Turns out, so has Spc. McFlute. Miracle of miracles, I've received them! I don't have confirmation that she is receiving mine, though. I imagine that if she wasn't the next letter would be somewhat irate, and since Spc. McFlute is learning to shoot an M16 and throw grenades, irate is the last thing that I want her to feel!
This weekend, when I did the laundry, I felt an extra keen sense of loss, especially as I started to fold the laundry. Anyone who knows Spc. McFlute very well probably knows how much Mr. Spc. McFlute doesn't like to fold laundry. Fortunately, Spc. McFlute is very gracious in accepting and dealing with this character flaw in the Mr. Unfortunately, Spc. McFlute is not currently available to help Mr. Spc. McFlute deal with this for the next 58 days. Hence, missing.
By the way, as I was folding voraciously the other day (so that Mr. Spc. McFlute wouldn't discredit Spc. McFlute in front of Mr. and Mrs. Massensoon (pseudonym) who probably don't actually care about such surface-y things) I thought of a chorus written by the great rural poet, Dwight Yoakum. It goes something like this:
The only time I feel the painNow for the information that you are actually seeking...
Is in the sunshine and the rain
And I don't feel no hurt at all
Unless you count when teardrops fall
I tell the truth 'cept when I lie
It only hurts me when I cry
Spc. McFlute!
The latest news that I have is over a week old at this point. It seems that the US Postal Service and the US Army have combined their powers to become a behemoth of inefficiency. It takes letters almost a week to travel a distance that would take two days to drive yourself, with your grandmother and 4-year-old niece along for the ride (I am saying that this is not a long drive, considering...).
Spc. McFlute says that she is sleeping better, especially better than the first night at Fort Relaxin', when she and her sisters-in-arms were not permitted to sleep. Whether this new found ability to sleep comes from sheer exhaustion or a greater confidence in her abilities, or both, I can't say. We should all be glad that she is sleeping, whatever the reason.
Speaking of refreshing, at some point in the past someone with impact on training policy had a rare moment of clarity and used the part off their brain that God gave many civilians, but seems to have forgotten to give to soldiers, to decide that it would be a good idea for trainees to attend a chapel service and Bible study, if they so chose, on Sunday mornings. Furthermore, this person, going WAY above and beyond, thought that it would be a good idea if members of the Self-Esteem Improvement Corps did not attend. I believe that one has the option to skip chapel and spend Sunday mornings cleaning the latrines if one so chooses, but I understand that this is not a popular choice.
At any rate, Spc. McFlute did attend the chapel service and Bible study on Sunday and found it to be a tremendous source of encouragement. What a blessing! She also was able to confirm suspicions that she is not the only believer in the Army.
In a more typical display of Army thinking, Spc. McFlute was given a survey on the effectiveness and efficiency of the Due Processing Facility in Dallas that included a space for her to leave an e-mail address for follow up. The two problems with this are probably already apparent to astute readers: first, who would be dumb enough to think that there is any efficiency or efffectiveness within the Due Processin Facility, and second, don't they know that folks working as Self-Esteem Improvement Corps fodder don't have access to e-mail?
Well, Spc. McFlute, being the resourceful soldier that she is becoming, did fill out the survey and was crafty enough to use words that the screeners wouldn't understand, like "incompetent" and "really dumb" and "feckless." She also craftily and selflessly gave my e-mail address as a resource for follow-up. She didn't want me to miss out on the fun! Such is the grace and generosity of Spc. McFlute.
While we are on the subject of military intelligence, I have been informed that there are 17 crucial steps to putting on a uniform. I decided to compare this to the number of steps it takes took to go to a gig the other day.
- Stop watching the golf tournament
- Put on your pants
- Stop watching the golf tournament
- Put on your shirt
- Put on your socks, shoes, and coat (I can do all three in one step because they are still on the floor in the same place that I put them after my last gig)
- Stop watching the golf tournament
- Walk to the car
- Go back inside and get the trombone you forgot
- Stop watching the golf tournament
- Double check to make sure you have everything
- Drive to the gig
- Take the trombone out of the car
- Walk inside
- Unpack the trombone
- Check on the golf tournament on your phone
- Put on your tie
- Sneakily check that the check is for the right amount
- Play the gig
There are certain habits that one must cultivate in the military in order to survive and thrive. Spc. McFlute has wondered, on paper, if she will, for instance, ever go back to calling the water closet a "john" or if she will refer to it as a "latrine" for the rest of her life. She wonders if she will ever cross her limbs again as she sits (or stands). She wonders if she will be able to answer questions with more than a "yes" or "no." Mr. Spc. McFlute might enjoy that...for an hour or so.
As always, Spc. McFlute (and Mr. Spc. McFlute) are thankful for your prayers, cards, and letters. If you need an envelope please let me know. The going rate is one cookie/envelope.
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