Elisheva Chana

May Flowers

...I'm told that April showers bring them. Actually, this post hasn't much to do with flowers at all, but I couldn't come up with a better idea for this month's catch-up. If I stretch the metaphor, I suppose I could say that personal firsts have been sprouting like spring blossoms in the past few weeks, and heralding my own growth and bloomi--what, too much? Yeah, okay. Moving on.

I turned twenty-five a couple weeks ago, thus making me older than I've ever been (but now I'm even older). It tickles me to refer to myself as one quarter century old. All in all, I think I'm happy to be closer to thirty than to my teens.

M was able to take some leave for the week leading up to my birthday, so we piled a couple of irate kitties into the car and drove up to the DC area to spend some time with our families and get reacquainted with our old stomping grounds. Valentine, as is her wont, was completely miserable and got carsick on the way up and back, but Vera comported herself much more admirably than she had in the past. We'll turn these cats into travelin' Navy felines yet.

Another first for the week: getting a professional manicure. My mother-in-law invited me to come along with her and my sister-in-law to get our nails done, an indulgence hitherto absent from my experience. I found the exercise a little strange, but by no means unpleasantly so--I'd do it again for a special occasion. My father-in-law joked that it was my first step to becoming high maintenance. I was sure I was going to chip the polish within the first day, but I was pleasantly surprised when it lasted a full week before I destroyed it. Not bad at all, considering my next first that week...

...shooting a gun for the first time! I had wanted to for a very long time, especially since Dad took Mom to the range without me a few years ago. This long-standing void in my life skills repertoire was finally remedied when M and I accompanied Mom and Dad to the range one fine day after a stroll through Meadowlark Gardens and lunch al fresco at Clyde's. The dichotomy of my newly-manicured, shiny pink nails and the black Walther P22 in my hand was not lost on me. I did not distinguish myself as a fabulous shot, but I think I at least hit somewhere on the target every time. My husband (who wears ribbons on his uniform for qualifying "expert" on pistol and rifle) impressed the heck out of me with his shooting. I had a great time, and we might look into getting some more local range time.

I became the sister of a college graduate for the first time a couple days later. Turning twenty-five didn't make me feel old, but watching my baby brother walk across the stage and pick up his [blank piece of paper rolled up to look like a] diploma... well, that was a little surreal. Granted, he did bang it out in just three years, but still! Old big sister or not, I am extremely proud of him and his accomplishments.

***
All right, I am going to feel like a big liar unless I actually put some May flowers in this post. Here are a few more from our venture to the botanical garden last weekend.

Vox Hunt: My Favorite Spring Flower

Show us your favorite spring bloom.

Ooh, that's a toughie. It's a toss-up between honeysuckle...

Honeysuckle by the Lake

...and azalea.

Shaded Azalea

Both are the stuff of childhood memories for me, and both make me feel spring's arrival deep in my bones. One does taste better than the other, though. We have both varieties in our own yard, but I took these pictures at the local botanical garden. We finally got around to buying a membership so we can go as often as we like without shelling out for admission every time. Living close to a spot full of such beauty is one of the best things about M's current duty station.

I should note that the above photos were made possible by the slick new camera my parents gave me for my birthday last week. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

Vox Hunt: Leapin' Lizards. Or Frogs.

It's Frog Jumping Jubilee Day. Yes, I'm as confused by that as you are. Nonetheless, show us a frog or toad to celebrate!

A Toad of Some Kind

Yes, this is a repost from our South Texas days, when reptiles and amphibians were as common visitors to our doorstep as birds and squirrels are here in Virginia. I know this fellow has plenty of cousins hereabouts (we hear them by the water if we happen to be out in the evening), but I yet had one invite himself inside here.

Springtime and flying

After having my event canceled twice for nasty weather, we finally got out my first Mission Observer training flight last week. It happened to be a gorgeous afternoon, just perfect for flying--doubly so with CAP footing the bill. Some of my squadronmates put together a really nice little exercise for me. The exercise literally couldn't have gotten off the ground (ha! I crack myself up) without the pilot who took time out of his day to conduct this training, but I was touched that another member was willing to drive all the way out to the airport just to give me someone on the ground with whom I could practice comms. That was a huge help for me, since talking on the radio is one of my shakier, more nerve-tweaking tasks. I know I'm not alone in that, though; a pilot once told me that you can know exactly what you're going to say, have it all planned out in your head, and still pushing the transmit button can have the side effect of turning your brain off. Practice, practice, practice, right? I'm a lot more comfortable with it than I once was, at least.

