Because...it doesn't matter.

Halloween is always a fun time of year.  Ghoulish goblins, tricks, treats and lots and lots of sugar to be consumed.  I've given up dressing up for Halloween.  I'm 34 and honestly, I'm just lazy.  I used to love dressing up and pretending to be someone or something else for a day.  Now, it's more fun to see what my kids want to be for Halloween and let their imaginations run free.

Gavin, my oldest, is 9.  He is a very practical child; matter-of-fact when he speaks (half the time you have to try and guess if he's kidding or not); and very kind-hearted.  He has a good imagination on him, but he's so quiet most of the time that you'd have to really look to see.  For Halloween, he's always been more on the practical side: a devil, Superman, Mr. Incredible, Speed Racer, Mario, Luke Skywalker and this year, a cowboy.  Easy to throw to together, and very practical.

Lauren, my youngest, is 6.  She is mischievous, lively and her imagination runs absolutely wild.  She tells stories that she makes up on the spot.  Because she's grown up with an older brother, she loves to play with action toys, video games and more of the "boy" centric toys.  She'll bypass the Barbie aisle at Target for the Lego aisle instead.  For Halloween, she's been pretty easy as well: a honey pot (from Winnie the Pooh), a pumpkin, Tinkerbell, Princess Peach, and Princess Leia.  This year, she decided that she wanted to be something different.  She wanted to be Ash, the Pokemon trainer.  I looked it up and didn't see anything wrong with it and found a costume that was reasonably priced.  There was only one thing that was different: Ash is a boy.

Lauren knows that Ash is a boy.  She knows that it is a boy's costume.  She knows that she is a girl that is dressing up as a boy for Halloween.  I know this.  Her dad knows this.  Her brother knows this.  Absolutely NONE of us care that she decided to dress up as a boy for Halloween.  Because...it doesn't matter.  Today is costume day at school and both of the kids wanted to wear their costumes.  I asked Lauren if she was sure she wanted to wear the Ash costume to school.  She said yes, so I said okay.  I braided her hair and pinned up the bottoms so that it fit underneath the hat.  We decided to walk to school, since it was a nice morning.

On the way to school, we ran into a few of her friends.  One friend looked at her and said, "Lauren, did you trade places with your brother or something??  You look like a boy!!" My girl said nothing in response and just smiled.  As we got closer to her classroom, we could hear some of the kids snicker.  Some older kids looked at her and said, "Hey look...he's dressed like the Pokemon dude." To this, my daughter said, "Her.  I'm a Her, not a Him."  When we arrived at her classroom, one of her friends looked at her and gasped.  She said, "LAUREN!!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!? You look like a BOY! You're NOT supposed to dress like a boy!!" Lauren just looked at her and then looked at me.  She came over to me and gave me a hug.  I asked her if she wanted me to unpin her braids so they would show underneath her hat.  She smiled and said yes.  I whispered in her ear that she made an AWESOME Ash and that if people ask her why she's dressed like a boy, she should tell them that because she can and because it doesn't matter.  I gave her a kiss and told her to be kind to others, even if they aren't kind to her.  Some of the other parents gave me the sympathetic pity smile as they watched it unfold.  I just shrugged and said, "That's my girl!"

It makes me sad that I had to have a conversation like this with my 6 year old daughter.  Why does it matter that she dressed up like a boy character?  It means nothing to me and implicates absolutely NOTHING.  Even if it did, so what?  Would I love my daughter any less?  I love my kids unconditionally.  I wouldn't care if she wanted to dress up like Jabba the Hut or if my son decided he wanted to dress up like a princess.  I'd probably laugh because it would be unlike him, but if that's what he wanted, then that's okay with me.  It would make him happy.  Just like dressing up as Ash makes my daughter happy.  My daughter is an original.  My son is an original.  That's the beauty of all of us:  we are ALL originals.  Dare to be you!  Because in the end, that's all that really matters.

Honolulu Week 5: Adjustment.

