So a week ago, I was working on a great post about how I finished cutting the fabric for the Quilt Along and it only took me an entire week:
Or how I failed at my second attempt to make bread:
And then Monday morning happened. The gods of the Navy stepped in and decided to through us for a loop. I was lying in bed trying to get back to sleep despite a huge headache (possibly from the three glasses of wine I had the night before – it only takes two to get me drunk so…) when my phone started honking at me to let me know my dear husband was calling. I squawked out a hello, and (it all gets a little fuzzy here) I remember him saying, “Well, it’s not Lemoore, but…we’re going to China Lake…in the mountains…it’s kind of like the desert (go ahead and imagine a dramatic echoing there because that’s the word the needle in my mind has been stuck on for four days now…desert.) We hang up. I hit the “Maps” button on my phone and type in “China Lake.” There is a large span of land between that dot and the blue stuff I so love living near. Okay. I hit the satellite view and everything turns tan. Nasty, yucky, dirty tan. No green. No blue. Desert.
Okay, I should backtrack here. We thought we were going to Monterrey. At the very worst, we thought we were staying in Jacksonville with a seven month hiatus in San Diego (the two trips across the country in less than a year being the bad part). The most warning we got was a message a week before the orders that said, “We might have a flying billet for you.” That’s it.
I should backtrack further. Three years ago, as were driving through the desert, I said, “This is ugly. I can’t imagine why anybody would want to live here. I never want to live in the desert. Don’t ever ask for Fallon. Seriously, I don’t care how much you love your career. I will not live in Fallon.”
One more step. Almost four years ago, when we were dating, I said, “I don’t ever want to be landlocked. I’m from the water. My people are from the water. I cannot be landlocked. You’re in the Navy so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem, right?”
Now, fast forward to now. Desert. Well, crap.
With all that being said, I will admit that I know it could be worse. He really should have started the conversation with, “It’s not an IA.” Because it’s not. It’s not a separation. And there are so many things for which to be thankful. God has a plan (other than playing jokes on me, which He loves to do – in fact if the joke’s on me, that’s how I usually know it’s straight from God). But sometimes, it takes a while to see it. And it takes a while to adjust to the idea of spending the next three years in the desert (two hours away from civilization as you know it) when you thought you were going to be in beautiful places (at least my idea of beautiful places).
So I guess there’s a new chapter opening on The Writing Fox. The first of which will be about how to get a toddler, an old dog, a grumpy cat, two adults, two normal cars, and a Frankencar from Jacksonville to China Lake and still keep your sanity.