Tuesday, October 12, 2021

An end to an era - Transitioning to civilian life

 Here is one last post about this summer, dedicated to my husband's change of command ceremony and transition to civilian life --Our last Navy event, unless we head back for a ball or some fundraiser or someone else's retirement party.

Presenting Dad with an award and a painting

For so many years, this milestone seemed in the distant future; it's hard to believe it is over. Kind of like getting married or kids graduating from high school - distant events when you are 17 or 27, but suddenly they happen, and life goes on. It's a big change that we still haven't really processed completely, I don't think. No more moving because we have to move - only if we want to. No more long separations. But also no more safety nets of fellow military families, no more experiences we'd never have discovered if it weren't for the Navy. No more free medicine and other benefits, like free passes to National Parks. The biggest loss is that piece of identity that constituted immediate belonging when life shifted - we are a military family no longer. 

Back in the old days...Dan returning from deployment to Afghanistan

To mark this transition, it is traditional to have a ceremony and a big party, so of course that's what we did. Fortunately, the summer dip in Covid cases allowed for a large crowd and many family members and friends showed their support by coming out to California one last time to see us (they may be back to see others ...) 

My husband had been making notes for this ceremony for years while attending other retirements. In addition to the traditional elements of a change of command ceremony, he added a few special parts. A chief read a poem he had written. A former CO gave a heartfelt speech and presented an award. His current commandant gave a nice tribute - but accidentally called our daughter Claire "Clark" - a nickname that will stick.  And then my husband presented his mom and my mom flowers, his dad a flag flown over all his duty stations, including Notre Dame, and his kids and me gifts that represented where they were born. Very touching.  Lots of photos were taken, lots of thank yous said, lots of love everywhere.

Teenager working at the pizza/wineshop to make dinner for the cousins and aunts and uncles who arrived. Lotsa pizza.

Good times

Lots of smiles

This sign was changed before we left for the afternoon...


The long horns seem prescient - gathering in the wardroom

Scenes from the ceremony - there is the piping aboard, prayers by the chaplain, singing of the national anthem, remarks from the commandant, presentation of awards, remarks from the outgoing CO (Dan), then the passing of the colors, short remarks by the incoming CO, and then piping ashore, a last sad farewell to a fulfilling career.



An additional element - One of the masterchiefs reading his original poem about what and who "the Navy" is. 

One last family portrait with construction equipment. Sorry they had already removed the American flag in the background...

Pround parents

The kids with their awards

Ladies

The boys

Another family portrait - we are 10!

Siblings

See ya!

Partytime




My little speech and gift - still need to make a print of the real family portrait

Looking back at these photos is hard. The day went by so quickly. There were so many people to hug and to thank. There are a lot more photos, filled with the faces of friends and family who have loved us across the miles and over the years. Notes and gifts also arrived from those who couldn't attend.  I hope the years bring more opportunities for our paths to cross - for intentional gatherings and random run-ins. But there won't be any more long morning walks on the beach, no more book club gatherings with too much food and wine, no more happy hours around the fire pit, no more concerts in the park, no more chitchat in front yards and after Mass and around time. So many dear, dear people have now passed out of our lives. We'll go back to visit, but it won' be the same. We'll be like ghosts haunting from the past, except with those few who have become like family because of the shared memories. We never lived any place long enough before here to form those attachment, which makes this move all that much harder. In addition, it was our choice to leave, although that was the presumption from the time we arrived - we were only passing through. Moving is like a death, more than I want to admit. 

Enough maudlin thoughts for now. The party really was awesome, though, if I do say so myself.  At the party after the party after the ceremony, I should have made a speech. I really did mean to write something down, but somehow I never got around to it. I gave a sort of rambling tribute to friendship and support and praised my husband for being a great guy, but in retrospect it should have been a toast, or something more thoughtful and coherent. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Missed opportunity number 1212121212.  Does he know how much I love him? Probably not because I have been a real prickly pear lately. Time for another apology and a new day tomorrow. 

Life. It goes on. 

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

One last time

That last post was kind of dreary and anxious, don't you think? Time for happier memories - Fall is perfect for nostalgia. October has arrived with cool evening breezes. We have all the windows open - partly to enjoy those breezes, and partly because I almost burned the house down, and we need to air it out. I left a pan of dry chickpeas boiling on the stove when I took the youngest and her friend to the park. I meant to just bring them to a boil, then turn off the burner and let them soak until dinner time, when I planned to make the panfried curry chickpeas recipe my son made up. Happily, the girls had a wonderful time at the park and played over an hour. Unhappily, my beans were boiling and burning all that time. We returned to a smoking house. Billows of smoke poured forth when I opened the front door.  I removed the charred pan from the stove and took it outside then opened up every window that raised - the scorched pot and charred peas are still sitting out back perhaps tempting racoons and other vermin. After six hours of open windows and high level fans blowing, the house stills smells like old campfire. I may have to wash curtains tomorrow.

