"Echo Flight, Hooah!"

Encampment! Ahhhh... my pride and joy. I firmly believe that Civil Air Patrol encampments are good for the soul. ES will always be there, even once one turns to the Dark Side, but encampments... encampments make this life worth living.

I happen to be head-over-heels in love with the position of Flight Sergeant. For whatever reason, I just love being in the "right hand man" role, and that's what the FS is. My Flight Commander is C/1st Lt Thomas. When a few other cadets on line staff found out, they told me they were sorry for me. I honest to goodness don't know what they're talking about, though; working with him has been swell.

For some reason, we tend to work well together. He gives the orders, and I carry them out with a whole bunch of cheerfullness, oorah and gumph. It's that simple. Ohh annnd yell at the basics.. and be hyper energetic, because that's how I roll.. and be obsessively organized, which he appreciates.. and get swollen fingers from making bunks for these mentally challenged cadets...... but that's beside the point.

Anyhoo, to sum this encampent up, it's been both great and disappointing.

Disappointing because it's just two lame weekends, it is not what I would define as highspeed or hardcore, and no one knows the meaning of PT, for Chesty Puller's sake!

Great because it is still an encampment; and not stressful because after WCA, it's a cakewalk.

Sure, it has its challenges. I have four cadets who are literally mentally challenged/retarded/suffer from some sort of mental illness. Can you say lost covers and OIs!? Yelling at them does not work, because if they don't understand what I'm saying, it doesn't matter how loud I say it. It has taken much patience and understanding to keep them in line... even when I really do want to just whip out a big stick!

However, none of the multiple challenges I've run into have been impossible, and that is what matters. I take everything with a healthy dose of positive attitude and infectious energy, and I honestly feel like I can't be stopped! lol. No matter how frustrating things get at times, I wouldn't ever call myself "stressed."

Okay, let's cut to the chase. I'd love to do a minute-by-minute commentary.. a great dramatization of a story, because there are truly too many amazing tales... but that would take, oh, days. So. Issues so far:

1.) The Fab Four. Let's call them Cadet V, Cadet T, Cadet R, and Cadet G, respectively. I cannot count how many times I've made these little guys' bunks. No matter how many times I demonstrate the simple act of using boot blousers, Cadets V and G simply don't get it. Cadet G is soooo short that he CANNOT physically keep up AND stay in step while marching. It just isn't possible. He also has a horrid OD green blues belt (do they even make those!?) as a web belt. Kill me now. Why doesn't Cadet T have his OI!?!? "Someone must have taken it, ma'am!" I suppose I should be grateful... at least he answered me. Apparently his vocal cords are working today. WOOT. Nevermind that there is no way an OI can simply "fall" out of any cadet's cargo pocket. Puhleez.

2.) Being hit on by six guys at once (so far). I mean, I'm flattered, guys... honestly. It's just that first off, this is encampment! We don't do that at freaking encampment! Second, I'm taken, and they know that... but continue their amorous overtures. I swear, the next time [name withheld] whispers "You are so sexy" into my ear while I am sweating my butt off making a bunk, I will break my clipboard over his head. Not even kidding. And besides, I don't even have the arrogance to assume I'm actually that hot. Haven't these guys heard of the 2-10-2 rule!? They're going to get home, away from the female-deprived environment, and realize that they actually weren't flirting with a 10 like they thought they were.

3.) Cadets who can't keep in step. It's sooooo easy, people! Drill movements may be challenging if you don't know them, but just staying in step while marching in a straight line? There is nothing else to focus on while marching! Listen to the dang cadence... "Left, left, left, right" is as blantantly simple as it gets! You may not be smart enough to figure out "Hutt, toop, threep, fourp," but come on. It's LEFT, and RIGHT. Get with the game. Do we need a pet rock, kiddies??

4.) The [unspecified] squadron. They are honestly ridiculous. They bring a billion people to encampment, which is great, but they also act as though they run the thing. They have mostly female senior members, who think they are still in charge of all of their squadron's cadets, and can therefore bypass the chain of command. Not at all cool. Case and point:

Saturday night, I got assigned to CQ duty. I was the only cadet on staff who had to do that.. apparently they were running short on females, and I got picked. Fine with me; I said nothing about it. The exec staff found out and (during the cadet staff meeting) told me to, at the very least, change the schedule so that I went on the last shift instead of the middle one. I did so.