Distance: 6.2 miles
Time: 1hr 14mins 15sec
Route: Home - Submarine Piers (Pearl Harbor side) - Home

Medical report:  Arthritic knees, runner's knee in left knee, recovering from old ankle sprain in right ankle.  Doctor recommendation? No running.  Period.  Stop.  Now.  If that's not a good option, take 6 weeks off and rehab.  Still not good enough?  Take Naprosen, rehab on your off days and kiss running goodbye when you're done with the marathon.  After chatting with good ol' Sparky, we came to a conclusion.  Let's make this marathon count for fun.  She's going on vacay for 3 weeks and has been super busy...life happens and sometimes it tell you what to do, rather than the other way around.  We decided that we'll just run/walk this bad boy the same way that we started this whole marathoning/running journey...together.  Granted, this will be the end of the line for my running days and Sparky has many more ahead of her, but it will be an awesome way to go out.

I woke up before my alarm and surprisingly, the hubs was awake.  I threw on the shorts and shirt and told him to go back to sleep (which he promptly did until 30 mins after I got back).  I went downstairs, grabbed the tunes and the water bottle and hit the trail.  It was still dark, but it was already a beautiful morning.  I started out by walking 5 mins to warm up and then I would run 3 minutes and walk 2 minutes.  I found a great training schedule for run/walking marathons, so I'm going to give it a go and see how it turns out.  I wrapped my ankle with a bandage, so I had a lot of support and it didn't give me any trouble.  My knee was feeling it a bit today, but I just kept on trucking.  Toward the end of the run, it didn't bug me too much.

I ran over to the Pearl Harbor side and went past the Makalapa Gate.  I usually go through that gate onto Kamehameha Hwy when I head to Ford Island.  This time, I decided to just stay on base and head to the last gate.  I didn't quite reach the Halawa Gate, so maybe next time.  It was a quite morning, as far as seeing other runners.  It was cool and cloudy, so I think that may have deterred some folks from coming out.  When I hit mile 5, the sky opened up and started pouring down ran.  I started laughing like a crazy person because it felt awesome. 

I made it home and was happy to have finished this in under 1hr 15.  For incorporating so much walking, I was really pretty surprised at how well it went.  I felt great and I felt like I could have kept on going.  I stretched out my knees for awhile (I'm doing it right now as I write this) and it helped immensely throughout the day.  Ankle is doing pretty good as well.  I'm feeling fairly optimistic about the marathon and the new approach to finishing it.  I just have to remember that it's not about time, this time.  I am really competitive with myself, so I have to ignore the finishing times for now.  It's more important to do this right and finish without killing my legs, rather than do it in a PR. 

Let's do this thing!  :)

Honolulu Week 4: Old.

Distance: 4.00
Time: 49:32
Route: Out to the Hickam Marina and back home.

This was supposed to be an 8-miler this week.  I was actually really excited to be doing 8.  After the craptasticness that was my 7 mile run, I had a good run week and felt confident.  I felt like I was back in the game mentally and ready for training.  Bring. It. On.  Then Friday happened.

I went for a 4 mile run on Friday morning.  Just an out and back.  It was a great run...no issues and it was a beautiful early morning run.  I came up with some cool ideas for the OSC on this run, so it was awesome.  I went through the day and cleaned up the house and then went to pick up the kiddos from school.  On the walk home, I had some pretty gnarly shooting pains go through my right ankle.  It felt like I had rolled my ankle a bunch of times.  I thought maybe I just needed to pop the joint and it would feel better.  I did some range of motion exercises with it to see how it felt.  It smarted pretty good, so I decided that I'd rest it up and see how Saturday went. 

Saturday the ankle was still sore and now my left knee decided to join in on the action.  Walking up and down the stairs in the house was actually proving to be somewhat challenging.  I rested up for most of the day and made sure to take some ibuprofen before I fell asleep.  I got all of my gear ready and decided that I'd change up my planned route...just in case I had a problem, it would be easier for me to get home without having to call anyone to come and get me.

