Miriam wished for so much in those final moments. Yet as she closed her eyes, it was not regret any longer but a sensation of abundant peace that washed over her. She thought of her entry into this world, the harami child of a lowly villager, an unintended thing, a pitiable, regrettable accident. A weed. And yet she was leaving the world as a woman who had loved and been loved back. She was leaving it as a friend, a companion, a guardian. A mother. A person of consequence at last. No. It was not so bad, Miriam thought, that she should die this way. Not so bad. This was a legitimate end to a life of illegitimate belongings. –Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns
A fellow blogger is putting out a call for an Anti-Gun Person Willing To Talk. There are some qualifications, please go to her post for more info. (In all fairness, she is not a fellow blogger, but the female version of a fellow. I am not sure the word.)
Life on an aircraft carrier is busy. Sometimes I would charge around, looking to speak to this person or get to this space. Only, I had no clue how to get there. I was lost until I figured out the lay of the land.
Since I am adventorous, I like to find my way around. It was a goal to visit most spaces on the ship, but for obvious reasons, this was not possible. At lunch, I even once asked the nukes, the folks working on the reactor, if I could see it. It being the Reactor.
I was met with amused glares. No, they said. And the gave me two good reasons why not. The first was INSURV. And anyone in the Navy knows this is a big deal. (INSURV is a major inspection.)
Okay, I replied.
One week into my tour, I needed to get across the ship And I was on a level I was not used to traveling on. Bear in mind, I am usually crouching over part-the-ways too. So what I am about to share is an honest, although bone-headed, mistake.
I hang a left through a door I have never been through. It is quiet and peaceful in the space. And I smell something nice. Like trees. Remember, this is an aircraft carrier and the common smells are either food or jet fuel.
Then it hits me, it is a FEMALE berthing area. I turn around and hightail it out. I do not check the door to make sure, I do not collect 200 dollars. . .
I like words. New ones especially. Different ways of speaking, sure. So when I read this article on the highest ranking female in the British Army, I listened to how Brigadier Nicky Moffat described her experience:
I don’t feel that gender has been an issue for me. I don’t care if you are male or female, or black or white, gay or straight, right side of the tracks or the wrong side. I care what you deliver. To be fair, some people have been discriminated against, but I have not felt this applied to me. You are only going to get on in life if you push the door a bit and work hard and you overcome challenges and barriers. I am not a whinger. You don’t get on in a team if you are a whinger.
I am not a whinger either. Errrr, a whinger is a complainer, right? Going over to Google. One sec. Ah yes! We have a winner. Whiny and complaining. . .