A Whole New Life: italy

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

MILITARY FRIENDS ARE LIKE FAMILY

When you are far from family, your fellow military wives become your family, especially when you’re overseas. The wives looked out after each other; if there was a deployment, the wives made sure everyone was taken care. It was drilled into me that the Army was my husband’s assignment, and in case of an emergency, deployment, (or actually any time), my husband’s job was to take care of his troops, and his wife was responsible for the kids, the house, and the wives of his troops. It was true!

While we were in Italy, we were taught to make an Emergency Evacuation kit with a set of

clothes, passports and medicines (kind of like an expanded 72-hour kit). If there was any emergency, our husbands would take care of the military situation, and we wives were to be evacuated with the kids—without any help. Luckily that never happened, but it had been drilled into me that I couldn’t depend on my husband at any time. Not his fault, they would say, his job is the Army and mine is the family.

An experience stands out in my mind while we were stationed in Italy and Ed was operations officer for Southern Europe. Ed was notified at 3:00 a.m. in the morning that something had happened and went into the operation center; he couldn’t tell me anything about what was going on. I turned on the Italian radio to try to figure what had happened. I finally got a news station that said (as far as I could translate in my poor Italian), “It’s just like Nagasaki and Hiroshima!” When Ed came back home and packed to fly to Greece, he still couldn’t say anything!

Later that day, the American news reported “On April 14, 1986, the United States launches air strikes against Libya in retaliation for the Libyan sponsorship of terrorism against American troops and citizens. The raid, which began shortly before 7 p.m. EST (2 a.m., April 15 in Libya), involved more than 100 U.S. Air Force and Navy aircraft, and was over within an hour.”

Later that day, Libyan patrol boats fired missiles at a U.S. Navy communications station on

the Italian island of Lamedusa, but the missiles fell short. All I could think of was Ed flying over the Mediterranean, and what else Libya would do to Americans in Italy.

Italians protested the American bombing, and when Marc walked to school, Italians yelled at him and called him bad names, knowing he was an American. He turned up his Walkman and played loudly:

“And I'm proud to be an American
“Where at least I know I'm free
“And I won't forget the men who died
“Who gave that right to me

“And I gladly stand up
“Next to you and defend her still today
“Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land
“God bless the USA”

Life was very interesting for a while, with protests outside the base, and all students were bused to school with armed guards. On Sunday, a little old Italian lady spit at Diana who was a child and called her a “dirty American.” Even American missionaries had to stay inside and take off their name badges to prevent problems. I was alone with the kids, "holding down the fort," while Ed was in Greece.

I can’t recall how many times I relied on friends, who were as close as family. When I was really sick, a friend took me to the ER. When the kids at mumps and I had to be at a stake Primary meeting an hour away, Ed was TDY in Texas--I had to handle the situation. When I had my last baby, friends got me to the hospital.

Ed's assignment at Ft. Hood was the worst because it was the First Cavalry Division, and

one of the first groups to be sent anywhere in the world with a problem. I can’t recall the times he would get a phone call, and be gone—he couldn’t even tell me where he was going.

Also, as a pilot, he flew places. That was his job. Therefore, like so many business wives, I learned to take care of myself and the children, and never plan on my husband being there to help. He was when he could be, but I couldn’t depend upon it. That was the life of a military wife!

Monday, April 3, 2017

Venice--a Gondola Back in Time

The morning we were to leave for Venice, I woke up with a terrible cough, a

sore throat and a fever. How could I make it walking everywhere in Venice? I asked Bryan to give me a blessing, and I took the first of a Z-Pack my doctor had given me—Azithromycin. Then we loaded our bags and took the train to Venice.

Venice is one of my most loved cities. Tiny alleys that often go nowhere—except the canal—and you must backtrack. St. Mark’s Square is a dream of fantastic marble palaces, and crowds of people and pigeons. But there are many campi where you can enjoy sitting for a while and imagining Venice of 600 years ago.

Our kitchen

Our rental apartment, as compared to Vicenza, was modern as tomorrow, with a tiny balcony overlooking the street, gorgeous decorations, and a washer and dryer! It was a corner away from a Vaporetto Stop, so you didn’t have to pack your bags forever, BUT—it was on the 4^th floor and no elevator. I about cried when I saw where our room was, as I hacked and wheezed. But it was worth the walk.

Riato Bridge

Our tour guide began at the train station, where everyone begins their Venice experience, but we evaded the Rialto Bridge, which was too crowded to move on. We saw the Jewish ghetto where people were taken from and sent to holocaust camps in the 1940s. Marc found the house where Marco Polo (his namesake—according to him). I was amazed at the open fruit and vegetable markets, and all the many shops.

We went on a ride in a gondola—all the way across the canal. We explored a four-story mall that had a roof you could see the whole city from. Marc and Kira didn’t like heights so they stayed below in the mall, while Marc and I got a bird’s eye view of the city.

We were there on Marc’s birthday, so we went to a really nice restaurant which someone had recommended (ignoring my plea as I kept begging, “Just go anywhere, I can’t walk anymore.”) He had the best pizza in the world, but the service wasn’t the best as the place was super crowded.

Everyone else went out wandering that night, but I went to bed.

The next day was the last day of Carnivale, “Fat Tuesday,” but St. Mark’s Square was deserted! We learned that all the parties were elsewhere so we wandered around. We found a masqueria, and learned how to make masks. Bryan saw some clementines oranges on one of his trips, and asked how much they were. “Ten Euros.” When he realized it was ten Euros per kilo not per clementine, he bought a kilo, plus some eclairs. We had fun living off the stores that day, including buying bread, meat and cheese for sandwiches.

After a day of walking (Marc averaged 12,000 to 15,000 steps on his fitbit), I

was ready to stay home, but Marc, Kira and Bryan went exploring the night life. Bryan came back earlier, but Kira found a reggae party in one of the squares, and stayed to dance. With all the beautiful costumes for Carnivale, and the lights and music, you could imagine it was in the past and not in the 21^st century.

The most memorable part of the trip for me was that despite my cough and asthma, Bryan’s blessing helped me to enjoy the trip and do all the walking and stairs that I had to. This was a true miracle.

Then we were on our way back to Milano, and then back home in a trip that took 23 hours. Bryan came down with what I had on the way back to Milano, and was sicker than a dog all the way home.