Sunday morning, I got up and headed out toward the marina.  My plan was to run out there and back and then hit the trail and run 2 miles down and back on the trail over into Pearl Harbor.  My ankle was pretty sore.  I warmed up a bit and the pain started to diffuse a little.  As soon as that pain died down, the knee would flare up.  I made it out to the marina and took a quick stretching break.  I thought that maybe if I stretched my calves and my ankles, then I'd be all right.  Maybe they just needed a good stretching.

As I ran back toward the house, the pain in my knee intensified and the pain in my ankle was still fairly noticeable.  I stopped to walk it out by the flight line.  When I started to run again, I knew that I needed to get home and put some ice on those bad boys.  I felt defeated.  I had so looked forward to putting the previous week's run to shame, only to feel deflated and defeated.

I don't know what it means.  I don't know if it's just a pulled tendon or maybe early arthritis in my knee.  I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning and I'm hoping that he'll recommend a referral to radiology so I can get a scan or xray.  I've rolled my right ankle (and subsequently fallen as a result) so many times, that it's truly a miracle that I have not broken it yet.  I know that there is damage in there, but I don't know to what extent it's damaged.  I'm hoping that this doesn't turn into another battle; I'm not holding my breath though.  In the meantime, I'm not giving up.  I can try and see how the elliptical goes as a stand-in for the running.  I can try and strengthen and condition my legs in the pool.  We'll see how the appointment goes and then figure it out from there. 

It sucks getting old.

HNL Week 3: Yowsa.

Distance: 7.0 miles

Time: 1 hr 21 mins 44 sec

Route: Home - AA Trail - Pearl Harbor - Kamehameha Hwy - Ford Island - USS Utah Memorial

Welp, here we go again.  Training for my last marathon.  I know I've said it before..."yadda yadda, last marathon, yadda yadda".  This truly it.  I figured, what better way to go out than the Honolulu Marathon?  I signed up back in January when the price was right and when life hadn't happened yet. 

I have to be honest, this training has been hard.  I'm not mentally in the game and I need to be.  I had been enjoying my cross training days more than my running days and that really can't be a good sign.  I have all the excuses: I'm tired, I'm busy, I'm only 5 months post-op, I'm not as fast as I want to be, blah, blah, blah.  That's just it though...they're all excuses.  Physically, I know that I can do this.  Emotionally and mentally, I need to slap myself back into reality and kick my Debbie Downer and Negative Nelly to the curb.  This morning's run was definitely a good slap back into reality.

I woke up at 5:15am and got ready.  I left the house a little after 5:30 and hit the trail.  When I hit the trail, it started to rain a bit.  I smiled because I knew it would feel good later.  I was having a hard time getting into a good rhythm.  I took a small walk break at 2 miles to shake off the feeling being off.  I ran through the Makalapa Gate and onto Kam Hwy.  I started running up the Kam Hwy hill and decided to take a slug from the Camelbak...only, I was getting nothing.  I kept trying and still nothing.  Finally, I slowed to a crawl and tried to figure out what wrong.  Turns out the nozzle on the mouthpiece needed to be aligned in the right direction.  Yep, who has two thumbs and is a genius?  This girl. 

I ran down the hill and I saw the Ford Island Bridge in the distance.  Of my favorite places on the run is between the Halawa Gate (Pearl Harbor...only open on the weekdays) and the Ford Island Bridge.  You run past the Arizona Memorial, you can see everything in the harbor and Aloha Stadium is to your right.  It was about this time that it started to rain again.  I got to the bridge and all of a sudden my stomach just started cramping.  My initial plan was to run down to the Pacific Aviation Museum, as they had a really cool thing on display outside and then loop around the flight line and cool down to the Utah.  Sadly, that didn't happen.  I made it over the bridge and then I had to walk thanks to the cramps.  I decided to just head over to the Utah...it would shorten my route, but at that point, I didn't really care.  I was able to start jogging a bit when I hit the Navy Lodge.  I hit the Utah and then did a few loops around the neighborhood to make sure I got the distance.  Mark and the kiddos came to pick me up about 15 minutes later.

