Let the Fun Begin

Typhoon Roke roared across Japan just three days after I returned from settling College Boy in his new digs in Bellingham, Washington. The Ancient Mariner's aloha shirt was drenched by the time he wrestled his luggage through our front gate and into the back seat of the car while I gripped my umbrella in both hands and floated after him a la Mary Poppins. I drove him to the pier where he got soaked all over again transferring his luggage to the "official" vehicle that took him to the airport from whence he jetted off to meetings in Hawaii and San Diego. He was one of the fortunate few who actually managed to fly out of Japan that day.

That's pretty much all I can tell you about Typhoon Roke since, after changing into dry clothes, I stretched out on the couch with a book and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up eight hours later, a bit after midnight, the winds were starting to die down. Ah, the joys of jet lag.

But I'm back on Japan Time now and geared up to savor our fifth and final year in our host country. Just a few hours before Typhoon Roke arrived, I moseyed over to the Yokosuka Officer Spouses' Club welcome coffee at the Officers' Club where I saw a clutch of bright-eyed newcomers lining up to join the Japanese and American Wives' Club and Ikebana.

It's going to be a fun year. The Ancient Mariner will be around a bit this fall while the ship is under repair and we'll squeeze in a few adventures. Artistic is finally back from her tsunami evacuation and Fearless swears we're going to see the last two major gardens on our bucket list before we all depart Japan next summer.

Whenever I manage to nab a seat on a train, I'll pull out my knitting. Hats are my new favorite thing and I am indebted to College Boy for commissioning the ear flap hat that got me started. The Blonde Wonder is sporting my second creation at left; I still haven't quite grasped sizing but I'm making progress. Berets are fun because I can read a book on my Kindle while knitting them. But I also like ribbed stocking caps because I can time a Hail Mary to correspond with two knits and two purls, lending a whole new meaning to the term "prayer caps".

Two garden outings are on the agenda this week. Stay tuned.

A Little Surge of Craftiness

Besides hydrangeas and books, I'm counting on the Knitwits and my new quilting pals to get me through this summer deployment.

Brittany is one of our newest and certainly our youngest Knitwit.  Betty introduced her to knitting this week while her mother worked on mastering crocheting at the other end of the table.  I'm trying to finish the socks I started last fall.  Socks are a lot easier to deal with this time of year than that heavy wool cardigan.  The last time I worked on the cardigan I felt like I was holding a 75-pound lamb on my lap.

Have I mentioned that Ouizer is helping Weather and I make t-shirt quilts?  Weather's creation features Rock and Roll Half Marathon t-shirts and I'm cutting up all the ratty t-shirts in the Ancient Mariner's drawer, the ones he should have retired ages ago.  It was meant to be a Father's Day surprise but I missed that deadline.  Christmas is looking possible.  

Ouiser shows us how to attach a border

This serger binds and cuts the edges.  It is an expensive, scary machine.

Don't slice off your fingers, Weather!

After our lesson this week we visited a local department store to select fabric for our borders. I bought plain red fabric for my borders and red-and-blue paisley fabric for no good reason other than I liked it. Weather's border fabric features fish and I'm starting to think I need a little piece of that too.

What I don't need, in case the Ancient Mariner is reading this, is a serger. They sound like jackhammers and would be just as dangerous in my hands.

If You Build It, They Don't Come

Betty, one of my favorite young Knitwits, has a bartending job now and can no longer attend our Thursday evening Knitwits' gathering so we've instituted a Monday night session. After a month, it's still just Betty and Peevish holding down the front table at Starbucks on Monday nights but we're not complaining.

Her running commentary on her love life was the perfect counterpoint to the tedium of hand-appliqueing that moon to my quilt square tonight. She even threaded my needle for me. Life doesn't get much better than this.

While I track down red thread so I can add the mountain to the square, you can look at a couple of Betty's current knitting projects.

A pink mesh shopping bag.  Pink is Betty's signature color.

A garter that's as wispy as a spider's web

As for Typhoon Songda, the good news is a stiff wind from China sent it packing for the Pacific before it reached us. The bad news is the Seventh Fleet might not get home tomorrow. Apparently they had to go so far east and south to avoid the typhoon, they are now more than a day away from us. The Ancient Mariner is not a happy camper tonight.

