THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, January 8, 1997 TAG: 9701080507
SECTION: MILITARY NEWS PAGE: A10 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: THE HOME FRONT
SOURCE: BY JACEY ECKHART
LENGTH: 70 lines
Our friend Jim brags to his buddies that on his Med cruise he was the only one in the squadron who never once came back from calling home wishing that he hadn't.
``He wasn't perfect,'' says his wife Jeanne. ``He called me from Naples at three in the morning knee-walkin' drunk, but I didn't yell at him. When he is calling collect it's just too expensive to say anything worse than `I love you madly.' ''
Brad never does anything on cruise worth yelling about. He usually finds someone on the ship who is interested in finding the best fish-head soup in Singapore or the finest eels in Argentina. If he does drink a little too much, he just throws up quietly into his hat. That is punishment enough.
I had just put the kids in their pajamas on New Year's Eve when the operator announced Brad's call. I gladly accepted the charges and reveled in the sound of his voice, as warm and sweet as a dish of caramel sauce.
``The food we are eating here is incredible,'' he said. ``We had roast pork and this thing like mushroom quiche and three kinds of vegetables and champagne!'' I could hear the light in his voice mixed with wine and good cheer.
The children waltzed in the hallway as we talked about his week in Italy. They clamored for the telephone, talking to Daddy just long enough to say their I-love-yous, shooting away with enough excitement to keep them kinetic until midnight.
I grabbed the receiver before it hit the floor, ready to tell him about our epic journey to Ohio and how sick the kids had been with the flu. I wanted to tell him how Kelsey was holding up the corner of her nightgown while she danced, like Eliza Doolittle at the Embassy Ball. But he wasn't ready to listen.
``And Venice! You would love Venice, Jace,'' he said. ``I've been to a lot of places, but Venice is one of the very few I have to go back to. There aren't any cars inside the city. You have to walk everywhere. It's very 15th century.''
He went on about a conversation he had with a German national in Venice concerning the prevalence of sauces in French cooking, and I felt my blood begin to simmer. I was ready to tell him about cleaning up the cough syrup his son had vomited on my bed. I was ready to describe the elegant canned chili we had eaten for our New Year's Eve supper. Instead I held my tongue. Forcibly. In my hand.
``I miss you. I miss you. I love you,'' he said. He hung up and happily headed back to his rack, hoping to sleep in, the next day being a holiday. I hung up and I was back on duty, marshaling little people through their bedtime regimen, alone, for the 36th time in a row.
I marched downstairs and made myself take the stupid ornaments off the tree as I'd planned. Suddenly, I hated Christmas. Our ornaments were flung in boxes and crammed in a trunk. Will I remember why I did such a bad job when I unpack them next year? I went to bed with a splitting headache, just in time to hear the rest of the world welcome the New Year.
The next morning I put the rest of the Christmas decorations away neatly, rolling lights back into their boxes and folding stockings in tissue paper. Jeanne would tell me I was jealous, that I should get over it.
I do want Brad to have a great time when he is in port - the best - but I wish I was with him. I want to see the canals of Venice, too, not the puddles of Norfolk. I sat down and wrote him a letter.
Early yesterday morning I got another call. I answered the phone with sleep in my voice and the sun in my eyes.
``You know, honey, I've been thinking,'' Brad said. ``There is really only one place I want to be. Right there with you.''
Some calls are worth every dime. MEMO: Jayce Eckhart is married to a sailor in the Nassau Amphibious
Ready Group, which accompanied the Theodore Roosevelt Battle Group to
the Med in November. His ship spent the holidays in Trieste, Italy.