Rather than dwell on that misfortune, here are a few more photos from our last month in Coronado. I've got one more batch to share from Dan's change of command/retirement ceremony, before I fast forward to the present again, whenever that might be.

First up: July birthdays, family bdays and country bdays
Our oldest girl turned 19 on the 3rd. Loved having her home for her freshman year of college, even though we are sorry she missed out on that experience. 

She is the party!

Ready for the Fourth of July parade. 


Here come the classic cars

Classic colors on the curb

Bagpipers piping by

Best treats to eat on the Fourth of July

Ready for more fireworks and fun!



Another birthday party



Had to fit in a few last surfing trips at the beach. They did, not me.

Getting glam for something.

A quick trip to a nature center

Another birthday! Fifth son turns 17! His gifts were mostly edible - +cash. What every teenage boy really wants, and what makes sense when you are getting ready to move in a couple weeks.


And just before our time in California expired, I finally was able to visit with blogging friend Gretchen! For years, we've talked online about visiting. We nearly made a visit to her a few years ago when we went north, but we didn't quite get far enough north. Sometimes the imperative of time running out is needed to make these things happen. So thankful we had a time for tea and to meet in person. Our visit could have lasted much longer, and I hope our paths cross again! 


More birthday scenes - a cakeball cake

The last birthday celebration on F Avenue

And then the cousins arrived!

Time for a few last games at the park - family competitions can get heated

Cloudy skies did not prevent beach time.


A last portraits of our home for six years. We never meant to stay this long, but we are so grateful we did. 

And a last glimpse of the front walk

 

Thursday, September 30, 2021

Summer update: House hunting

 Right after that beautiful weekend backpacking, my husband and I and our youngest flew to Austin to look at houses for three days. Austin has one of the most competitive housing markets in the country, or it did this summer. House after house we toured. Several had already sold by the time we got to them. Others were definite nos. A few were possibilities. We put an offer in on two. One went over asking price, and over our offer, which was above asking price. The other we got for a little under their asking price - probably because it was priced too high.  I didn't really want to put an offer in on any. I still think we should have sat out the housing market for a year and rented while we decided what we wanted to do, but after renting for the last ten years, my husband really wanted to buy a home. And there is a psychological difference beween living in your place and living in someone else's that you are borrowing for awhile.   

A break from househunting for ice cream cones

One house we looked at had an armadillo in residence under the deck

So we bought a house. And already plans have changed. We've already switched schools for one of the kids from one Catholic school to the other. I've wasted hours fretting about this commitment we've made. We spent a lot more than we intended. Although we can afford the payments because of the crazy low interest rates, I didn't want to take on this much debt - I wanted to have more money to save and to spend and to give away. My husband sees this as an investment. He was tired of throwing away money on a rental. However, I don't see us staying here long enough to make any money, unless by a miracle, prices continue to rise. I don't see how they can. I am also terrified we bought at the height of a market that could be a bubble and burst, although I read articles saying it is a balloon market in which growth will slow but won't pop. Let's pray. I obsessively check Redfin and Zillow and see that the value has gone up a tiny bit, which allays my anxiety for a minute, until I also search and see properties that could have worked for us that cost much less. 

Why didn't I back out of the offer when we had the seven day option period? I keep asking myself that, and I can't find a satisfactory answer that gives me peace of mind. The attraction of this house was that it has space and amenities for all the kids to come home and visit at the same time.. We have a guest room for grandparents and other friends and family. We have a beautiful view of a forest preserve and a golf course. We have a pool and a pool table (I swore at some point I never wanted a pool again, but it's hot here in Texas...). We have a movie room! - never something I wanted, but it can be turned into a sleeping room for kids. We also have two wine refrigerators, another amenity I could do without - something I plan to sell if we stay. Instead of wine refrigerators, I wanted chickens and a big garden, but the HOA here doesn't allow fowl. Should have read those rules sooner. We have wonderful live oaks, one of which has died since we bought the house - it was probably dying since the winter storm, but we didn't notice, nor did the inspector point it out.  Ups and downs. Highs and lows.

