Rest in peace, pork chop.

Tonight I discovered that one of the pork chops died. For those of you who don't know, Andy and I started a beginner 10 gallon fresh water tank last year. We stocked it with a beautiful betta fish, two catty-wompas (cory-catfish), 5 or so pork chops (raspboras) and a couple flighty sucker fish. All was going well for quite some time and then things went downhill real fast.
 First, my betta started to show signs of illness. Being very new to fish, we tried everything that we could find on google and fish forums. It came down to putting him at rest (it's a fish, I know) and I was extremely torn up about it. I was so proud of my betta and how well he was getting along with his tank mates and how he seemed to recognize us and he would come to the surface begging for treats. Not long afterward, one of our catfish died. And then the other. And then a couple raspboras here and there. And then a sucker fish. It was obvious the tank had been compromised by some fish-borne illness. We treated the tank with fish antibiotics and anti-fungals. In the end, three raspboras were left and one elusive sucker. The survivors even endured the 50 minute truck ride to move from the apartment to the house. 
And then Andy left. Tonight I discovered that one of the pork chops died. I think it's my fault. This was his fish project after all. I had wanted a ferret and when we got to the pet store, he decided we were getting the fish instead. There are three fish left. As I watch them dart around the tank I am really burdened by a sense of sadness and inevitability. Tomorrow will I discover that one more of the pork chops died?

This Summer

I have some plans this summer to stay busy. First off, I am taking two summer classes: a business class and a photography class. What does this mean? This means you can expect to be bombarded by awkwardly creative/abstract pictures and ... tips about business? 

I am super thrilled about the photo class, I think it's going to be a lot of fun and it's going to get me using my camera a lot more again and in a better way. I've already been experimenting. After the first class I immediately drove out to my barn and snapped a couple shots of Friesian Mare and Baby (also known as Ericka and Tiberius). I think they came out pretty good considering I used my 300mm lens that is known to give shaky blur without a tripod (and because I am still not totally versed in how to use it to its full potential.) 

Other than the classes, I have a surprise trip planned (more on that later) and I am hoping to take my horse to the beach and poker rides/trail course playdays this summer. He really thrived on that stuff last year and I think it's really great for his brain. We're going to be starting up dressage lessons with a really accomplished trainer shortly and I'm hoping we'll have some shows in our future for next summer. 

All in all, I have a lot to strive for this year and it's my goal to make this deployment an opportunity for opportunities. I really owe it to myself. 

Flashback 2009: Savannah

I step out into the hot Savannah air,

My sundress plastered to my body.

I look for you.

Southern jazz tickles my ears.

A static prickle dances up my neck,

Nothing to do with the simple melody.

I see you first, conspicuous in camouflage.

Your hand slips into mine,

We’ve made plans and we’re late.

Under a canopy of oak we vow,

‘Til death do us part.

Our kiss tastes of metal and gunpowder.

One more hug, just one more.

But you have to go,

There are men relying on you.

I watch you drive away.

I love you and

I pray the desert gives you back to me.

Poem copyright Ashley Graham.

What's Happening?

So I've just started this blog and it is pretty much to document things of interest while my husband (Andrew) is deployed to Afghanistan. Communication with him will not be as ample (if you could even call it that) as it was in Iraq, meaning we will not get to Skype or communicate via messaging services during his downtime unless he gets onto a computer connected to the internet, which could be rare. As of right now, he is doing his AT (annual training). He will be given a pass for 4th of July weekend and then the next time he will have pass is near the end of September. By that time he will be finishing up in Texas and the men will be headed out of country to their ultimate destination.

With all of this in mind, I have decided to try and keep a blog so that he can stay updated on some goings on when he is able to access the internet and as a way to keep me sane and give me something to focus on. More than likely, this deployment will be a year or longer and with the volatile state of Afghanistan, it won't be an easy one. Even though this blog in intended for Andy, I would still love it if friends and family would like to occasionally follow along. I will be trying some multi-media of vlogs (video blogging), creative writing, and regular blogging.

Anyway, happy reading!