Wait until he sees all I have accomplished in his absence!

Major Pettigrew Finds Favor in Japan

Kyoko and Tsuneko had lots of positive things to say about Helen Simonson's Major Pettigrew's Last Stand. As usual, I suffered hours of misgivings after assigning the book, fretting that the droll humor would baffle rather than amuse my Japanese friends. As usual, I was wrong. Tsuneko said this is her favorite of all the English-language books she has read.

Our April assignment is Girl in a Blue Dress by Gaynor Arnold, "a novel inspired by the life and marriage of Charles Dickens." This is one I haven't read in advance. The reviews are mixed but it was long-listed for the Booker Prize and I figure the subject matter will be fertile ground for a lively discussion. Did you know that Dickens relegated his wife of twenty years, the mother of his children, to a basement while he cavorted with a much younger woman near the end of his life? News to me.  The nuns never shared the juicy stuff.

Kyoko wore one of her hand-knitted creations, a top-down sweater, to inspire me to continue with my new hobby. Last time she wore a burgundy vest but I forgot to take a picture.

I cherish the time I spend with my Japanese book club ladies. The feeling seems to be mutual as they have proposed meeting for lunch in Kamakura midway between now and our next book club session. They also bought tickets to see me make a fool of myself in Steel Magnolias. This makes them either true friends or gluttons for punishment.

Made in Japan

A few weeks ago Ishii taught me how to transform one of my craft kits into a Christmas gift for the Ancient Mariner. This was not half as difficult as I anticipated, mainly because Ishii subscribes to the finger method of smearing glue over the surface to be covered. My fingers are much easier to control than a brush.

She demonstrated her technique by constructing a box and covering it with washi paper. This is a New Year's gift for her mother.  I envy her her mother and her father, octagenarians both.  I enjoy hearing about their preparations and plans for the new year. 

Those inverted arches look tricky.  Good thing the kit I bought is less complicated.

Opening my kit, I am surprised to find enough supplies to make three boxes. Since we've already posted all our U.S.-bound gifts, the Ancient Mariner will be getting an abundance of boxes this year.

First I construct the boxes by folding the cardboard along the perforations. So far, so good. Then I smear slow-drying glue along each surface and apply black paper. Thanks to the slow-drying glue, I have time to correct most of my mistakes before carefully centering little squares of embossed paper along the sides and tops of the boxes.

This is what they looked like before I wiped off all the excess glue and tied a black bead through the top of each box. Then I filled them with sweets for my Sweetie.

My sister-in-law Cathy also received a homemade gift this year, an orange muffler in a pattern I've dubbed 'Belgian waffle' since one of her grandfathers emigrated to the United States from Belgium. She's half Irish but it will take me a few decades before I master four-leaf clovers.

Searching for a Needle in a Rice Paddy

Nara's 1300th anniversary was not the only reason I faced down my large mammal phobia. About a year ago, shortly after I took up knitting, Geraldine posted a comment here that's haunted me ever since. She recommended investing in circular needles manufactured by a Japanese company headquartered near Nara, Kinki Amibari, and kindly provided the company's address. When it comes to knitting, Geraldine is one of the two most knowledgeable people I know so I have been anxious to get to Nara ever since she posted that comment.

The knitting gods seemed to be smiling benevolently when Mr. Keeper and I hopped on the Kintetsu Nara train line in Osaka on Saturday morning. Kinki Amibari is located at 4368 Takayama-cho in Ikoma. "There's an Ikoma station about midway between Osaka and Nara!" I chortled gleefully. "We can just hop off the train, buy a set of needles, and then hop back on the train to Nara."

I showed the address to a middle-aged lady outside the train turnstile in Ikoma. She pointed to the east exit and rattled off what I'm sure was very valuable information. We thanked her and marched off in the direction she indicated.

"Did you hear her say busso? We're supposed to take a bus," said Mr. Keeper, a linguistic marvel if there ever was one.

