Survive my highly complex, at times irritating and all-consuming (in a civil liberty chafing kind of way), but occasionally fulfilling and meaningful relationship with the military

Last week, I woke up fresh, energetic and ready to attack the gym. I have been trying very hard to remain faithful to my gym commitment each morning. I had my typical wheat toast and multivitamin breakfast, laced up the running shoes, and filled my water bottle with ice cold water. I was ready to rock…until the base declared an “exercise” in which the threat level was raised to delta, the highest possible security level on base. This is essentially lock down. No entrance or exit from the base. Searches without explanation of your car or person. If you happen to be unfortunate enough to be at the BX or commissary, I hope you’re comfortable, because you’re not allowed to leave while delta security level is declared. My husband was locked in his building at work and unable to leave at all that day. In fact, you’re not allowed to leave your house, hence the end of my gym mania for the morning. The base is generally at the security level of alpha, meaning easy-peasy access to all services. They don’t even check your passenger’s id on the way into base when life operates normally around here. Threat level delta is what would be declared if a terrorist event had taken place in the near area, or if there was a life-threatening emergency taking place on base. Life. essentially. stops. The loudspeakers were blaring all over base. The base commander broke into the cable signal and announced the the change in threat level and warned all persons on base to take shelter immediately. I admit I found myself in an all-out panic before I called my husband at work and found out it was an exercise. I thought we were under attack!
Now granted, I understand and encourage the notion that practice rounds must take place in a world where security and threat response is crucial for protecting life here on the base and the community at large. But after about 4 hours of being trapped in the house, unable to leave, I was getting impatient. I had places to go, errands to run. I probably even sound a bit whiny here, but it’s always something around here like that. The military isn’t a job, it’s a lifestyle. We can’t escape it even when we try. Any plans on a given day must always have flex room, because one never knows when such exercises will take place. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been late for work in the past due to the exit gates being inexplicably closed. And there’s NEVER an explanation.
Sigh. Another day in the life.

that I am not IN the military personally, but my husband is active duty. If I were, I wouldn’t be allowed to trash it, or comment on it at all…which, honestly is not my intention. But, as any military spouse knows, if you’re husband serves, you serve. All of the sacrifices are a shared burden, and sometimes, it’s even harder when you’re the one left behind while your husband is deployed or in training somewhere. This goal has more to do with me having a forum to gripe about the difficulties and burdens of the military lifestyle. This is not because I hate or I am not proud of my husband’s service, but because I’ll explode if I don’t have an outlet to complain sometimes! Ok, and occasionally share the good stories too.

the other day, as I sat in the guard shack, enduring yet another humiliating “random” car inspection on my way back into the Air Force base. I seemed to be getting nailed with them more frequently in the last few weeks we lived on base and, while I understand the necessity of safety precautions, I couldn’t help but feel violated and under-appreciated for my family’s sacrifice to the military. I mean, thanks to my husband’s five year commitment, we’re already bought-in, signed-on, and living the “service before self” motto, so why must they harass us with things like car inspections when we return home to the base at night? We’re not visitors to the base—we live here, for pete’s sake…Bomb-sniffing dogs circled my car, the hood and the trunk were popped for a closer look at what I could potentially conceal, and the guards went through everything in my car before I was allowed to proceed. Sometimes I just get tired of lacking any privacy or freedom at all living on a base. If only anyone would ask me, I could probably tell the masterminds of military retention why we burn out and get tired of this lifestyle and decide we’re ready to live in the private sector again. They take our hope to do something good and meaningful with our life by dedicating it to military service and make it even more difficult than it already is…