This was a run that I was just happy to get through.  I needed this...it reinforced that I won't give up...even when everything in my being is screaming at me.  I know that it was only 7 miles, but it was a good reality check.  Onward and upward from here!  :)

Gram.

Betty Jean Higgs Riley.  Those four names encompass a woman that, for me, had a four letter name: Gram.  I haven't written this entry, because I didn't really know how.  How do you sum up a woman who was both complicated and amazing?

Gram was born on September 16, 1929.  She grew up in New York and went to school to become a nurse.  She did her training at the famous Lenox Hill Hospital in New York City.  She met my grandfather, fell in love, and got married.  She had four children: Michael, Chris, Kathy and Patty (my mom).  She worked as a pediatric nurse and she worked hard...probably too hard for the likings of her own children.  Gram wasn't perfect; no parent or mother ever is.  She made mistakes, as we all do.  Her life took a drastic turn in May 1985.  Her husband, Bill, suffered a stroke.  As he was recovering from the stroke, he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and passed away at.  I can only remember small snippets of my grandfather and of Gram before he died.  She went into early retirement and moved to Redding so that she could be with her kids and grandkids.  She moved into a little 2 bedroom/1 bathroom apartment.  My parents and my uncles taught her how to drive, and she was scared to death of it.  She was able to get around and became fiercely independent.

I have so many fond memories of Gram.  I remember her taking care of me when I was sick or had broken bones and my mom or dad couldn't afford to take time off of work.  I remember her raising holy hell with my brother and I for swimming in a creek that was off limits (my parents had gone on a rare vacation without us).  I remember she always had a full "Take Home" jar.  She filled it with candy and we were each allowed to take one (or sometimes a small handful) on our way home.  She would make fudge and cookies during Christmas and we would always request her famous Goopy Chicken whenever we would have a sleepover.  She introduced me to the movies, "Beaches" and "Troop Beverly Hills".  My cousin Amy and I would paint each other's nails and Gram would let us play dress up.  She dedicated a couple of drawers solely for that purpose.

This past March, Gram became ill.  She had many different infection ravaging her poor body.  Her bones had become very weak over the years and she fell multiples times within a 24-hour period.  When they took her to the hospital, the full scope of how sick and broken she was became apparent.  Many of her vital organs were shutting down and it was discovered that she had tumors on her liver.  She had signed a DNR and after meeting with doctors and her children, decided that she did not want anymore measures taken.  She wanted to be comfortable and she wanted to meet her husband again. 

I was lucky enough to be able to fly home to see her.  I had been scheduled to have surgery the day after she had been admitted.  Through Divine intervention, my surgery was cancelled and rescheduled for later in the week.  I flew home the next day and drove straight to Redding.  I had brought a vivid pink and white plumeria lei with me and I gave it to her.  We sat and had a small conversation.  I told her how much I loved her and how much she meant to me.  Even when she slept, I held her hand and just stayed.  She asked if I had to leave and I told her that I did.  She frowned and wouldn't let go of my arm.  I stayed as long as I could.  Before I left, I kissed her and told her I loved her so very much and that I would see her again on the other side.  She smiled, told me she loved me too and fell asleep again.

Betty Jean Higgs Riley passed away in the early morning hours of Sunday, April 1st, 2012.  I miss her everyday.

Hiatus.

If you follow me on Facebook or Daily Mile, you no doubt usually see postings from me about my runs.  It's a good way to keep track of mileage, pace, calories and all of the wonderful trappings that go along with running.  It's easy to get sucked in and become uber competitive with yourself.  Usually, that's a good thing.  It pushes you to do your best and to keep going.  Until it starts to become self-deprecating.  You find that you're not going farther, faster, or giving it your all.  And then you start to loathe it.  And then you fall off the wagon.