At the time we were in the option period, I was afraid we wouldn't find anything better. I was afraid - and hopeful - prices would continue to rise. I was afraid our kids, who already were tearful about leaving California, would mutiny if we rented for awhile and then had to pack and move again. I thought we needed some stability. And admittedly, I loved the view, although the house is a suburban giant unlike anything we have lived in before - we've typically lived in older, smaller, cozier places with more character in walkable neighborhoods. (We can walk here, but just through neighborhoods - not to a cute downtown restaurant or ice cream shop. Scratch that, we did walk a mile and a half to the local softserve ice cream stand, which was delicious and cheap.). I was afraid if we bought the smaller place I liked with a couple acres on a more secluded property, the kids would be unhappy. Farm life is something I crave, not them, and that place wasn't really a farm anyway. Then there was the pressure to decide.  We were negotiating over the Fourth of July weekend when we had company visiting and parties and parades. We were in the seven day option when company started arriving for my husband's Change of Command and retirement ceremony. We had to think about that ceremony, not houses, so we just said yes rather than looking at more houses. After we committed, I was a nervous wreck and didn't sleep for weeks. I lost ten pounds. I still don't sleep well. I kept hoping the inspection or the appraisal would give us a way out, but they both came back fine. The appraisal was exactly what we had offered. So I suppose that is a positive. 

Now I waste time calculating the amount of money we could potentially lose in a worst case scenario, which is if we decide we don't like it here, or a dream job opens up (Notre Dame?) in three years or less and the market has crashed, but we have to sell. Actual worst case is if husband loses job and we have to foreclose, but even I, the queen of worst case scenarios, feel that is unlikely, even for me to imagine - although not impossible. 

Best case scenario is the market continues to expand, at a more modest rate, of course - I don't see how it could continue to rise much, if at all, at this point, but it has, even though it has already slowed considerably in the last two months. But even if the market doesn't expand, if the house just maintains its current value, we could sell in three years without paying any money over what we owe, but we wouldn't walk away with any money after closing costs, since we put so little down. So we'd be in the same situation as if we had rented, although we'd save the costs of maintenance.  In a bad, but not quite worst case scenario, the housing market deteriorates modestly or uncomfortably. In my attempt to confront possibilities, I've suggested to myself that we could owe the mortgage company around $300,000 if it sold for the price it was listed seven years ago. In that case, we might try to find renters, and based on rental prices now, we would only be able to charge enough to cover mortgage and interest, but not taxes and insurance, so we would lose money every month - although maybe not as much  as $300K, if the market recovered in a few years, allowing us to sell. 

These are the kind of mental gymnastics that drive my husband batty.  I shouldn't be letting them circulate in my mind, but maybe by writing them out here, I can exorcise them out of my brain a little and avoid revisiting the doomsday visions. We have been so fiscally conservative up to this point - although we have always stretched a bit on housing - that it feels almost sinful to spend as much as we are on a house with all this space we don't need regularly. I tell myself that I can at least moderate the use of utilities and keep them lower than some other owner might have, and so help the planet in a miniscule way. It is a nice neighborhood, and I have met several nice neighbors. LK has a friend three doors down already and I have walked with two neighbors, and I just hired the college student across the street to teach piano lessons. We do have great places to hike - no mountain vistas, but trails not far away.  And we have conveniences like storage and two sinks and a big range with six burners. Luxuries. We have a place for everything except books. I need to get some more shelves. . . 

To make me feel like we are getting our money's worth, we need to fill the house up with guests to make the space worthwhile - so come see us! Family, friends, internet strangers... all are welcome!  We'll treat you right, as my uncle from Fort Worth used to always say. 




Coming in the next edition: Summer celebrations and visitors from near and far. 

Sunday, September 26, 2021

More Summer Memories - Backpacking in Yosemite

After the wedding we had a few busy weeks to prepare for my husband's retirement ceremony, find a house, and prep to move. We also had more than one last hoorah moment to mark the end of our time in Coronado. First, I snuck in a last backpacking trip in Yosemite with three friends, which was a much needed respite from all the weight of decision making.  I'm glad we made the commitment early enough in the year to have the time set aside, or it would have been pushed aside by other plans.  We didn't make a decision about where we were going until we walked out the door - leaving a note for the husbands about where to look for us if we didn't return in three days - although it was tempting to stay longer, just keep on hiking.  This indecision was all on me as the organizer. I was tempted to try a new trail, but we were all novice to intermediate backpackers, middle aged women in decent shape, but short on time. I wanted to go someplace that would be beautiful and moderately challenging but not too crowded and not too challenging and not too far away and not too boring. This hike to Young Lakes and Glen Aulin High Sierra camp was just right, even though I had been to Tuolumne Meadows a couple times. Sometimes going wiht a known thing is the perfect choice when with companions. 

