Friday, July 11, 2014

No Man's War: Irreverent Confessions of an Infantry Wife.

Can I Just say how much I loved this book?
I was never an Infantry Wife - but being around the military for 25+ years, I get this book. I guarantee you will relate to the references about drinking the kool aid, Longaberger Parties, deployment situations and military life. I do not yet know Angela Ricketts - but I am sure am proud of her for writing this book.

I am hoping I can get up to the Tatter Cover on July 29th to see her in person  Event - LoDo

From the Publisher

Raised as an Army brat, Angie Ricketts thought she knew what she was in for when she eloped with Jack—then an infantry lieutenant—on the eve of his deployment to Somalia. Since that time, Jack, now a colonel, has been deployed eight times, serving four tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. And Ricketts, has lived every one of those deployments intimately—distant enough to survive the years spent apart from her husband, but close enough to share a common purpose and a lifestyle they both love. With humor, candor, and a brazen attitude, Ricketts pulls back the curtain on a subculture many readers know, but few ever will experience. Counter to the dramatized snap shot seen on Lifetime’s Army Wives, Ricketts digs into the personalities and posturing that officers’ wives must survive daily—whether navigating a social event on post, suffering through a husband’s prolonged deployment or reacting to a close friend’s death in combat. At its core, No Man’s War is a story of sisterhood and survival.

I’m a fresh start girl. Today is Day One. Today we start counting down the days, 455 to go. I walk into the bathroom and stare at his sink with his few ‘personal hygiene’ things neatly lined up. If I had to look at that tube of deodorant for fifteen months, pick it up to dust under it, I would surely lose my mind. No. My way is better. Fresh. I feel limp. Everything is gray. I decide to lie down before I start my ritual. The bed smells like him and it does not comfort me. I want that smell gone. It’s going to be fifteen months and I won’t be one of those women sleeping with some old t-shirt, clinging to his long faded scent. Part of my deployment ritual is to remove his daily things right away. It’s easier for me. I compartmentalize his crap, and I compartmentalize my emotions. That ugly faux leather recliner of his. I want this done before the kids return, so I drag it out to the garage. It does not come willingly; it fights me the whole way. It slams one of my toes, bringing a new round of tears and anger to my face. The chair refuses to comply, but I won’t let it stop me. Eventually it ends in the garage, pissed at me and defeated, but satisfied at having the last word by leaving a huge gouge in the new hardwood floors. That will be my one constant reminder of this day for the next fifteen months.

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