch of other children of the 70s for our chance to shake their hands, maybe even grab a hug, and say our hellos. I knew what I wanted to say. I had it all planned out.

Debbie and I got to the front of the line and walked up to my first love. I said "hello". I do remember that. But I don't remember anything else. I was in shock, completely overcome, star struck. Debbie talked to them both sharing things about herself and complimenting them on things she had seen. She laughed, and even leaned over and kissed my love on the cheek! When our moments were over I walked away feeling exhilarated and deflated at the same time. I had not told Donny that he got me through some very tough moments in my childhood like I wanted to. I had not told him that I too suffered from anxiety. I had not told Marie that I loved her on Dancing With the Stars. Or, maybe I did. I don't remember.

A year has passed and I am ready to go again. So, what do you think? Are you interested?

So, back to Cora. Will she still love The Jonas Brothers when she is 47? Somehow I doubt it, though I know she will have good memories of childhood that center around them. But she is not completely taken with them. She doesn't spend all her allowance buying nothing but Jonas paraphernalia. Besides, the fact is that nobody else is Donny Osmond. Not Bobby Sherman or David Cassidy; not even the Jonas Brothers. They just don't make them like Donny any more, even if he is a grandfather.

Can a square peg fit in a round hole?

Nearly 16 years ago I met my husband. At the time I was 31 and he was only 24. Those numbers never bothered Greg. He thought nothing of it, but they worried me. Twenty four sounded very, very young. But my heart knew something my mind could not accept immediately: I fit into his heart and he into mine. Quickly thereafter we were engaged (six weeks to be exact), and I began meeting his family. First I met his parents, his brother and fiance', his other brother, and his paternal grandparents. We arrived at his parents' home and I was immediately overwhelmed. The house was larger than any home I had ever seen. It was obvious that our financial backgrounds were drastically different. Yet that home was warm and comfortable and inviting. I realized that I could be comfortable there. His dad was active in the political community and it was obvious that we also came from very different political backgrounds. His mom was (and is) the best cook I had ever met. Her home was immaculate. She baked her own bread and arranged her own flowers and decorated her own cakes and ran her home like a well-oiled machine. I had never met a woman who was so good at what she did in her home before. It was obvious that the families we grew up with were completely different. But my heart knew something which my mind couldn't: I fit into their home and they into mine. Later I met the maternal side of his family. I learned that his grandma, cousins, aunts and uncles were a tight-knit, close and loving group. And they were much like his parents. The men were succesful, funny, intelligent and conservative. The women stayed home with their kids and made impecable homes. They were also bright, funny and educated. I had not grown up with the idea that I would, or could, stay home with kids. I did not grow up expecting to get an education after high school. As I grew older the prospect of being a stay-at-home mom became less likely. It was not something I had ever expected, planned, known or even wanted. I was a lawyer, a woman who expected to work outside the home for the rest of my life. I did not have the tools to be a good stay-at-home mom. I honestly had no idea how to make that work. My mom was not a cook or a baker. She was not organized in our home and did not know how to arrange flowers or throw parties. I was a square peg in a round hole and I wasn't sure I would ever fit. But that family hugged me, laughed with me and loved me. I have never stopped feeling like a square peg, but I have learned that sometimes a square peg does fit in a round hole. My heart knew something that my mind struggled to accept: These lovely people fit into my heart. Now I am a stay-at-home mom and still feel a bit inept. I don't know how to organize myself in my home, so it always is in a state of partial organization. I am not a great cook. In fact, Greg does most of our cooking. There are no perfectly arranged flowers or fresh baked loaves of bread in my home. I have no driver's license so I am not able to drive my kids to their activities and if I am honest about that I don't relish the idea anyway. My kids are loved immensely by their dad and by me. I think they are beautiful human beings and I am proud of my part in raising them. But I do miss thinking about legal ramifications of certain business and tax arrangements for large companies ... I miss working. And I know that I am not the best stay-at-home mom. It isn't the job I expected to have or trained for. I am a square peg in the round hole that is this job and this family. But, my heart knows something that my mind never trained for: Somehow I fit.

Endless Lists

My life is a series of events all of which I procrastinate. I am a fantastic list-maker. I write everything down in detail. For example currently I need to call my doctor to ask that he write a prescription which has no more refills. This morning I wrote it on my very lengthy to-do list. I realize that in the moments it took to locate my list and write the words "call doctor to refill prescription - need a 30 day scrip and a 90 day to mail order" I could have called said doctor. So why do I write lists instead of doing the chore? What could I be doing right now? Dishes, laundry, dusting, putting away a bunch of paperwork, organizing Girl Scout things. Oh, and that phone call! What WILL I do right now? I will probably continue to work on getting this blog up while I think about doing the dishes and laundry and dusting and all those other things that are on my list. Do any of you have this problem? How do you solve it?

Why Blog?

My life occurs inside my home, but the view out my window is spectacular. I am seldom out in the world which leads to much introspection about what it means to me to be a wife, a mother, a friend, a child of God, and a woman. I have considered starting a blog for a while now but never knew where to even begin. Should I write about my family and share their stories? A family blog seems to be the most common blog I have seen among the people I know. And yet, as the author I felt that perhaps this was an opportunity to share myself. So, I have decided to share life Outside My Window and Inside My Heart. The Things I love, ponder, question, and detest. The things I accomplish. And of course, the stories of my family. I hope you will enjoy these musings.