We got a bit of a late start, leaving on a Friday midmorning and arriving around 3:30 to the National Park. I had scored a reservation just in case, and after checking in with the rangers, getting our leave no trace and avoid the bears talk, resetting our gear, and finding the trailhead, it was 5 pm before we started - leaving us just under 3 hours to hike 6 miles to the camp. Good thing it was around the summer solstice, so the sun set late. Two miles an hour is fairly easy on flat terrain without a 35 pound pack on your back, but I was worried about making it to the camp. The first mile was pretty steep before we hit a more gradual and scenic trail. Every turn in the trail revealed a different spectacle - light through the redwoods, a babbling creek through a wildflower streaked meadow, a vista of a granite peak. My one friend told me she didn't think she was going to make it, until about 3 miles in, when she found her stride and the views erased thoughts of discomfort. I was prepared to stop at the four mile point where the trail to the camp split off, even though it wasn't a designated area because I didn't want to be a drill sargeant. Happily, we reached that fork in the trail in good time, and although the sun was setting as we arrived at the campground, exhausted but exhilarated, we had just enough time to pop our tents up before dark. A ranger was out and about to check our permit and to point us in the right way. I suspect he had been radioed by the rangers at the check in gate, who probably alerted him to our late start. Seeing as we hadn't seen anyone else on the trail all evening, he must have been waiting for us. We had him take our photo before he mountain goated over boulders back to his secret camping spot.  We ate by solar lantern, nearly frozen, and lay down early to sleep - 2 to a tent. (Two of us carried bear boxes full of food, and two of us lugged the tents - a nice way to distribute the load.)

In the morning we woke to a glorious sunrise over a glacial lake. After a quick oatmeal breakfast - love Jetboils - we hiked up to the highest of the three lakes in this string of mountain lakes. The third was surrounded by a beautiful meadow reminiscent of where Julie Andrews first serenades the Alps in The Sound of Music. It would have been a great place to camp were it not for the hordes of mosquitoes.  We saw about 3 groups of other hikers all morning, and so had this mountain beauty practically to ourselves. 

After this trek, we returned to the main trail that connects to the Pacific Crest trail and headed northwest to the Glen Aulin Camp.  This trail was more heavily trafficed, but not as crowded as it would have been in pre-pandemic times. I know the permitting rule in the National Parks was a pain this summer, but it did provide for a more enjoyable experience without the crowds. This hike was longer - closer to eight miles, but we had all day and a nice long break for lunch. Glen Aulin is an established campground for PCT through-hikers, of which we talked to a few. One middle-aged couple just decided to sell all their stuff and hike for six months. They said they'll figure out what to do next at the end of the trail. I have been thinking about them...  Anyway, Glen Aulin has designated spots, unlike at Young Lake, where you can camp anywhere 100 yrds from the lakes, and it had a pit toilet, with toilet paper and a line.  The Tuolumne River cascaded over rocks into a good sized swimming hole here, perhaps deeper in non-drought times, but although some hikers had braved the freezing water, we were too chilled to do more than wade up to our knees.  My own knee was taped up because of patellar tendonitis I had been fighting for weeks, but it didn't flare up during the hike, thanks to the PT prior, the tape, and the hiking poles for support. 

I may have been a bit of a drill sargeant on this evening when I pushed our little group up to a higher camp off by itself, but it was worth the effort because it was right on the edge of a cliff that provided a natural amphitheater for watching the moon rise - the perfect spot for eating our dehydrated soups. A lesson : we packed way too much food, overestimating our hunger, which was stifled by the effort and the altitude.  But the hot tea at the end of the evening was an especial pleasure. 

The third day was the hike back to civilization - it was begun in high spirits and ended with slowing steps. None of us was ready to end our time on the trail. Although we covered over 20 miles, it seemed too short.  We resolved to try to do this again, maybe yearly, maybe just once more, but it was so, so restful, despite the physical labor. Part of the fun was having the right companions - we all were about the same pace and no one was too set on a certain plan.  And the weather was glorious, as was the setting, and the season. Looking over these photos is almost painful as I miss the friends and the places that we left behind.






















Reading is one form of escape. Running for your life is another.
-Lemony Snicket