How the Navy stole Christmas

My friend Shannon plans to re-enlist when the time comes.

I've never heard of a Nuke who actually liked being in the Navy. It's a hard job, with long hours and constantly changing demands.

"Why?" I asked.

She answered that she is a completely different person now than she was when she joined the Navy. As far as I'm concerned that is the same principle behind a lobotomy but I wouldn't willfully give myself one.

On the other hand, if you need to learn a lesson the Navy has no problem with teaching it to you in the most unnecessarily painful and frustrating way possible. That's good right?

For instance, Grant and I packed up all our worldly possessions in April. Well, actually a couple of movers packed them up and I watched. Grant was already out to sea.

We were told that all our paperwork was in order and our shipment called the Personal Property Shipment (PPS) would be in Japan by the time we got here. All I had to do was go to the PPS office and schedule the delivery to our apartment.

Well, as many of you know, when I got here in September, a full month later than I was originally supposed to arrive, not only was my PPS not here, but it hadn't even left Norfolk. Somebody had messed up some paperwork somewhere along the line. Our stuff went into permanent storage.

I was, shall we say, frustrated at this point. There was loaner furniture in my apartment, along with loaner sheets and a blanket, all of which I was allowed to keep for up to three months. But I had no dishes, no pots and pans, no towels or pillows, no television. I had a two bedroom apartment twice as large as our efficiency in Norfolk, but I had none of the comforts of home.

A nice man at the PPS office here called Norfolk and got things sorted out. They told him my PPS was being sent out as soon as possible and would arrive no later than Dec. 8.

At least I would get it before Christmas.

In the mean time Grant and I did our best. Grant had wanted a new TV anyway, so we bought one. Our old apartment hadn't had room for a couch or a dinning room table so we bought those too. We bought a futon for the spare room and decided we could bear to sleep on it for a couple of months. Grant would be out to sea for most of that so it wasn't a big deal.

One of my friends got her shipment in almost three weeks early. I was hoping mine would follow the same pattern. But the days came and went with no call from the PPS office. Thanksgiving was a bit of a challenge, but we bought cheap pots and pans, dishes and flatware and continue to make do. I comforted myself with the knowledge that I would have all my kitchen stuff by Christmas.

As the time passed, I found myself missing different things we owned but didn't have yet. Sometimes it was my teddy bear, Jacob. As the weather got cooler I missed my faux fur blanket and all the sweaters I hadn't brought because I wouldn't need them in August. Whenever I cooked I missed my old pots and pans. When I started writing for the Seahawk, the base newspaper, I missed my journalism books.

On Dec. 8, the day, I just want you to remember, my PPS was supposed to arrive no later than, I waited impatiently until Dec. 8 and called the PPS office. I gave the nice man my name, spelled it once, twice.

"I'll call you right back," he said.

He didn't call me back, but the PPS director did. My stuff wasn't here, wouldn't be here until Dec. 17. By which I mean that it was supposed to arrive on the shores of Japan on the ship scheduled to arrive Dec. 17. Then it would have to go through customs. Then, it would be put on a truck and brought to base, where it would be processed before it could be put on another truck and carried to my front door by super-efficient Japanese movers who take their shoes on and off every time they step inside your door. Oh, and customs closes down around the holiday season.

I was now, shall we say, severely frustrated.

"So, we're not going to get it before Christmas."

"We'll do our best." Well that was reassuring.

I hung up the phone, stared at the place where my Christmas tree should have been standing, and cried. I was still crying when poor Grant came home from work. He agreed to buy a live Christmas tree to make me feel better. I snapped that it wasn't about the stupid tree. Only it was.

I'm already far away from home, without my old friends and with no family but Grant. There's no snow. I missed the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Even Cartoon Network is still playing their "Summer Meltdown" cartoons.

The garland, the lights, the holly centerpiece, even the red, white and green wrapped presents didn't help. Without that Christmas tree - somehow it just didn't feel like Christmas.

I went to bed that night feeling sort of stupid. I knew Christmas would come with or without a tree. Christmas was inside me and all that gobbly-gook. A couplet from How the Grinch Stole Christmas was stuck on repeat in my mind.

"It came without ribbons, it came without tags, it came without packages, boxes or bags."

I puzzled and puzzed till my puzzler was sore. I could I solve this problem for myself?

The next morning I went to the NEX front lot and looked at the live Christmas trees. They were scraggly and sickly. Looking at them made me sad. That wasn't going to work.

I went inside. There was one fake tree left. It was eight feet tall, pre-lit and over $200. The price, the extravagance, that made me sad too.

I went out on town. I spent 700 yen or about $7 on something that makes me smile every time I see it. Problem solved.

I leave you today with the words of an unknown sage. "Happiness is optional," take the option.