I go hobbling back into the bay after our staff meeting, well past midnight, and get into my berth. The one of this squadron cadets summons me and lets me know that Major [unspecified] wants to see me right now. She's in her personal little office, still in her bunk. I stand at attention next to her bunk while she chews me out for changing the schedule. I politely and respectfully say that it was not my choice; that I was told to change it by the exec staff. She says, "I understand that you cadet staff people think you need your sleep, but this is not fair to us!"

"US!?" As though their squadon is this on entity. The nerve. She said this a hundred times before ending her long rant, and before I was allowed to slink back to my berth for the night... not even understanding, in the end, what the problem was. She was truly being nasty about it.

Well, the way they do things at GLE is that each CQ shift wakes up the next (obviously). The very last shift wakes up one of the cadet staff, who then wake up the rest of the cadet staff/senior members. Also, the Navy bays have motion sensors in them that regulate the heating system. If your firewatch falls asleep or stops moving, guess what.. the heat shuts off!

Apparently, I was in for some revenge. The shift ahead of me did not wake me up. In fact, they may not have had their shift at all. I recall waking up about ten minutes to 0400, which is when I was to be woken up, and then I went back to sleep. I was never called. I didn't recall hearing boots patrolling the area, either.

Consequently, we froze. That was a friggin' cold night/morning. Especially with ONE thin little Navy blanket apiece.

At about ten minutes to 0500, I woke up. God bless my internal clock. If I hadn't woken up right then (and certainly no one else did), we would have been in a terrible fix. With no one on CQ to wake us up, nobody would have gotten up until....... well, until the males realized that none of us were awake when they'd already be on their way to the grinder!

So, that's the [anonymous] squadron for ya. [/end rant]

Hmm, now for a story with a bit more humor.

I don't remember what day it was, but one morning after chow, I was hollering at my cadets outside the galley... yelling at them to double-time to formation; all that good stuff. C/1st Lt Marshall, who is on the S.E.T., called me aside to let me know that I "got a Navy recruit in big trouble this morning," and didn't even know it.

Apparently, he was "checking me out" while in line in the galley. I wonder what I was doing at the time! Hmm, either eating, or barking at cadets. Anyways, because of that he didn't see the line move forward. Then he was distracted again, and didn't see it stop. The end result was a bit of a crash, and him getting pulled out of line by a few RDCs who then promptly made his life a living [hot place].

I wasn't really sure what to say to Marshall; umm, "my bad!?" It's not my fault! It's not like I was dressing seductively... it's BDUs for crying out loud! It isn't as though there was anything I could do to prevent such an incident. Jeez. Hence my comment on the 2-10-2 rule... poor female-starved recruits. To quote Ethan, at basic a recruit becomes attractive if she simply "has girl parts." Hahahaha.


TO BE CONTINUED

Last Day As An Eighteen Year Old

Well m'lovlies, I finally have a chance to blog a little more randomosity. Today's my last day as an eighteen year old, and starting tomorrow, this will be my last year as a teenager... haha.
[end random fact]

There is a subject I really want to write on - I really do - but I don't think I can. When something new is on my mind or in my heart, my first impulse is to write about it. I guess the problem with blogging is that everyone can read it. Which I don't mind; it's just that all of the time I want to be completely honest. Consequently I might end up sharing too much if I don't watch it. I think I should be careful who I spill my guts to... I do trust all of my friends unconditionally, but some things are just for closest of friends. In the case of this particular topic, my concern is that I don't want to end up hurting some others. :( But the main idea is that I'm pretty happy right now....

On to my favorite topic ever... fitness!

So, Tuesday night was a CAP squadron meeting... CPFT, the one I live for! :D Until, of course, I realized that I was absolutely lame at it. Not truly working out for somewhere near three months will do that to a girl. Of course I passed, and with a good margin to spare, but it still was not my normal performance. It was just the kick in the butt I needed to get back on the fitness warpath.

See, I blame it on these lame Wisconsin winters (even though I do love WI!). They're the least possible conditions conducive to staying in shape. Who wants to try to go outside and RUN when it's so cold your nose hairs freeze immediately upon stepping outside into the frigid air and your joints can't even move!?

Another thing is that with my lasting joint problems from Lyme's Disease a few years ago (which I nevertheless ignore, work through and otherwise overcome), extreme cold like that is pretty painful when I try to get in some decent exercise.

