One could make a joke about phallic symbols here....

Yesterday was John's final flight in the Active Duty and his final flight in Alaska. They sprayed him down with water that instantly froze to his hair and clothing. I think I felt more emotional about it than he did. Me! The one who swore I would never marry anyone in the military, let alone a pilot. The liberal, quasi-pacifist one! I am feeling a bit of nostalgia about life in the fighter squadron world, even though I pretty much just bitched about it nonstop. Because, really, if it hadn't been for the availability of adult beverages, I probably would have died a slow death. But, somehow I ended up really enjoying it--despite the 8 moves in 10 years, the occasional weirdo, and the frenetic lifestyle. What other kind of career finds you sitting in Korea, hungover and reeking of garlic, in a chair pulled from the dumpster in a rented apartment, your household goods in Massachusetts, two cars in Texas, one junker car in Korea, three different queen/king size beds because of strange moving circumstances, having to swing through Alabama for 6 weeks en route to a base in Alaska, needing to get both cars and your household goods across a continent, find a house, and trying to get your dog through international customs in a culture that is terrified of big dogs (unless they are in the kaigogi).

God. To hell with this shit. I am ready to settle down already. It will be nice not to have to throw away all my toiletries every two years and to be able to throw away the original box to the microwave. Things have changed for us.

And it is a good thing. Because the hungover-garlic-reeking thing might have gotten old soon. Well...maybe just the hungover thing. One can never eat too much garlic.