Speaking of radios, a certain husband of mine who came along to hang with the guy on the ground, took the opportunity to get me back for the last time I talked to him on the radio when he was in an airplane. Imagine my surprise when I ask for a radio check and I hear M's chipper voice pop back with the very words I sprung on him when he was a wee bit busy trying to get his jet situated for a touch-and-go: "Roger ball, sweetie!" As he was quick to point when I (sweetly and gently) socked him in the arm after the flight, at least we were still on the ground and I wasn't being graded by an LSO on my carrier landing abilities when he decided to exact his revenge. I'll concede that point, and it did work just fine as a radio check, but the remainder of our radio communications were thoroughly professional.

This flight was in the fancy, brand-new-off-the-factory-line, glass-cockpit Cessna 182T, and the main thrust of the event was to prove that I can wrangle G1000 well enough to be of actual use to a mission from the right seat. I had been briefed on a set of coordinates that I was to enter into the GPS as user waypoints, which I did while we were taxiing to the runway before takeoff. Once we were in the air, I could select my first waypoint and hit the Direct To button and point us in the right direction. So, so slick. I could have easily entered in a bunch more points as a flight plan and had the autopilot fly the search pattern for us. Ain't technology grand?

I was feeling pretty confident that I knew what I was doing and was showing it to the pilot's satisfaction when the radio crackled. It was our guy on the ground giving us a new set of coordinates and directing us to go there and tell them what we saw. Apparently those sneaky guys planned that little surprise for me when I was taking one last bathroom break before going out to the airplane (very important--ain't no relief tubes in a Cessna, not that they'd be real useful for me in any case). I'm rather pleased that I wasn't thrown off my stride too much; it's nice to know I'm capable of responding quickly to the kind of thing that probably happens quite often in real missions.

One more task remained in this training flight. As we turned back towards the airport, we heard a distinctive trill on our direction finding equipment telling us that a practice beacon (simulating an Emergency Locator Transmitter) was active somewhere in the vicinity. We have something called a Becker DF in the airplane that points the way to such signals, but the pilot cannot see it very well at all from all the way over in the left seat. The person in the Mission Observer position can see it perfectly, though, so it was my job to point us towards the (practice) emergency signal. The pilot put the autopilot in heading mode, meaning that one could change the direction of the airplane just by turning a knob right or left. Turn the knob I did, and lo and behold, the plane went where I wanted it to go! It turned out that where I wanted us to go was over a boat storage facility where the pilot had placed a practice beacon before coming out to the airport. He said those are good places to look on real missions, as boats have emergency beacons just like planes that can go off accidentally.

Things were pretty much wrapped up at that point, so we returned to the airport, landed, taxiied back to our spot, and filled out a bunch of paperwork. M came out to greet us and see how the flight went; I can't wait until I get to go flying with him. (He can't wait, either--he hasn't touched an airplane in over a year, thanks to a backup in the C-2 training pipeline and an overall cut in flight hours across the Navy.) My next flight, whenever we can squeeze that in, will be in the Cessna 172--no fancy-schmancy glass cockpit there, but I am expected to know what I'm doing in the right seat of any aircraft CAP might fly. I might even get to look like one of the cool kids in my very own flight suit--there was a size 34 Short in the depths of the squadron storage room, and they were more than happy to give it to the only squadron member who could even hope to squeeze into it. I picked up some big black leather boots at the surplus store, so now I just have to sew on the appropriate insignia and veclro for patches and stuff before I, too, will have the privilege of smelling like sweaty Nomex. Oh, the glamour of flying...

April Reading

I started out the month with the conclusion of Robin Hobb's Soldier Son Trilogy. Boy, that woman loves to torture her characters! Then it was off to revisit Compact space through the eyes of C.J. Cherryh's Chanur clan; depending on one's viewpoint, that counts for either three books or five due to the omnibus edition containing the first three novels in the series. A Gaimanish mood took me then back to Earth, or at least an Earth that might exist just beyond our perception. Actually, one might say the same thing about Madeleine L'Engle's stories of the Murry family. There is a reason A Wrinkle in Time and the following tales have remained young adult favorites, and that is because they aren't just good YA fiction--they are good fiction, period.