Miss You Already

Missing my best friend so much right now: the person who laughs at my corny jokes, who knows I'm super awkward and weird but finds it amusing (mostly), the person who makes eye contact with me every time something happens and we automatically know we're thinking the same thing. I am missing my friend who generously allowed me to leech onto his Kindle while he was reading The Shining so that we could read it together, simultaneously. I miss my movie partner who doesn't think it's excessive to go to the theater two days in a row, or even three. I miss the person who keeps me grounded, who pushes me not to be a hermit, who won't let me become a cat lady. Missing the "hon, hon HON, HON!!". I miss my favorite person in the entire world, the one who I am so proud of for his fortitude, commitment, motivation. He seriously has the best stats roll ever. Love you, hon. Miss you so much and it's hardly been a day.

Flashback 2009: Before Goodbye

     The air is crisp, like the first bite into a Red Delicious. The sky is a pale shade of grey, with hints of blue spackled across like a work in progress. It's freezing out here, but we're insulated by our cold weather gear. Bundled up like children, out to play in the snow. The hike isn't easy, but walking through snow is simpler than stumbling through blackberry vines in the summer. Each step elicits that apple crunch, and there are three of us - plus one - hungrily eating up the ground with our boots.  
     Straight ahead we can hear the background roar of a full-bellied creek. It's fast this time of year, each ripple frothing with white speed. It is the soundtrack to our journey, and I appreciate its steady rhythm. Without it, we would be hiking in relative silence, and even with three of us - plus one - it would have seemed strangely lonely.
     It isn't long into our hike that we reach the creek's impassable girth. Momentarily flabbergasted, we look around at each other, silently questioning our next move. If we cross through, we will most certainly affect the integrity of our gear. It is our plus one that finds the path and makes the decision for us. Her thick black coat is dull and weathered from many outings just like this. She scouts out a fallen tree that spans from one side to the other on a shallow incline. Effortlessly and without saying a thing, she traipses across and waits for us on the other side.
     I am with two men, and to show their adeptness they cross first. Both of them toss their packs to the other side and with feline grace, balance smoothly over the mossy bridge. I am last in line, and notably clumsy with my too-big pack. I am not strong enough to throw it across the wide gap, so I strap it a little tighter to my back and crawl hands-and-knees over the slippery surface. The men have already readied their packs and are scouting out the next path. It is only our plus one that greets me with congratulations when I reach the other side. Her eyes find mine and she smiles with a slight tilt to her head.
     We are off again, crunching through the February frost. We travel in silence for several miles, serenaded only by the creek flowing on our right. I stop on several occasions to take a quick snapshot of the landscape. Monstrous pines surround us, casually swaying their tops as we pass, waving us on. Mostly everything is covered in 6 inches of white. We have not seen a single deer, it's hard to walk quietly here.

     Our plus one is having a grand time. She is running, tirelessly, through the snow. Like an athletic thoroughbred, she is jumping fallen logs and weaving through tightly packed trunks. She is thrilled to be out here with us, thrilled as only a dog can be. Her name is Suzie, and she is a black lab. Her mane of black fur is crystallized with ice flecks, but she is warm under that thick blanket of hair. Her eyes are so golden surrounded by all this white earth, and when she looks at you, ears pricked, you can see her joy reflecting outward.

     It has now begun to darken outside. Dusk is fast approaching and we have not yet decided on a spot to set up our tents. We determine that it is high time to stop and prepare camp. We choose a really lovely spot next to the creek with a whimsical canopy of fir branches. I begin unpacking the tent while the men attempt to build a fire. Suzie is watching my every move. Her eyes no longer flashing happiness, but confusion instead. She did not realize we would be staying out here.

     When darkness starts to descend up here, it doesn't take long. The men have been working on the fire for nearly twenty minutes, and have not succeeded. Everything is much too wet and they are struggling to see what they're doing. It is unbelievably cold, and I watch their flints spark with yearning. Just catch one piece of kindling, one. No luck.

     We resort to our flashlights, and climb unceremoniously into the tent. Our three sleeping bags are cramped together in our two person tent, but it's fairly comfortable. Suzie is allowed in, she is permitted to lie upon our feet, and she does - very quietly. We lay back our heads and listen to the thundering of the churning water. One by one, we close our eyes.

      
     We try to sleep away the cold.