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greatbearIt has been an interesting couple of days at the Interstellar Mayhem Command Station. Yesterday I had the opportunity to go with Jeff and experience something neither of us ever partaken in before. A Seder dinner. Yes, your favorite atheist sat among Jeff's boss' extended family and joined in one of their most sacred traditions. And despite the storm clouds that began to gather when I read some of the passages, no storm of measure arose, and I got to experience firsthand a religious tradition. Even popped on a kippah. While it isn't going to make me run out and convert to Judaism, I gained a bit of insight from the inside. While I was vaguely aware of what was involved and why it is done, it was actually interesting and rather fun taking part. It's a tradition as well as a history lesson that finishes with a lot of great food. I tried everything from gefilte fish to matzoh ball soup and more familiar fare such as corned beef and cabbage with potatoes as well as beef brisket and potato latkes (the familiar stuff being that which my Mom made quite often). Most of all I was honored to take part in a ceremonial dinner with their family. They treat Jeff and I like a part of their family.
Today I got an early call from Jeff telling me that he had forgotten his daily medications which he would take into work. Since he works in Ft. Meade, I have to go through the process of having my vehicle inspected to get on base. About a month ago I got to see first hand where Jeff works and have lunch with him after taking the full tour of the brand new facilities. This time I simply dropped off his meds and he surprised me with a little lunch at the car. He was too busy to take time for lunch with me, and I expected that. Why was today such a big deal, you might ask? Well, I was born at Ft. Meade just about 50 years ago. Mom and Dad were Army, and our world centered around Ft. Meade. All our shopping, medical care, recreation and whatnot took place in and around the base. I had not been on base for probably 20 years, and ever since 9/11 the base has had restricted access. I took for granted the ability to come and go as I pleased, and once the place locked down, I figured it was a done deal, no more little visits.
I had not been able to make use of most of the facilities since turning 18 anyway, though I had a friend that could get me into some of the places after my ID had expired. The first time I visited Jeff for lunch, I took a trip through a part of the base as I was leaving. I still remember the place like the back of my hand. Some stuff has remained unchanged, other facilities like the old troop barracks have disappeared, while some stuff is entirely new like Jeff's workplace. This time I took a different route and spent a bit more time around the places close to my youth. The movie theater, the park and lake where I spent my summers at day camp, and of course, the hospital, among other things. This time around, I broke down crying, since so many memories came flooding back of time spent with Mom, our earliest history is still there on that old army base. But I smiled and remembered all those fond memories. Hell, the place still has that "smell" that is impossible to describe, and I really felt like I had gone home again, even for the mere twenty or thirty minutes I spent driving around. I remembered so much, some of which had formed the core of my being. Even the one old pool where I went swimming twice to three times a day during the summer (and got tanned a deep brown and my hair bleached nearly white) is still there. The garage where Mom would take the car in for repairs, and where I would spend so much time begging for old parts to play with. I learned a lot there, but I remember the most how, even as a 7 year old, how I would completely baffle the mechanics with my knowledge of engines and cars and what have you. I got to take home some old part if I knew what it was. I'd come out of there with a box so full I couldn't carry it.
While it was an emotional trip, it was a good one. What really surprises me is how "small" the place feels these days. While I had been around the place well into my adult life, my absence for all those years coupled with huge changes in my life has obviously altered my perspectives. The long abandoned commissary looks like a tiny brick warehouse compared to even a modest grocery today. But all those years ago, it was so big and rambling. Mom's ID expired several years before mine, so I got tasked to do a lot of the shopping, and I did very well I might add. Likewise the old PX, the original building is gone, just an empty space with a couple newish little trees remains, the new facility has expanded since I was last inside. Just like so much of my life, I had to become "the man of the house" when Dad left us when I was only 5. I don't regret this at all, since the independent nature which defines me and my willingness and ability to make a life for myself and my loved ones came from those early days, was fostered in a relatively small "town" that had everything we needed, and, as a found out those two recent days, still holds my early life among its streets, fields and buildings. I'm glad it's still there. I was able to go back home again.
Today I got an early call from Jeff telling me that he had forgotten his daily medications which he would take into work. Since he works in Ft. Meade, I have to go through the process of having my vehicle inspected to get on base. About a month ago I got to see first hand where Jeff works and have lunch with him after taking the full tour of the brand new facilities. This time I simply dropped off his meds and he surprised me with a little lunch at the car. He was too busy to take time for lunch with me, and I expected that. Why was today such a big deal, you might ask? Well, I was born at Ft. Meade just about 50 years ago. Mom and Dad were Army, and our world centered around Ft. Meade. All our shopping, medical care, recreation and whatnot took place in and around the base. I had not been on base for probably 20 years, and ever since 9/11 the base has had restricted access. I took for granted the ability to come and go as I pleased, and once the place locked down, I figured it was a done deal, no more little visits.
I had not been able to make use of most of the facilities since turning 18 anyway, though I had a friend that could get me into some of the places after my ID had expired. The first time I visited Jeff for lunch, I took a trip through a part of the base as I was leaving. I still remember the place like the back of my hand. Some stuff has remained unchanged, other facilities like the old troop barracks have disappeared, while some stuff is entirely new like Jeff's workplace. This time I took a different route and spent a bit more time around the places close to my youth. The movie theater, the park and lake where I spent my summers at day camp, and of course, the hospital, among other things. This time around, I broke down crying, since so many memories came flooding back of time spent with Mom, our earliest history is still there on that old army base. But I smiled and remembered all those fond memories. Hell, the place still has that "smell" that is impossible to describe, and I really felt like I had gone home again, even for the mere twenty or thirty minutes I spent driving around. I remembered so much, some of which had formed the core of my being. Even the one old pool where I went swimming twice to three times a day during the summer (and got tanned a deep brown and my hair bleached nearly white) is still there. The garage where Mom would take the car in for repairs, and where I would spend so much time begging for old parts to play with. I learned a lot there, but I remember the most how, even as a 7 year old, how I would completely baffle the mechanics with my knowledge of engines and cars and what have you. I got to take home some old part if I knew what it was. I'd come out of there with a box so full I couldn't carry it.
While it was an emotional trip, it was a good one. What really surprises me is how "small" the place feels these days. While I had been around the place well into my adult life, my absence for all those years coupled with huge changes in my life has obviously altered my perspectives. The long abandoned commissary looks like a tiny brick warehouse compared to even a modest grocery today. But all those years ago, it was so big and rambling. Mom's ID expired several years before mine, so I got tasked to do a lot of the shopping, and I did very well I might add. Likewise the old PX, the original building is gone, just an empty space with a couple newish little trees remains, the new facility has expanded since I was last inside. Just like so much of my life, I had to become "the man of the house" when Dad left us when I was only 5. I don't regret this at all, since the independent nature which defines me and my willingness and ability to make a life for myself and my loved ones came from those early days, was fostered in a relatively small "town" that had everything we needed, and, as a found out those two recent days, still holds my early life among its streets, fields and buildings. I'm glad it's still there. I was able to go back home again.