"When people say bus, I hear taxi.  It doesn't matter what language they are using."  Mr. Keeper and I were in total accord and slid into the first taxi in the queue.  We handed the address to the driver.  He called his supervisor, talked at length, and eventually entered the traffic stream.

Twenty minutes later, after three or four more exchanges between the taxi driver and his supervisor, we had left all signs of civilization behind.  "I feel like I'm on one of your Explorer outings," sighed Mr. Keeper.  "Isn't your motto "Getting lost is half the fun'?"  The man has a wonderful attitude, doesn't he?

The taxi driver spotted a ramshackle motorcycle repair shop on the side of the road.  He stopped the taxi and hailed the motorcycle repairman.  The repairman pointed to a nearby hill.  On the top of the hill stood a yellow three-story building with two large letters painted on the wall of the third story.  KA.  Voila!

But, it being Saturday and all, the Kinki Amibari Manufacturing Company was sealed up tighter than a drum. I rattled that door to no avail. The knitting gods might have been smiling at us, but their smiles were the sarcastic, gotcha sort of smiles all my siblings mastered by the age of three.

Sheepishly, we asked the driver to take us back to the train station.

We admired the lovely countryside on our way back to the train station and then forked over 7700 yen to the nice driver. The exchange rate being what it is these days, that was roughly $90.

There is no tipping in Japan. The tipping gods are nicer than the knitting gods.

Crossing Paths with a Black Cat

Two consecutive days tied to the Navy base for the C7FOSA and Shonan parties had me feeling as caged in as the Sykes monkey in the Lincoln Park Zoo, the one that's the spitting image of my brother Tom, so a trio of Knit Wits in search of a navigator to the Yamato Shrine Sale didn't have to ask me twice.

This shrine sale is a leave-the-base-by-6:15am-and-be-home-by-noon Saturday morning adventure. It suits my schedule nicely since it dovetails with the Ancient Mariner's Saturday morning Seventh Fleet meeting schedule.

Olga was in search of antique Kokeshi dolls but Cari, Debbie, and I weren't looking for anything in particular. The planets and stars must have been in perfect alignment on the third Saturday in October because every third or fourth stall was offering a trinket that whispered, "Buy me, buy me." Fortunately for our bank accounts, Driver Debbie reined us in ten minutes after we arrived at the shrine sale by buying a chest of drawers that consumed 85 percent of her car's trunk space. One of us pointed out that we could stow a slew of cut-rate obis and Kokeshi dolls in those drawers if the chest was rotated to face outward but Driver Debbie ignored us.

What's a shopper to do? Hmmm. Those eight skeins of yarn are hand-dyed in a color that matches my oldest boy's eyes on a sunny day. Maybe I can squish them under the chest. Maybe I can knit a sweater before Christmas. Maybe I am correct on the first count and delusional on the second.

Then I saw the Obento carrier inscribed with Japanese characters. It's the same size as the one I use to deliver meals to families with new babies. Someone who lives in the Ghent neighborhood of Norfolk might want to take this off my hands eventually. If not, who cares? Everyone needs four Obento carriers, right? I decided to buy it even if it meant holding it on my lap all the way back to Yokosuka.

"Oh, we aren't going straight back to the base," announced Cari. "We're going to detour to China Pete's."

China Pete's is a wonderful shop near Machida, a Tokyo suburb, that supplies ceramics of every sort to the Navy Exchange. The Navy Exchange, of course, marks everything up exorbitantly so buying directly from China Pete's is a cheap thrill in more ways than one.

"Gosh, these Japanese teacups would make nice little soup bowls. I could use about twenty of them but they come in sets of five with a matching teapot and I don't drink tea." "Use the teapots as prizes in your next four blog contests." "Good idea! But how will I get them back to the base? The car is already stuffed to the brim with shrine sale finds." "Use Black Cat. It's like Federal Express and will bring the boxes to your house."

So that's what I did. For my next trick I think I'll try shipping luggage to my destination via Black Cat like the savvy Japanese train riders do.

On Why I Deserved to Attend the 34th Tokyo Hobby Show

Do you have lots of interests but few hobbies?

