ashitruu

Something a little lighter

My last post was a little heavy.  So today I thought I'd share a quick e-mail that I typed out to a co-worker of mine back in MN today.  I don't know if you'll think it's funny.  I did.  But I'm a terrible judge of humor and tend to be full of myself.




From: Kotschwar, Kate
Sent: Thursday, May 17, 2012 12:50 PM
To: Doe, Jane (Professional)
Subject: Just saying hi


Jane,


This is a totally un-related to work e-mail.  I just wanted to say hi, and let you know that the pictures that you posted of your daughter (last week?) on Facebook are adorable.  Really.  You and your husband do good work.


I've decided to rename my house Gasthaus Kotschwar because of all the people that are living here at any given moment.  (And because Kotschwar is Germanic - otherwise is would have been Chateau or Chez.)  I'm considering installing a large electronic board in the living room showing arrivals and departures.  This week alone looks like this:


Claude (living here) leaves on Wednesday.
Senora X (my friend's mom) comes to stay on Thursday. [My friend's husband comes back after a deployment.  She wants a few days with just her, her husband and their 11 month old, so her live-in-mother is coming to stay for a few days.]
Senora X leaves on Sunday.
Claude returns on Wednesday.
Zac returns on Saturday.
Clarice (Claude daughter) arrives on Saturday.


Somewhere in there our friends from Hawaii are visiting but, by the grace of God, they are staying with other friends for their visit.  But they will be here for socializing and we'd like to have a big party some time Memorial Day weekend.  Am I bound by etiquette to try and remove the fine film of remodeling dust that has covered every surface in my home before I have company over, even when the work is ongoing?  Where does Emily Post come down on stuff like this?  All I know is people are getting paper plates and the napkins don't match.  I'm a terrible hostess.


And I still don't have a functioning kitchen.  I do the dishes in my bathtub.  I fill my coffee pot, which is now housed in the garage, in the bathroom sink.  My stove sits in the dining room, mocking my desire to boil water.


I laugh, because I have no other healthy options.


[It's really not all that bad.  I'm just incredibly melodramatic.]


I hope you're doing well and that you're enjoying the late-spring there in MN.  I'm still planning on coming to MN at some point.  Maybe mid July?  I'll let you know ahead of time so I can try to squeeze in some time at the Mother Ship.


Talk to you soon,
I met with the out-going ombudsman and my two future co-ombudsmen last night for dinner.  It was a chance to learn a little but more about the command (as it works from her viewpoint) and what was going to be expected from us.  I know that for the first six or eight weeks of our tenure the other two ombudsmen will probably be leaning on me a little more because they won't be able to go through our Basic Training course until July.  That's okay with me, as we will all have a learning curve.  I need to learn about the Special Warfare community and they need to learn about the responsibilities of becoming an ombudsman.


Being an ombudsman is really about becoming a source of information and referral.  As an ombudsman, I am not a babysitter, but I can give you a list of places to find childcare.  I am not a taxi driver, but I can tell you about transportation that's available.  I'm not a marriage counselor, but I can refer you to someone that is.  We are bound by confidentiality, except in a few cases where the safety of the service member or their family is in question.  Then we become mandatory reports.  We maintain websites and produce newsletters.  We attend functions and act as representatives of both our spouses and the command we serve.  It's not a role that I take lightly.  It is an opportunity to take care of our fellow families.  I enjoy the work, but I take it seriously.  I am hoping that my co-ombudsmen feel the same way.


I feel like this new OMB position carries greater weight than the last command for a variety of reasons, including the fact that while I'm going to be an OMB here in lovely Southern California, at the same time our  out-going OMB is going to be wearing 60lbs of body armor and carrying a rifle and pistol in Afghanistan for almost a year.  I really don't want to mess this up, knowing whose shoes I'm filling.


It was a little bittersweet, being able to get to know the out-going OMB.  She's a Navy Reservist and has been called up to active duty.  She's got two boys, ages three and six.  She'll be training for four months and then she'll be in Afghanistan until next summer.  In the few hours I've been able to spend with her she's impressed the hell out of me.  She's kind and funny.  She loves being a mom, a wife, and a sailor.  She's equally determined to do her duty and sad to be leaving her family.  We stood in the parking lot and talked for a good 20-30 minutes after dinner.  Just shooting the breeze.  About normal stuff, like taking photos with your kids before you leave because you can't be sure that you'll come back.  Or being a 4'11" female in an armed conflict where being female poses additional issues if you're captured.  You know.  Totally normal stuff.  If you spend even five minutes talking to someone like her you realize, quickly, how incredibly brave and self-less service members are.  They voluntarily serve.  For us.  She's leaving her two little boys and her husband, for us.  We should all be in awe of that.


As she only has a few days left with her family before she leaves, she's stressed out about many things, including this ombudsman change-over. I've been to retirement ceremonies where they've told the out-going sailor that it was okay to leave, because the continuing sailors would continue the watch in their absence.  I've heard this poem read at those ceremonies:

The Watch 

Aye mates, for many years
this shipmate stood the watch… 

While some of us lay about at night,
this shipmate stood the watch… 

While others of us were attending schools and,
yes, even before some of us were born,
this shipmate stood the watch… 

As our families watched the storm clouds of war
brewing on the horizons of history,
he stood the watch… 

Often he would look ashore and see his family
needed his guidance, but he knew he must stay because,
he had the watch… 

For many years he stood the watch so that we
and our fellow countrymen could sleep soundly
in safety knowing that this sailor would
stand the watch. 

Today we are here to say…
“The watch stands relieved…” 

Relieved by those you have led, guided, and trained…
Shipmate 

“You stand relieved…
We have the watch.”

I would never be so arrogant as to compare being a ombudsman with being a service member.  But as we parted ways that evening, the poem popped into my head.  I didn't want her to stress out about this anymore.  "Don't worry," I told her.  "We've got this."  And I mean it.  My job now is to take care of her family and every other family in this command.  I will do my best, because it's the least I can do.