Running has done amazing things for me.  It helped me refocus my life when I really needed it.  It has helped to keep weight off for almost 2 years.  It has helped reorganize the thoughts in my brain and figure out where my priorities are.  Unfortunately, running has also started to deteriorate me.  Mentally and physically.  I constantly try to beat my previous times.  That's not a bad thing, but when you start to internally berate yourself, then it's time to take a break.  My knees have always been weak, but now my hips are starting to cry out a little more than normal.  My solution for the time being is: hiatus.

I'm not giving it up...rather, refocusing on doing other exercises.  I am signed up to run the Honolulu Marathon in December and this will be my last full marathon.  I had wanted to Big Sur at some point, but realistically, I don't think it will happen.  I don't know that my body could handle training for another full without cracking with an injury.  Maybe it could and maybe my body will surprise me and still have room in the tank after training for Honolulu.  I need to train my body in lower impact/high cardio exercises to help make up for the pavement pounding.  Elliptical and swimming will most likely become my BFFs until it is time to start seriously training for Honolulu.  I think it's a wise decision at this point.  I just need to keep it in check and not give up on exercising completely.  It's really easy to fall off the wagon completely.  I'm only halfway off right now.  :)

Valentine.

Valentine's Day.  If you want to bring out my grumpy, snarky, cynical side, then come on over and have a chat with me about Valentine's Day.  Who the crap thought up of a day full of hearts, candy, flowers, sappy cards and mushiness?  Here's my story of why I detest Valentine's Day:

I've despised this holiday for as long as I can remember.  As a kid, I was a little on the fugly awkward side.  I didn't wear the cool clothes, I had bad hair, I wore glasses and of course, I just wasn't the cool kid.  When Valentine's Day rolled around, I would get excited about writing cards to all the kids in my class and would dream about the candy, the little cards and such that I would get too.  Then I realized that it was mandatory.  In order to get Valentines, you had to make them for everyone in the class.  It wasn't really whether or not kids wanted to give me one...more of a "you-have-to-give-me-one-and-then-I'll-give-you-nasty-chalk-tasting-candy-hearts".  I can remember the boys in class would snicker when they had to dump one into my folder.  I can also remember overhearing a friend's mom at the class party mention that I would probably be one of those kids that would be a late bloomer...you know, the one that would look cute/pretty/socially acceptable later in life...just not yet.

In high school, I bloomed a little.  I had a steady boyfriend and I can remember that I was excited that I'd actually get to be someone's Valentine on Valentine's Day.  Yeah.  Fat lot of good that did me.  The one Valentine's Day I actually had something to look forward to, I ended up having to miss.  I had been diagnosed with mild scoliosis in my back and my mother conveniently scheduled the appointment with the spine specialist that late afternoon.  We conveniently hit rush hour traffic coming back from Sacramento and by the time I finally made it home, it was past the reservation time and wouldn't you know? It was almost past my curfew.  In case you couldn't guess, my parents despised the guy I was seeing at the time. 

When I met my best friend and the man I would marry, I explained that my track record with Valentine's Day was pretty sketchy.  He gave it a valiant effort in the first few years.  We'd go out to dinner or go do something.  As we got older and wiser, we realized that Valentine's Day was really just another day.  What makes this day any more special that yesterday or tomorrow?  We decided that Valentine's Day is null and void.  We celebrate being in love and having someone to love every time we say the three most terrifying and wonderful words: "I. LOVE. YOU."    Don't get me wrong though...my kids haven't discovered the cynical side of their mother yet (at least, not that I know of), so I still try to make it fun and perky for them.  I help them with their cards, provide stickers and markers to decorate their bags/boxes to carry home the mandated cards passed around at school, and volunteer for the class party. 

Flowers will die, cards get thrown away, and candy...well, candy goes straight to my ass and my thighs.  I don't like hearts, I don't like pink and I just plain don't like Valentine's Day.

Education.