Interest: a state of curiosity about something; something that evokes this mental state
Hobby: an activity or interest pursued at one's leisure for enjoyment

The operative word here is pursuit. Devoting time and energy to an interest transforms that interest into a hobby.

Last Thursday I decided I could legitimately move knitting from the interest to the hobby column in my life ledger since I've spent a heck of a lot of time learning the basics over the past few months. This was excellent timing on my part. The Tokyo Hobby Show at Big Sight, a cavernous convention center in Odaiba, opened Friday. Having a pertinent hobby lent a patina of credibility to my attendance. Or at least I like to pretend so.

Scarf #2, that white ribbed number pictured above, is a done deal (or will be once I weave in those dangles where two skeins of yarn connect). Now I'm working on a blue scarf in a checkerboard pattern for my sister Suzi. I've reverted to calling her Susan for the duration of this project because the pattern changes every five stitches and I've discovered it's easy to keep track of those changes by chanting "S-U-S-A-N" when knitting and "S-Y-K-E-S" when purling. The end stitches merit a perky "Marion," her middle name and our grandmother's first name. Knitting this scarf has a slightly holy aura, like saying a rosary.

Yesterday I finished knitting my first pair of socks. My teachers decided I would knit the second sock on a circular needle, two needles attached to each other by a plastic cord. Hmpf. Teacher Tara then decided to go into labor. This is her in the hospital elevator, cheerfully answering my pesky questions until the midwife arrived.

Then Teacher Megan and Teacher Cari took off for China with The Other Kathy. They are pictured here knitting on The Great Wall. That left Teacher Betty, the only one of the bunch who can be talked into fixing my mistakes for me rather than showing me how to fix the mistakes myself. So "I" made fairly rapid progress on that sock until Betty and Lulu grabbed their backpacks and hopped a plane to Singapore just when the harsh taskmistresses climbed down off The Great Wall and picked up their whips.

Tara, meanwhile, returned to the knitting circle with darling Logan and a dozen skeins of yarn she dyed herself - between contractions no doubt - using natural materials like onions and other vegetables. They just keep raising that bar higher and higher.

In any event, I spent Friday wandering around the Tokyo Hobby Show with that second sock stuffed in my bag in case I was asked to prove I have a hobby. I spent 480 yen (about $5) on a pair of metal needles since I'm still in the experimental phase of knitting, testing the various tools to see which work best for me. The cashier tucked a set of complimentary circular needles in my bag to thank me for my purchase and that tickled me immensely since I'm pretty sure the circular needles cost more than the metal ones I bought.

Here's the thing: I enjoy knitting socks. If you send me a tracing of one of your feet, I will try to whip* up a pair for you.

*whip = 2-3 months

In Search of Wisteria

It's Greenery Day, the second of three consecutive Golden Week holidays (yesterday was Constitution Day and tomorrow is Children's Day). Today half the population of Japan will be visiting parks and gardens to admire nature's gifts. Make that half the population of Japan plus a half dozen batty American women who are always in the market for a good adventure, especially one that entails being packed like an upright sardine in a train car for 90 minutes.

Our destination is Jindai Botanical Garden in Tokyo where we hope to see lots and lots of many varieties of wisteria. Or maybe we'll go to Koshigaya in Saitama Prefecture north of Tokyo to see wisteria drooping over the river. My flower guide book and two sets of train directions are in my bag. I'd tuck my knitting in there too but there's little chance I'll find space to move my wrists on a train today.

A Brief Commercial Message

While I'm scrambling around getting ready for the Oakleaf Club's Golden Week Bunko Party tonight -- which is not a theme party no matter how much it sounds like one - you might want to check out Betty's Travel Blog.

Betty (29) and Lulu (25) are the two youngest Knitwits. They met each other at one of our knitting sessions last fall, formed one of the fastest friendships in the history of Navy Wifedom, and last week set off on a two-month backpacking trek that will take them to countries I'm having a hard time locating on a map.

Lulu has a nursing degree and Betty's career history includes a stint managing a go-go bar in Virginia. They are an interesting pair, to say the least, and I am going to miss their companionship, wit, and knitting advice until they return to Starbucks on a Thursday night in late June or early July.

