On the bus

Today reminded me of the times when I was 13 and 14 years old and a military brat in Germany. My mom made me-emphasis on the made-use public transportation to get around. I did not realize at the time what an important life skill it would be-but I spent many an hour riding in the wrong direction unable to speak the language and afraid to ask. Obviously I got over it but today was a deja vue experience.

It all started when I decided to go get my Afghan visa. My husband has been flying the last two days-and after sleeping and staying in the hotel I had to get out. Besides we may go to Kabul any day now and I needed my visa. So I started with a taxi and made my way to the Afghanistan Consulate. I stood in line to get a number-then moved to the next room to turn in my paperwork. Sounds easy-NOT! You could only turn it in when the window opened-kind of like the Wizard of OZ. Dozens of us stood there waiting-people of different nationalities with a reduced need for personal space crowded around me. But I used my skills honed in Europe to plant my feet and take up as much space as I could-and remained in reach of the window. Finally the window moved and we thrust our documents into the space-hoping they would be processed today. But wait-there's more.

Now it was time to sit and wait for the opportunity to pay. The waiting room was filled with a very diverse group of people . I met a former Marine built like Arnold Schwarzenegger who had done three tours in Iraq and two in Afghanistan-his gig-why security of course. I met an American woman who has been a journalist in Kabul -we had a great conversation. And oh yes-I did bring my knitting. Finally two hours later they called my number-I paid them 30 bucks and got the instructions to return at 3PM to pick up my visa. So now what? It i s114 degrees-what else but to go to one of the many malls to stay cool of course.

Once again I chickened out and took a cab. But after lunch I decided to be brave and get a bus pass-my mom would be so proud. The air conditioned bus stop made waiting easy and the bus was clean and new with a flat screen display announcing all the stops. What could be easier? I got cocky and decided to take the bus all the way back despite the fact that it went to a major bus station for a transfer. At the station it was pretty confusing-and I almost headed off to get a cab when I saw my bus. Fate-it must mean I am meant to keep going. As I lined up I noticed that I was the only woman getting on -and one of the drivers asked me where I was going. "Immigration," I said and he shook his head as he motioned me on.

We started off into the heavy traffic, past the high rises of Dubai and the tallest building in the world. the flat screen was not turned on but I was sure I would recognize my stop. Pretty soon things were spreading out and I noticed the Burj Dubai in the distance. Funny I did not remember that from before-jet lag can really get you. Now we turned into an industrial area and as the road got narrower and narrower I began to have a sinking feeling. We were in the projects-the places where the laborers live-and I was a minority of one. The bus finally stopped at the end of the line and the driver said ," Why are you here? Immigration was the first stop" Oops....

Luckily the transfer bus was there-after five minute conversation with many glances in my direction I was placed on the bus and given specific instructions as to when to get off. In hindsight, it was a part of Dubai I probably would never have seen before. But I did what any sane woman would do - got off the bus at my stop, took a cab to the consulate and had him wait while I got my visa and then headed back to the hotel.

Anyone need a partially used DubaiBus card?

Something tells me

I'm not in Kansas anymore... I am in Dubai as in the United Arab Emirates just across the straits from Iran. Why here-well the succinct version is that my husband has been here flying for an Afghan airline SafiAirways since age 60 grounded him the USA. He flies from Dubai-into and all over Afghanistan. How did he get from US Airways to SAfiAirways? Well that is a story for another day. Now that school is out and things are caught up here on the farm I am here to join the adventure.

No I am not wearing a burka-but there are a lot of women who are. Today I mall walked-too hot walk outside-and checked prices. Many of the wealthy women here are walking around with designer bags and clothing underneath black silk and embroidered abayas(The abaya "cloak" (Arabic: عباية‎ ‘abāya[tu] or عباءة ‘abā'a[tu], plural عبايات ‘abāyā[tu]) is an overgarment worn by some women in parts of the Islamic world.) Some of the more ornate ones stated at 200 bucks. And that is just the top layer. Of course my husband tells me it will be quite a different world in Kabul.

It is hot, hot , hot. This morning it felt like Phoenix-but tonight when I left the hotel my glasses fogged up immediately. I could not help but think of my children's USNA classmates serving in Iraq with dozens of pounds of body armor in this heat. I need to buy an umbrella-no rain in the forecast until January but it is great protection from the pounding sun.

The call to prayer sounds five times a day broadcast on loudspeaker from dozens of mosques. I was sitting at Starbucks in the mall when it sounded-it permeates everywhere as reminder of the faith so many share here. There are a large number of westerners and actually people from all over the world. I have to hold myself back from asking with Midwestern openness, "So where are you from? " It just doesn't feel right-definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Adult "kids"

It is a strange feeling to be watching the news and see something that your son is most likely involved in. I say most likely because of course I cannot know for sure-but I can put two and two together. As I write this my husband is flying the skies in Afghanistan-funny how different it is with a husband and a child. I just don't worry about my husband the same way. Maybe it is because my son was a part of me from the very beginning.

There are all kinds of books to teach you about parenting a baby, a toddler, a teen...but transitioning from that to parent of an adult-especially one who is potentially in harm's way....it's a master's degree in parenting.

The Purple Family

Why purple? Apparently Joint Force activites are called purple-the blending of the forces together. And since we have one child in each of the services-Army, Navy , Air Force , and Marines-I guess we are purple. Blending is not quite the word I will use to describe the dinner table conversation when it turns to the role of each of the services-but at the end of the day they are on the same team.Peopel ask me how our kids all chose the military. We do have a strong military family legacy. Both my parents were officers in the Army-in fact I was the reason for my mother's honorable discharge. Back in the day even married women could not be pregnant and stay in. My husband and I met when we were both in the Air Force. He left the Air Force and began working in the airline industry; we moved to a farm where it would be a great place to raise kids. They did not grow up on military bases like I did -but every year we traveled to Washington DC for the Memorial Day concert and to visit Arlington Cemetery. The boys were active in scouts. My husband told his stories of flying the C-130 and instructing-and along the way they each got bit by the flying bug.The eldest decided in 8th grade he wanted to try for the Air Force Academy. We encouraged him to reach for the dream-ultimately he and the next two siblings all graduated from the US Naval Academy. Little brother-not so little at 6'5"-rebelled by earning a full ride scholarship from the Army ROTC Helicopter Scholarship program.So now I have three commissioned officers and one on the way due to be commissioned in 2012.Two are still in a training environment but soon it will take a Garmin to keep track of all of them-if I am allowed to know where they are.Ah purple -if you separate the colors you get red, white , and blue. I guess we really are purple.