Whoever thought the act of obtaining an education was so convoluted?  When I was a kid, my parents didn't have a lot of money.  My brother and I went to public school for the most part.  There were two stints in Catholic school: kindergarten for one semester and 6th grade for one semester.  Both times, my brother was politely asked not to return.  For the 6th grade stint, my parents gave me the choice:  I could stay in the private school or I could go back to public school.  For a girl who was incredibly geeky and nerdy awkward, I didn't much fit in anywhere; but at least I had my friends at public school still waiting for me.  In my kindergarten through 12th grade education, I went to 7 schools: St. Bernard's, Pine Hill Elementary, Bonnyview Elementary, Sacred Heart, Sequoia Middle, C.A. Jacobs Intermediate and Dixon High.  Each transition was awkward, but I knew that for the most part, I'd be okay.  My parents did the best they could and they made sure that we lived in a good school district.  I remember my teachers were pretty awesome.  They were creative with classwork and homework.  We didn't watch movies in class (minus the "Miracle of Life" showing in high school) and if we did, it was usually the day before vacation or because we had earned it as a class.  School seemed pretty cut and dry.  We went to school, came home, did homework and then repeated this 5 days a week.

Now the roles are reversed.  I'm no longer the student, but rather the parent.  What makes it complicated is that we move.  A lot.  Gavin has gone to 3 schools and he's only in 3rd grade (this doesn't include the 3 different preschools he went to prior to grade school).  In Louisiana, we decided to send him to private school.  In hindsight, it was one of the best decisions we made.  He made huge strides in math and reading and he amazed me with how quickly he was picking up the knowledge.  He went to this school for kindergarten and 1st grade.  At this point, our funding of school became an issue.  Private school is not cheap and we realized that Lauren would be starting up soon as well.  This would mean double the tuition; something that we just did NOT have.  So, we made the decision to pull him out and put him into a good public school that was right down the street.  He did well--he didn't thrive or backslide, but he did excellent with his tests and grades.  Then we moved to Hawaii.

Everyone always says that their state is one of the worst in the nation for schools.  We had been warned that Louisiana schools were some of the worst offenders.  When we found out that we would be moving to Hawaii, people warned us that the education system was really bad.  Our reply, "Well, he went to public school in Louisiana...how bad can it be???"  Talk about your all-time ultimate rhetorical backfires.  We moved on base for a few different reasons: free-ish housing, easy access to everything, reverse commute for Mark and Hickam Elementary School (HES).  Everyone raved about how good HES was, so we had some warm fuzzies. 

As the school year started, I began to see changes in Gavin's learning behaviors.  Reading, which once came naturally and easily, became more of a struggle.  Math was still easy for him, but he mentioned that he was easily distracted in class because many students were just flat out disrespectful in class.  We worked on reading at home and it seemed to be okay.  His standardized test scores came back and showed that he was starting to backslide in his language arts progress.  Even his math scores came back lower than what we had anticipated.  Then I learned that there was some bullying going on during recess.  I brought it to the teacher's attention, where I was quickly blamed because I couldn't control Gavin's behavior.  Gavin is a shy kid, pretty easy going kid.  I don't think a game of pretend guns (minus the pretend guns) is grounds to have another kid come up to him and shove him on the ground.  This happened on more than one occasion. 

Mark and I briefly discussed the idea of private school again or maybe even home school.  Realistically, we cannot afford private school here.  It is approximately $3,000 - $7,000 more per year than what we paid in Louisiana.  Plus, we'd have to double it since Lauren is also now in school.  We simply cannot afford $20,000/year in tuition costs.  Maybe if I went back to work we could, but with Mark's unpredictable hours and such, it becomes an improbability.  Homeschooling has never appealed to me; which is ironic considering I just finished my master's degree in education.  I could easily home school Gavin, as he is respectful and would listen.  Lauren, on the other hand, is so spirited and creative that she's a bit of a handful.  I don't know that she would be willing and able to sit down with me and learn.  If I were to home school Gavin and not Lauren, then she would most likely see it as unfair and not understand why she can't stay home too.  And then there's the issue of sanity.  I love my kids, but every single day all day long is a little much.