Ginza with the Girls

There are many schools of Ikebana, each with its own philosophy of flower arranging. Nagasaki attends the Ko Zan Ryu which is celebrating its centennial this week with an exhibit in downtown Tokyo.



Hiroko (second from right), who attends a different Ikebana ryu but went to the same high school as Nagasaki (far right), invited me to visit the exhibit with her and our friend Yuko (left). In the world's most populous metropolitan area, estimated at more than 35 million people by the United Nations in 2007, it amazes me that my JAW friend went to high school with my Kamakura Chapter of Ikebana friend.



Even more amazing was bumping into Mori-san (above) from the Shonan Ladies. Mori-san, as it turns out, is enrolled in Ko Zan Ryu so I had the opportunity to admire her creation as well.



My approach to flower arranging involves grabbing a couple of cellophane-wrapped bouquets in the produce section of the grocery store once or twice a year and then jamming as many stems as possible into the neck of an old glass milk bottle. Needless to say, I didn't have much to offer in the way of sage commentary as I wandered around the exhibit hall. The above arrangement gave me a chance to wave my arm while enunciating "forsythia" in a contemplative tone. From what I could tell, the philosophy of Ko Zan Ryu favors a natural, wind-blowing-from-the-left look. Unless you view the arrangement from the back, of course, in which case the wind is blowing from the right.



By the time I ran into Gomi (above) from the Kamakura Chapter of Ikebana, I was beyond amazement. Apparently I was also beyond keeping my shirt tucked in. Hiroko says Yuko is stylish because she has a daughter. "I also have a daughter," I announced. Hiroko looked slightly surprised. Maybe my daughter needs to be more aggressive about influencing my fashion choices.



Hiroko had made lunch reservations for us at an Italian restaurant just a few blocks from the exhibit hall. She produced a coupon that gave us an entree, salad bar, beverage, and dessert sampler for 1500 yen. And now I have one of those coupons so I can take you there the next time you're in the neighborhood.

Yuko showed us the scarf she is knitting using a soft yarn and a ribbony fabric strip. Faced with the prospect of spending an hour on the train with yours truly, Yuko researched my interests and then spent an hour preparing and fine-tuning a presentation in English. How sweet is that? She is showing me her scarf in the restaurant rather than on the train because I accidentally hopped on the first train car when I had been clearly instructed to meet Yuko in the last car.

("Gosh, Mom, even I remembered you were supposed to get on the last car. What's for dinner?")

For my penance, maybe I'll try to prepare a topic in Japanese before I see Yuko again. One topic I'll be sure to avoid is shopping districts, though, because Dr. T informs me "-bashi" does not mean "a central place." It means "bridge". There sure are lots of interesting shops situated near bridges in Japan.

Yuzawaya Tales

A party of ten set out for Yuzawaya's flagship craft store in Kamata. We went by train but I felt like I was traveling in a pea-green boat with a butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker. All of us are Navy spouses but our affiliations are marvelously heterogenous - line and medical, officer and enlisted - and our hobbies run the gamut from fine arts (painting) to scrapbooking. My hobbies, as you know, change hourly.

No one came home empty-handed. We found craft supplies arrayed in eight different buildings spread over four city blocks just outside the train station (this assumes one leaves the station by the South Exit which, of course, I did not but several very nice Japanese ladies kindly pointed me in the right direction).

One thing I did not find is wooden balls so I won't be doubling my kimekomi collection anytime soon. I also did not find any Totoro fabric for Diane and Kathleen Jr so, shucky darn, it seems I will have to drag Margaret up to Tokyo for a thorough exploration of Textile Town before she packs her bags for Florida.

My consolation purchases included Anpanman fabric (for kitchen window toppers, snicker) and blue yarn (my sister has commissioned a scarf and I am on track to get it whipped up by the time she celebrates her sixtieth birthday in 2015).

The hat and gloves shown here were created by zany Betty of the (depending on the week) pink, green, or yellow hair who first endeared herself to me by passing along knitting tips and recently cemented our relationship by sharing her well-thumbed copy of Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. When I wasn't laughing out loud at the book's take on Armageddon, I was wondering why one of the Peck kids or Casey or Pete failed to pass this book along to me about 15 years ago. I can't imagine they haven't read it.