I didn't include the volumes from which I read  smattering of short stories here and there, but those are great for when I'm feeling attention span-challenged.

I can't believe April's already wrapped up and it's May already. That means it's time for the Kentucky Derby, dinner outside, and my birthday. I'll hit the quarter-century mark in the middle of the month, and it is my considered opinion that this would be an excellent opportunity for anyone who was waiting for an excuse to buy me lots of Guinness and chocolate to do so.

Vox QotD: Inhaling Fumes

The smell of gasoline: Love it or hate?

My husband comes home after flights smelling of aviation, a strong component of which is fuel (coupled with sweat and NOMEX). The olfactory sense is closely tied with emotional centers in the brain, so that scent has some surprisingly pleasant associations--surprising given that I don't much care for the smell on its own merits. It is rather pungent.

0.8 Decades

On 16 April 2001, this guy a year ahead of me in high school asked me to his senior prom. Little did we know that eight years later, we would be married with two cats and a mortgage. So, young ladies and gentlemen looking for prom dates... choose wisely. You might wind up with, in the words of Rita Rudner, "that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life." :-)

QotD: No Housework Day

Today is "No Housework Day." Tell us: What's your least favorite chore around the house?

Ha, I wish today could be a "no housework" day. I have to wash dishes and do laundry and run around the house in an attempt to rid it of chametz (leavened stuff) before Passover.

I'm not ultra-excited about any of the mundane necessities of housekeeping, but mopping is one chore I am always happy to let M take on. He actually doesn't mind it, preferring as he does to see his efforts cover a wide swath of territory. While I like clean floors as much as the next person, clean, uncluttered kitchen surfaces give me more of a sense of satisfaction. And, uh, a dearth of salmonella outbreaks, or whatever the horrifying consequence of me having an inadequate supply of Clorox wipes would be.

Adventures in Home Ownership

It's still better than renting. It's still better than renting. It's still better than renting. I believe this. Really. Really, I do. But damned if it wouldn't be nice to be able to just call maintenance to deal with certain kinds of problems.

While doing the breakfast dishes this morning, I happened to glance over into the sunroom for a quick kitty-whereabouts check. I saw out of the corner of my eye that they were sprawled in a sunbeam in the corner, looking as relaxed and entertained as can be, so I turned back to my dishes. Then something registered in my sleepy subconscious and I looked back.

The cats were thoroughly transfixed by a swarm of insects on the wall and in the window, with more little friends pouring in all the time. Uh, problemo. I grabbed the cats and threw them in their room before going to fetch my poor, unsuspecting husband. He was as thrilled as I was by the scene: one corner of our sunroom swarming with what looked like flying ants. Some dim recollection of mine spurred a distinct sinking sensation, which was confirmed by almighty Google.

Our New Friends

Not flying ants, oh no. Swarming termites.

We called some pest control folks, who came out right away to check things out and tell us that, yep, we had termite swarmers. The winged buggers can't actually do any damage themselves, but they're an indication of a nearby colony well-established enough to be sending out some reproductive types to go form a new colony. How nice.

The men who came out gave us a quote for working their chemical magic, and we'll be contacting a few more places for estimates to compare. The good news is that they didn't find any damage, but boy, what a pain in the butt. I guess we know where a good chunk of our tax refund is going this year.

It's still better than renting. It's still better than renting. It's still better than renting...

March Reading

The theme for the first part of March was religion, with the majority of my reading time going towards a thoughtful rereading of Karen Armstrong's lucid and fascinating study of Axial Age insights across several different cultures. After a Discworld interlude (always worthwhile), I followed up with a look at Abraham from Jewish, Christian, and Muslim perspectives. Then I ditched the serious reading entirely for the nostalgic popcorn of Xanth. I loved those books when I was a kid, but got turned off by the author's attitude when I read his autobiography in high school. Rereading the first three books in the series as an adult, I am struck by a certain misogyny in the way the author portrays his female characters, though I am sure he would argue he was simply spoofing the way women have been portrayed in fantasy fiction in general.

Edited 6 APR 09, when I remembered that I had also reread Interesting Times in March. That's what I get for not recording books as I finished them.