Basically, it comes down to having to make a hard decision on what to do that will be best for Gavin.  Do we keep him in the current situation and hope that it gets better and supplement the learning at home?  Do we home school?  Do I go back to work just to send my kids to a decent school?  This is one of the crap parts about being a parent (aside from the stretch marks and baby pooch).  Having to make a decision that can truly affect his future sucks.  I wish I could peek into the future and see what's behind each door before we have to pick in order to make sure that we picked the right one.

History.

This is the story of Mrs. Anne Catherine Ferraro Will Tafel. On December 7, 1941, Mrs. Tafel lived in the house that we currently occupy.

Remembering Pearl Harbor: December 7, 1941, by Anne Tafel

My husband, Lt. Joe Orr Will, Jr., graduated from flight school at Brooks Field in San Antonio, Texas (my hometown), in May 1940. We were married in June. His first assignment was Wheeler Field in Hawaii. Several months later, he was sent to Hickam Field to be a bomber pilot. In a few months, his quarters were completed and we moved to the base. We lived at 103A Signer Boulevard, about two blocks from the Officers Club and the Pearl Harbor Channel.

In late November 1941, Joe's squadron was sent to Hamilton Field, California, to bring back B-17 bombers for delivery to the Philippines. He had not returned by December 7, 1941. I was along and four months pregnant with our first child. On that day, at 7:56 a.m., I was awakened by loud explosions. My first thought was, "Maneuvers at Pearl Harbor-on Sunday?" I went to get the paper, no paper! (I learned later that the presses had broken down the night before and there were no papers that day). I could see black smoke coming from Pearl Harbor, so I walked around to the back drive. Looking toward Pearl Harbor I saw, flying very low, a small plane with a large red rising sun on the side. Realizing that we were under attack, I hurriedly went indoors. I was angry, feeling we had been betrayed. Surely our government knew the Japanese were that close!

I kept hearing loud explosion after explosion! Smoke filled the air like dense fog. Noises came from the front of our quarters in the area of the Hickam flight line, hangers, and barracks; from the rear -- Pearl Harbor. I could hear bombs, machine guns, and the whine of diving airplanes. I dressed hurriedly and went next door where Lt. John Sullivan (Ground Officer), his wife, Hope (Yeaman) and their infant daughter lived. He pulled the metal dining table against the wall, told us to get under and stay there! By this time, we had been joined by Adele Moores, whose husband, Lt. Bud Moores, was at Hamilton Field with my husband. We knew that some of the B-17s were due to arrive that day, but we had no information as to who it would be!

John left, but returned shortly. He asked me, since I was a nurse, if I would go to the hospital as they were very short of help. The hospital was new and not very large, approximately 50 beds. I got my car and went to hospital right away. Due to the damage and chaos, I had to leave my car on the side of the road with the keys in the ignition. Days later, when my husband returned from the states, the car was still there.

The hospital was bedlam with hundreds of wounded along with the dead - all these wounded for fewer than fifty beds! The severely wounded were sent to Tripler Hospital; the corpses stacked in the halls. We all did what we could for the injured - mostly first aid. We were so busy, we lost all track of time.

Late that afternoon, John returned to tell me that women were being evacuated from the base. He had arranged to have his wife, daughter, Adele, three other women and me taken to his wife's parents' home, just outside of Honolulu. He took me back to my quarters where I packed a very small bag. As I was leaving, I noticed a bullet hole in the top of the bay window in the living room. I could see that the bullet had crossed the living room and dining room, grazed a small carved Oriental wood chest (which I still have), and lodged in the wall about 12 inches from the floor. We left the area by jeep.

We were taken to Hope's parents', the Yeamans, where we were treated like honored guests. The next morning, Adele and I went into Honolulu where we waited in line for hours to send cables. Mine read, "Safe at Yeamans."

In the next couple of months, most of the military wives and children returned to the states. Women whose pregnancies were near term were kept in Honolulu, where a maternity hospital was set up in a private downtown school. Being a nurse, I was allowed to stay in Hawaii and was asked to work in this "hospital". I did so until they were out of patients

Joe's squadron returned to Hickam about tend days after the attack. Two other women and I rented a house in downtown Honolulu (on the Ala Wai) where we lived in complete blackout at night. Joe stayed at Hickam and came in whenever possible. Our daughter was born May 1, 1942.