This is Absolutely, Positively the Last Theme Party I'm Throwing This Year!

Way back in September I promised the Seventh Fleet Officer Spouse Association (C7FOSA) they could meet at my house in February. They said I could pick the theme. Eek! I have no idea why military wives are so fond of theme parties and, frankly, I feel uncomfortable about expending more time and energy entertaining my fellow spouses than I put into celebrating family milestones.

The party is this Friday, the 12th. They were expecting a Valentine's theme but I'm forcing them to celebrate American Presidents instead because (a) February 12 is Abraham Lincoln's birthday, (b) history tickles me, (c) the big box of patriotic party supplies fell on my head when I was digging in the cupboard for the Valentine's stuff, and (d) I am desperate to unload the 20+ presidential bookmarks I intended to send to grandnieces and -nephews for Christmas until I realized that I don't want to be remembered as the "Aunt Who Gives Boring Educational Gifts."

So. I have four days to throw this party together, dear friends and family, and could use a little help. My guests are expecting to lunch on Herbert Hoover's 'A Chicken in Every Pot' Pie -- a rare stroke of genius on my part since it means I can utilize my trusty pot pie recipe AND eliminates the cherry pie expectation (which is a good thing because I still haven't mastered the subterfuge of shifting a frozen pie from its aluminum plate to one that screams 'homemade').

They are also expecting a Martha Washington Cherry Trifle -- what in the world was I thinking? -- so if anyone (that means you, Erin) can direct me to a trifle recipe that uses cherries or cherry pie filling or any sort of red fruit that might pass for cherries, I would be deeper in your debt that I am already.

I also need a presidential sort of name for a salad (either tossed or fruit, your choice) but try to avoid Carter and Reagan if you can because I'm using them for snacks (peanuts and jelly beans, of course).

Also, presidential trivia questions would be greatly appreciated. I promise to make it worth your while. All the outstanding prizes for previous contests are now sitting in the trunk of my car, the crucial first step toward the post office, just to prove my utter seriousness.

As for my quilt square, since someone was polite enough to inquire about it, the kits I bought at the Tokyo Dome last month all sport Japanese themes (there's that pesky word again) and require me to master teeny-tiny handstitching to applique little fabric pictures.

Hisayo insisted I start with the Setsubun square since it's a February holiday. I will be amazed if I finish it by next February but stranger things have happened.

Finally, thanks to Betty, I now own everything I need to knit my first pair of socks. The needles are as thin as spaghetti and pointed on both ends. We can use them to skewer shishkebobs if this sock thing doesn't pan out. As for the yarn, I could have walked two blocks down Blue Street and bought six pairs of socks for the price of that skein so be sure to feign appropriate gratitude if you unwrap a pair of somethings that vaguely resemble socks come December.

At least it won't be a presidential bookmark.

Socks and a Sensei: Hmmm

All the Japanese women I know make a similar sound when pondering. Usually it's the equivalent of 'hmmm' but seems to mean 'uh-oh' when directed at me. It's a remarkably prolonged sound, slowly rising in pitch. If you want to try this at home, close your mouth, hum through your nose for a few seconds, and then end with a question mark. Better yet, give a listen to the thermometer rising on the Dudek's JDRF fundraising page.

I had ample opportunity to reflect on this sound today during my first quilting lesson.

Yes, that's right: quilting lesson. Hisayo (center) spotted my fabric stash during that Mardi Gras party last week and offered to be my sensei (teacher). As I was wiggling like a rainbow trout trying to spit out a hook, Hiroko (left) jumped in with an offer to drive me to Hisayo's house in Uraga. Hiroko lives in Tokyo, meaning her offer was the equivalent of a Detroit resident offering to toodle over to Jackson just to give my sister a lift to Albion.

How could I say no? Being invited to visit a Japanese home is a rare honor. I just had no idea we were going to be sewing for five hours, or that Hisayo was going to make us a four-course lunch, or that Hiroko was bringing a special cake, or that they were going to be making that sound every time they checked my "work".

