I don’t have a poem today. Blame Matt. And clearance.
We got orders. To a place that wasn’t on our list. I can’t honestly feign surprise, because every time we ‘negotiate’ orders, we send our top three requests, then the Navy puts us where they need us.
The next leap is Okinawa, Japan, if we pass clearance and budgets hold. Matt will be back with Marines, which he will love, and we will have the experience of a lifetime. If we can survive the leap.
I don’t know anything about moving to Japan. I don’t know a lick of Japanese (which was Cora Jo’s main concern). I am worried about our old dog making the flight. I am worried about ME making the flight. I’m pretending earthquakes and typhoons don’t exist on the little island in the big Pacific for now. I figure I’ll have plenty of time for all that if we aren’t hung up on the clearance hoops.
“Clearance” is a fancy word for stand in line (or stay on hold) with a truck-load of paperwork for an undetermined amount of time. (The closest thing in the civilian world I have found is the bottomless hole called MVD—yeah, just imagine visiting MVD once or twice a week for a few months straight—that is my level of expectation here.) I made our first calls last week to get the medical paperwork underway and I only got redirected to about ten different phone numbers/ places over the course of three days. Then I drove to three different medical clinics to collect paperwork, and I’m sure I’ll get to visit all our dentists’ office for the same purpose. Oh! And the vet… dear heavens, let’s not forget that. This is step one of four-hundred-ninety-six.
I’m sure through the next few months I will feel like tearing my hair out or throwing my own tantrum. I am trying to hold my hands open…trying not to hold on too tightly. Release is the hardest lesson.
At least I have an ax, right? Which, along with poptarts, are my go-to items now in a crisis. I’d say I am more than prepared. Bring it, Clearance. Let’s see what you got. Poptarts have no expiration date, so go ahead, put me on hold.