In late December '42, Joe left for the South Pacific. My daughter and I left on the same day in a convoy--we zigged and zagged our way to San Francisco to avoid encounters with submarines.

For his service during the war, Joe was awarded both the Air Medal and the Silver Cross. After Joe returned from the South Pacific, he was stationed at McClellan Air Force Base near Sacramento, California, and after due promotions became a Major. It was here that our son, Joe III, was born in June 1945. W went to Godman Field at Fort Knox, KY in 1946 and Maxwell Field in Montgomery, Alabama in 1947, where he attended Command and Staff School. In June 1948, we went to Walker Air Force Base near Roswell, New Mexico. On August 12, 1948, Joe was killed on take-off in a B-29. I was told that the plane had been overloaded.

I returned to his hometown of Louisville, KY with our then six-year old daughter and three-year old son. Three years later, I married Paul Tafel, Jr., a retired Marine officer who had also flown in the South Pacific during the war. He died of cancer in 1986.

I have been back to Hawaii and Hickam several times and hope to be there December 7, 1991.

--Anne F. Tafel

(*Mrs. Tafel made it for the 50th anniversary cermonies.  She passed away January 7, 2003, at the age of 83.*)

Done.

It's amazing the power that one little word can have. Just say these three little words to yourself: "I. Am. Done." So many things can be conjured up when this phrase is uttered. Done eating. Done showering. Done running. For me, it means I am done with a chapter in my life that has been almost 12 years in the making.

I graduated with my BA (*snicker, snicker*) in Human Communication on May 20, 2000. I'm a nerd. I have a thing for remembering dates. Names? Not so much. Dates? I'm surprisingly adept. What is "Human Communication"? Basically, it's a fancy schmancy, politically correct, California hippie term for an integrated Humanities degree. I concentrated my studies in Literary and Cultural Studies with an emphasis in 20th Century Multicultural American Literature. Whew! What a mouthful! Bored yet? After graduation, there were only a handful of things that my degree translated to: 1) Absolutely nothing related, 2) Going after my teaching credentials or 3) Keep going in school for a Master's degree. I chose the option behind door #3. I enrolled in Cal State University Sacramento for an MA in English. This would give me a few extra options in the teaching world. I was working full time, so I went to school at night. I took one semester and then life was turned upside down. My newlywed husband joined the Air Force.

We moved to San Antonio and I looked into transferring my degree to University of Texas at San Antonio. By the time I decided to put my application in, I was working full time *and* I found out that I was pregnant with Gavin. Life happened and I put it on hold. I figured that I could go back after I had my son. Whoop! Just kidding! Life happened again and we were reassigned to Okinawa. I finally decided that I would take this school things seriously and look at the different options in Okinawa. I found a great program through OU (University of Oklahoma....Boomer Sooner!) and enrolled. It was for a Master of Public Administration degree. I began my course and then was hired for a full time position on base. Shortly after, I found out that I was pregnant with Lauren. Something had to give. I finished the semester and decided to put it on hold yet again.

Fast forward many moons and another reassignment to Louisiana. The hubs needed his Master's degree to help with promotability. He earned his MAEd (Master of Art in Education) within 18 months. I looked into the program and learned that I qualified for $6000 in financial aid. On top of that, I would earn 2 free course, thus leaving me to only have to pay $3000 out of pocket. I couldn't pass this up. I suddenly felt the need to finish what I had started so long ago. Life in Louisiana was jam packed with adventure. Kids, work, Officer Spouse Club, volunteering and running kept me busy. It was different this time though...I decided to prevail and not give school up. I needed to finish.

This past Saturday, I turned in my final 2 assignments. I. Am. Done. I have completed all of the coursework necessary for my MAEd. I'm happy to be done. I'm happy that I finally finished something that I started oh so many years ago. I'm proud of myself for getting it done and feeling slightly smarter on the other side. Doctorate? Not right now. :)