Meanwhile, the Knitwits have decided we will all start knitting socks next week. Socks? I'm just three feet into my second scarf here, ladies! Betty volunteered to escort me to the yarn shop to make sure I get the proper equipment. I couldn't help but notice that no one else was deemed stupid enough to require supervision. I think they might be comparing notes with Hisayo.

Flat Stanley Meets an IA Spouse and Experiences The Great Thin Mint Shortage of 2010

A bunch of ladies came over to Aunt Kathy's house to knit on Thursday morning and that night she took me to Starbucks to knit with another group of ladies. It was pretty easy to learn the two basic stitches, knitting and purling, and then I started making a ribbed scarf to keep my neck warm when I go back to Michigan.


This is me with some of the morning ladies, Kim, Jess, and Sue. When I asked Aunt Kathy why she was so excited to meet Sue, she explained that Sue's husband left for Afghanistan four days ago to support a Marine Corps unit for ten whole months. Sue and her husband and their two small children arrived in Japan just this past July. They live about 20 minutes from the main base where Aunt Kathy lives.

"What thrills me, Stanley, is watching Sue connect with Tara and Kim, both of whom endured Individual Augmentee assignments last year -- Tara's husband was sent to Kuwait and Kim's to Iraq -- and both of whom have two small children. Let's just sit quietly and knit while they provide emotional support to Sue."

I was sort of surprised at how long Aunt Kathy could go without talking. Maybe she has re-discovered her purpose in life.


We bought some Girl Scout cookies from Jess. The cookie shipment arrived in Japan last week and already there are no Thin Mints left to be bought. Aunt Kathy would probably be leading a lynch party to the head cookie lady's door if she didn't have this IA spouse issue to distract her. Whew.

That night we went to Starbucks where Aunt Kathy introduced me to the Knit Wits, an eclectic assortment of serious knitters. Betty invited me to help her sort squares she's going to turn into baby blankets for the Navy-Marine Corps Relief Society. Someone told me Betty's hair was so pink last week it matched her sweater and the week before that her hair was fluorescent green. Betty and Aunt Kathy spend more time laughing than knitting.

Aunt Kathy says Betty is a "character." I think it takes one to know one.

(Starve the) Women & Children First!

It was going by the right door, and knocking desperately at the wrong one. ‥I told him of it: ‘Pooh,’ says he ‘my dear, any port in a storm.’
[1749 J. Cleland Memoirs of Woman of Pleasure II. 133]

The football moms fix lunch for the team on away game days and last week the team moms tasked me with contributing a gargantuan salad. Since Matt and I are still getting by with one frying pan and two saucepans, none of a size to cater to the multitudes, this struck me as an exceptionally considerate assignment. Then I dashed into the Commissary Tuesday, made a beeline to the lettuce/spinach case, and found . . . nothing.

Only slightly daunted, I returned to the Commissary the following day and the bin still looked like the Home Depot battery and flashlight display the day before a hurricane is expected to blow into town. In a word, empty.

Back to the Commissary for the third time, an hour before closing on Thursday, I was alternating Hail Marys and my favorite mantra ("I lead a charmed existence, I lead a charmed existence, I lead a charmed existence"). Six bags of dark green leaves and 15 heads of pale green leaves, not unlike the Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes, were waiting in the bin. On closer inspection, the dark green leaves were labeled "Collards" which might taste like spinach but why take that risk with those pale green heads on offer. Whether I bought iceberg lettuce or cabbage I can't say because the labels simply promised "marked-down produce."

A lady in my knitting circle - more on that another time, snort - credits the produce shortage to another tropical storm brewing somewhere between Hawaii and Japan. Ships tied to piers, she explained, can suffer expensive dents and dings during a storm so, to protect the taxpayers' investment, the Navy sends the ships out to sea where they are supposed to stay out of the storm's way. When these port-emptying storms crop up between scheduled replenishments of a ship's larder, the supply officers are compelled to raid the Commissary.

That Cleland person who coined the expression "any port in a storm" back in the mid-18th century was apparently not a sea-faring kind of guy/gal.