Anyway, on Wednesday I decided to start whipping myself into shape again. Walked about a mile (from home to the bike trail), then jogged/ran a mile, and then walked about another mile. Did track warmups and exercises, ran a few amazing windsprints (lol), cranked out some pushups and situps, walked back home... and was generally done for the day. That's a bit of an idea of how I start out easing back into my workout routine, y'all. :D

Then today I played a mean game of racquetball and then did some lengthy walking/running.

For some reason, I am and have always been in love with exercise; there is nothing that can possibly tick me off more than missing a workout. It's my passion in life. I despise being out of shape, and it's painful getting back into shape... but exciting, too. Sore muscles are bad because they mean I'm out of shape... but they're good because they mean progress is being made. Right now I'm pretty much in agony, even from that pansy workout, but it won't last forever! Hehe.

Okay, enough self-centered writing about myself! Jeez!

Talked to Mike a bit today... he was at MEPS. We seemed to do a lot of random texting while he was gone and I was at the gym today, lol.... he called me last night after taking the ASVAB on Wednesday. He said today involved getting up at 0300, a disgusting breakfast, having the physical, swearing in, and generally four hours of waiting on nothingness... that's the Army for ya. Hurry up and wait, lol.

In other trivial news [sharpening my anchorman skills here....], the Richardson Clan/Horde/Army has three birthdays in a row this month, all by chance. Mine on the 11th, my brother Lee's on the 12th, and my sister Karina's on the 13th.

Well, I should skedaddle. Time is long since up, and "lights out" time is long gone. In summary:

This new year as a nineteen year old... what am I looking forward to...? Well, I intend to put an end to a few bad habits, and start a few good ones. Get and stay in shape. Be more humble and more selfless; less selfish and less self-centered. Focus on others more and more, doing my best to help them and not concentrate on me quite as much. Get out of this soft, city lifestyle, and start building character again. Most importantly, grow closer to God and my family each day; and sacrifice myself for others, being as much help to them as much as I possibly can.

...And maybe, just maybe, find Mr. Right. =)

Last thoughts for the night:

Running = JOY. :D

"You're Not Jason Bourne!!!"

Well, this entry is going to have to be a short one... I'm leaving for a Code Blue rally in a little while, and won't be back until the wee hours of Monday morning.

Anywho, not much has been happening lately. The other night something slightly funny happened, though... my little sisters realized they needed to return some movies to the library, 3 minutes before closing time. I always get tabbed as chaffeur... annnd of course I was going to be there on time.

Let's just say that the short but [interesting] ride to the library consisted of Karina going "Eeeeeee!" and hanging onto the door handle, and Rachel grabbing her seat in the back, screaming the whole time, "Christi, YOU'RE NOT JASON BOURNE!!!" That was definitely fun.

Yesterday I had a bunch of stuff to work out for Wing Conference. The whole idea behind a CAC committee is that they work on such things themselves... but when they don't, it comes right back to moi, the Chairperson.

Therefore I get an urgent, last-minute call from Lt Schneller, letting me know that they have all the classes/breakout sessions worked out, but no one has yet been asked or slated to teach them. Swell!

Worse, they wanted to send out the schedule that very day. Since generally most cadet officers are either in school, or work, or college... that's pretty uncool. I called around 16 cadets from around the wing. Most of them couldn't do it or didn't get back to me, but in the end I got it sorted out. w00t. Thank you to all who were cooperative... I sincerely appreciate it!

Sadly, my time is up. Will post more when I can.......... leave me love! =)

True Randomosity At Its Best

Do you have any idea how it feels to be hit on by one of your dad's co-workers??

Okay, not hit on. But apparently they have nothing better to do in a small-town Post Office. A guy my dad works with (and he's in his upper 30's, as I recall) let my dad know that he wishes he was 18 or 20 again so he could "marry me." Apparently he thinks I'm the "cat's meow" and would make a "perfect wife."

The only time he ever saw me was when I stopped by the Post Office on my way to work out... I was going to ask Daddy if he wanted me to wait for him, and then go together, or if he was going to be working late.

Not sure if I should feel complimented or creeped out. o.O

Well, things are coming along with encampment... I'll be honest, I am psyched but unsure of what to expect. If this was Volk Field, I'd be right at home, but it isn't... it's Great Lakes Naval Station... and frankly, I know the least about the Navy than any of the other services.

I have an awesome Flight Commander, so I'm really thankful for that. I love being in a "right hand man" role. We're going to do our best to give these cadets the best encampment that we possibly can, because that's what it's all about!

Meanwhile, work continues to be of the cleaning variety. I'm currently a janitor at the Post Office, and a janitor at a church here in town. And once a week, I go down to the old folks' apartments and do laundry for a 90-year-old man named Byron. He calls me his girlfriend. :D lol.

