We are so close, yet so very far from escaping the tight grasp the military has had on our throats (how's that for gory truths?) and lately we've found ourselves daydreaming up our new lives post-navy.

We really aren't that far off, though.  After this deployment, we have less than a year until Jody is released.  Our hope is that Jody can put in an early out request, and try to snag away a few months ahead of time.  This isn't likely, so we don't have have our hearts set, but it's certainly an option.  Otherwise, we're on schedule for June of 2013.

There are, however, several adamant figures attempting to persuade Jody to re-enlist.  Aside from the obvious benefits -- job security, health insurance, etc. Jody is an asset to his boat and co workers.  It would be (will be) a shame for them to lose someone with whom they've spent so much time and money training.  He is a real leader, and has taken on many roles on the ship.  I can't describe his duties, because I don't get seventy five percent of what he does up there, but the guy works.  Hard.  He works long hours, loses out on entire nights of sleep, freezes his butt off standing watch and carries gigantic guns that weigh nearly as much as I do

I'm leading myself astray.  I'm proud of my husband and the hard work and loneliness he faces so bravely during deployments, but we've got to get him out.  We've got to get ourselves out.

I'm just about going crazy living in a city, the interstate system, the prices, the speed, the harshness -- the whole thing.  I've held on tight, and I've embraced what I could, but I've failed to understand why so much of our country chooses to live this way.

On Christmas day, Jody and I drove out to one of my favorite running trails and seated ourselves beside a tree stump to do some reading.  I brought one of my favorites, a book of essays by Barabara Kingsolver called Small Wonder.  In an exerpt from Knowing Our Place, Barbara describes how set apart our (my) generation has placed itself from nature.

"In the summer of 1996 human habitation on earth made a subtle, uncelebrated passage from being mostly rural to being mostly urban.  More than half of all humans now live in cities.  The natural habitat of our  species, then, officially, is steel, pavements, streetlights, architecture, and enterprise -- the hominid agenda...

...What we lose in our great human exodus from the land is a rooted sense, as deep and intangible as religious faith, of why we need to hold on to the wild and beautiful places that once surrounded us."

Beautifully written, no?  She's right.  I refuse to live my life in a place where my children are not able to run and play outside.  I want my kids to goof around in the dirt, if they please.  To find bugs, plant trees; to understand that the world does not revolve around them, or (gasp) even the entire human population.  God help me if my child ever turns into someone who complains about a 'grainy tomato' in December.
I hope for my children to grow up surrounded by a variety of species, the kind that don't care about mp3 players and jacked up trucks, let alone a failing economy and political system.  There is such a thing as simplicity anymore, but it seems that now we must create it for ourselves.

If Jody gets out in June, we've got our hearts set on hiking the Appalachian Trail in the spring of 2014.  We've been reading up on the five to six month trek that many have started but not nearly as many have completed.  We've watched documentaries, and have begun talking, eating, sleeping and dreaming in backpacker-la-la-land.

We're going to do it, too.  Just watch. 

The beauty of life right now?  There's nothing holding us back, and I couldn't give a hoot about being a grown up.

Go on a walk today, eat a vegetable that's actually in season, or hug a tree.  Yep, I said it.  Hug one.  And make sure you do it in front of someone, too.  And probably naked.  The naked-er the better.

And then smile and relax, because who cares?