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By SARAH SMILEY

What's Smiley Still Doing In Pensacola?

Dustin had been home from work for several hours one day this February when he suddenly made the following off-handed remark: “Oh, did I tell you that they added Bangor, Me., to our list of ‘options’ for the next duty station?”

First, “they” always means “the military” in statements such as this. And I put “options” in quotations because the word wrongly implies that we have any perceivable control over the situation – which I am about to prove.

We had been waiting for months to find out about Dustin’s next set of orders. We have been in Pensacola, Fla., for more than five years. Many of our friends and family (perhaps even you) had begun to forget that Dustin is in the Navy. It just didn’t make sense that we could stay in one place for so long, even if the actual reason was that Dustin had served as an instructor pilot for fixed-wing aircraft before switching to helicopter instruction.

I’ve lived the last two years waiting for the other shoe – er, flight boot – to drop, either with Dustin being sent on an IA (officially, “Individual Augmentation”) to Iraq or orders to Guam. I was always careful to write about our exact location lest the powers-that-be finally realize we had become so comfortable here in Florida, actually seeing trees grow and bloom. I worried that they (again meaning “the military”) might say, “What’s Smiley still doing in Pensacola? Let’s send that guy to Diego Garcia.”

We’ve had it so good for so long, we knew our time was about to come. The military likes to keep its people in a constant state of alternating between “this stinks” and “aren’t we lucky?” I think it’s part of their retention plan, but sometimes it feels more like playing the slot machines in Vegas.

It was a long, stressful period waiting for the list of places where Dustin could be sent, especially because we knew it literally could be any place that includes a Reserve Center. (Dustin’s next job will be commanding officer of a Reserve Center.) When the list of “options” (there’s that word again) finally came out, it was like Uncle Sam had chucked a handful of darts at the map. Our “options” were in three of the four corners of the country and many places in-between: Everett, Wash.; Columbus, Ga; Allentown, Pa; and places in Texas. We ranked our options one through six, as suggested by the detailer, in order of preference.

By February, I thought our list still was in the rough stages and had not been given to the detailer. So when Dustin mentioned Bangor, Me., being a last-minute option, I said, “Before you turn in the list, let’s look at it one more time together and make sure we are still in agreement.”

Dustin said, “Um, yeah, well… I kind of already turned in the list today.”

“You what? Before or after you heard about Bangor?”

When I thought about Bangor, I envisioned a city buried under constant snow and ice, a place as foreign to me as any overseas.

“Don’t worry, I put Bangor number seven out of seven, so there’s very little chance we’ll be sent there,” he said.

On April Fool’s Day – how fitting! – Dustin came home, pulled up a chair and said, “I think you should sit down for this.”

“We’re going to the west coast again, aren’t we?”

Dustin twisted up his face and smiled apologetically. “The boys have always wanted to see snow, right?” he said.

Yep, we’re going to Bangor, Me., the city that had conjured images of snow and ice on the day I had learned that Dustin had turned in the final list without showing it to me first – the city Dustin threw onto the list before I even knew it existed as an “option.”

“You’re going to be awfully cold in Maine, Dustin,” I told him. “When you’re shoveling 20-feet of snow, will you think about us here in Florida?”

However, after a lot of crying and wondering if this could provide reasonable grounds for divorce, I have come to a stage of acceptance – yes, even some excitement about the adventures that await us in Bangor. After all, Stephen King lives there. And I won’t have to embarrass myself by wearing a swimsuit. But there’s also skiing, L.L. Bean, Moosehead Lake, Acadia National Park, trips to Canada, trips to Boston and, of course, throwing snowballs at Dustin.

Uncle Sam probably is enjoying a good laugh at this. Or maybe Dustin’s detailer.

# # #

Sarah Smiley is the wife of a Navy pilot and daughter of a retired Navy pilot. She is the author of “Going Overboard: The Misadventures of a Military Wife” (Penguin/NAL), and her syndicated column “Shore Duty” appears weekly in military and civilian newspapers across the country. Read more about Sarah at her website, www.sarahsmiley.com.

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