Truth is, it's not about the laundry... I could do that in no time. He's desperate for someone to visit with, and while I have a lot on my plate right now, I'm happy to oblige. I can't imagine being in his situation: living all alone, with children who rarely visit him. Nobody else does, either.

So between laundry loads, I sit on the couch and he hobbles out of his wheelchair and into his recliner. We sit there and talk... or rather, he talks... he tells stories. Lots of them he just tells over and over again, even though he already told me three times that day. I don't mind.

When "The Price Is Right" comes on, we watch it, because he loves that show. Then we have lunch together, and "talk" for a little while longer before I usually have to go around 1230. I get there at 0900.

Well, I'm off to teach a writing class to my siblings. I make it fun for them, so they love it. Ciao!

The Compiled Daily Minutia... (Thanks Daniel... Thanks.)

Hokay, instead of waxing poetic, as is my nature to do... or recounting some frightening story... I think I'll actually do a blog entry, for once. Like, really. Where you talk about your pointless life? Yepp.

Last night we had an explosion in the kitchen. It was pretty awesome, actually; although for some reason, my mom was mad about her pyrex pan getting shattered. She glared at me when I suggested we try to re-create the situation and then film it, too.

It all began when my sister, Rachel, took the brownies out of the oven and set them on top of the stove... on a burner. A burner which my mom had left on.

Minutes later........ BAM! We heard the thing literally explode. Strange, huh? I would expect cracking, yes... splitting, probably... but EXPLODING? Hmmm.

My brother, Luke, was just starting to walk near the kitchen when it happened. If he'd walked in five seconds sooner, I'm pretty sure he'd have a nicely disfigured face... and glass shards sticking out of his eyeballs.

At any rate, that's neither here nor there. Today has been rather uneventful. Thanks to my late-night blogging (something that will probably become a bad habit), reveille this morning was pretty painful.

One must understand that the Richardson home is generally run like an encampment. When my dad cranked up the stereo, flipped on the lights and hollered at us to get moving, I just groaned instead of hopping out of bed.

Janelle and I just laid there in bed, staring at each other in our delirium. Then I started humming, "Wakin' Up Is Hard To Do".... which cracked both of us up when we both ended up belting out the tunes.

Everybody knows Neil Sedaka's 50's song, "Breakin' Up Is Hard To Do." Well, Paul Shanklin made a hilarious political parody about Clinton's years in office.

"...They took Congress away from me
Mitchell bailed and Tom is history
Now how'd that happen?
It can't be true
Now wakin' up is hard to do........"

At any rate, that's how my morning began. Janelle and I were laughing at each other and how horrible we sounded so early in the morning.

Then she laughed at me again when she came into our room to see me stomping around in my combat boots, with a skirt on. Don't ask, people... boots have to be broken in, you know. Janelle said, "Love your style!"

Then there's the issue of my dad's phantom alarm clock setter.

Apparently he set his alarm for 0600 one morning. When it went off at 0700, it was flipped upside down on his nightstand. So get this: it was set to go off at 0600, it went off at 0700, it but it claimed that it was 0800 and set to go off at noon.

My dad was baffled, and of course suggested that one of us was sleepwalking, to which we theorized that he was probably the one sleepwalking. He ended his rant with, "I am launching a full-scale inquiry into this alarm clock case!"

Bizarre.

Well peeps, I'm off on a run. It's depressingly cloudy today, but hey, a run makes it all good! :D

Tales From A Farm Girl

Pot-smoking, hippie-infested Northern California -- despite being a part of my young past -- was anything but the main, shaping influence in my life. The fact that I'm "from" California does not mean I did most of my growing up there.

This crazy family of mine moved to a small Wisconsin farm in the fall of 1996, when I was seven years old. All of my best memories are from there, and not a day goes by that I don't miss it terribly.

Annyhoo, this particular blog entry is for Risler. Awhile back I posted a story on my MySpace about a wild little horse we had, and he's been waiting for another story every since.

So since someone asked me about it recently (I think it was DeMark), I randomly decided to tell the pointless story of the day I ended up under a piece of farm equipment.

This is back when we were farming with a team of horses, not even kidding. We had a fairly small farm at the time, and considering the cost difference, a tractor would have been overkill. So from around the time I was eight until we left the farm last year, horses were my life. So was farm work.

Now you have to understand what a field disk is. It's got all these rows of disks that turn and chop/break up the ground after it has already been plowed. Here's an example:



That's a big one, though. To be brutally honest, ours was more like this... in fact, this is exactly what ours looked like:



I'd perch up on top of that metal rack (which wasn't meant to be sat on... haha), grab the reins, and drive the team of horses back and forth and all around the field for ages. I thought it was pretty fun, really; it beat a lot of other stuff I could have been stuck with. [Truth is, it's just that it was better than pulling weeds in the garden with Mama. Shhhh...]


Anyway... moving on. One morning when I was ten years old, I was doing my dusty farm girl duties and getting the oat field ready. I remember how much I always loved to watch the big chunks of dirt get sliced up by the disks; I don't know, it was just a randomly mindless thing to watch, and I enjoyed it.


Now, the specific details of what started the whole incident have been hashed and re-hashed over again, but the main point and end result is that the horses got spooked, and I ended up under those disks.


Not all of me, of course... even back then I wasn't quite skinny enough to fit completely through two of those things.


I don't actually remember the moment when my leg got sliced open, either. I'm not sure what happened; it was like I blacked out or something. What I do recall is coming to and hearing my mom panicking, Janelle crying, and both of them half screaming to a certain extent.


Janelle was holding the horses, and my mom was spazzing out, trying (rather pointlessly...) to lift the piece of equipment off of me. I was stuck, but for some reason I was acting completely unbothered by any of it. I didn't feel anything, either.


The first thing I said was, "Scissors. Can someone please get some scissors? Can't we just cut my pants off?" I remember saying it very matter-of-factly and calmly; I don't even know why.


Saying that and seeing the look on my mom's face after I said it are two of the first things I remembered.


Nobody got any scissors... since my pants had already been cut in the place that the disk also went through my leg, it was pretty easy to just tear them right off of me (for the most part...) and just leave the part there that was pinned under the disk.


I don't remember what it was my mom and Janelle had to do then... probably restrain the horses or something so they wouldn't run off. I just started hobbling off towards the house in a daze, like nothing was wrong.


On the way inside, I passed Luke, who was about two years old then. He was sitting in the laundy basket outside, which is where my mom had left him when she went running to go help me. When I saw him, I said something like, "Oh hi buddy, how's it goin'?" At the time, it didn't really register why he just stared at me.


Once I got inside, I flopped down on the couch like I was just resting for a minute or so. That's when I noticed that my lower leg had been cut open by that sharp, nasty, rusty ole disk.


It was a deep gash, and fairly long, on the inside of my left lower leg, almost down to the shin bone. I hadn't noticed it because it hadn't started hurting yet. Apparently, adrenaline can do amazing things.


When Janelle and my mom got inside, they freaked out and started cleaning out my wound. I know for a fact it was tougher on my mom than it was on me!


I think the best thing about that whole thing was Janelle treating me so awesomely because she felt so sorry for me... hehe. Love you, girl. I couldn't even freaking walk, so when we'd go to work in the garden, she'd haul me in the little red wagon (yep, the kind little kids use for fun =]). And Daddy brought ice cream home from work that night! (Huge rarity back then... ahhhh......)


To make a long story short, I've got an interesting scar on my leg now. My leg is pretty much numb between the scar and my ankle. I'm glad it doesn't affect me at all, and man alive, that could have been a whole heck of a lot worse.


And hey, look on the bright side... now I've got a lifelong memento of that farm! ;)


Moi, about eleven or twelve years old... taking Karina for a ride on my favorite horses ever, who I named Apache. Miss all of it so much.

A New Blog

Well, I used to keep a blog religiously. Every disconcerting issue that ever crossed my mind and was unfortunate enough to wander into my prying brain, got hashed out in logical fashion in my blog. Politics, theology, life dynamics in general. Even just insanely random topics and ramblings.
The one topic I always stayed away from was my love life... at the time, I was about 15-16 and very single. (Well, I'm still very single.)

So why the sudden blog resurrection?

Two reasons: first, I was re-inspired by Sarah's recent, incessant blogging. Second, I have always loved to write, and still do... and sadly, I've gotten away from it lately with the random responsibilities of life in general.

At this point, my blog name is temporary. New ideas are welcome. =)


DISCLAIMER: Ideas of a blonde nature, a dumb nature, an overly girlie nature, a dramatic nature, or a shoe-loving nature will be immediately shot down by the blog owner and possibly even result in verbal or physical harm to the brilliant inventor of said name.