RAFINO

RAFINO Report
ISSUE 21 - Fall 1998 
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THE ARMY WIFE

(Ed: This anonymously written poem was printed in our RAFINO Report a number of years ago.  But, considering that it contains an ageless truth about the wonderful ladies in our lives whose love and contributions to our careers are immeasurable, and since there is ample room for it in this issue, plus surely some of you have not seen it before -- we tip our hats to the ladies once again!:)

"Who said that 'Variety is the spice of life'?
No doubt 'twas first said by an Army wife!

For the poor girl never knows just where she's at.
Her home is wherever he parks his hat.
She moves every two months into a new set of quarters,
during which time she births sons and daughters. 
She packs up to move to the plains of Nebraska - 
then orders are changed and they go to Alaska!
Her house may be a hut with no room for expansion,
it may be a tent or perhaps it's a mansion.
Then she uncrates the furniture in snow or in rain,
and hangs up the pictures between labor pains.
She wrangles saw horses and builds all the beds, and
curtains of target cloth she last used for spreads.
And during each move - now isn't it strange? --
the brats invariably catch mumps, measles, or mange!
She no more than gets settled when she must dress up 
pretty, and go to a party and be charming and witty.
She must know contract rules, Canasta and chess,
and whether a straight or a flush is best.
On every subject she must know how to discourse, 
and know the songs and traditions of the U.S. Armed 
Force.
She must swim, ski and golf, and learn how to tend bar, 
and she fast learns all details of how he won the war!
She jitterbugs with Lts. who always are glamorous
then waltzes with Colonels who usually are amorous!
She must drink all concoctions - gin, whiskey and beer,
but of course moderately, or she'll ruin his career!
He insists on economy, questions every check stub,
yet her house must be run like a hotel or club.
For she entertains at all hours, both early and late,
and the number of guests may be eighty or eight!
The first of each month there is plenty of cash. 
She serves turkey and ham, but the last week it's hash.
She juggles the budget for a new tropical worsted,
though the seams on her best outfit have bursted.
Then she gets the uniform payments arranged,
when the blouse is no good - Regulations have
changed!

One year she has servants and lives like a lady,
the next she does her own work and has a new baby.
That there'll be a bank balance she has no assurance,
it all goes for liquor or some damned insurance.
At an age to retire, he is still hale and hearty,
fit as a fiddle, the life of the party.
While she is old and haggard, cranky and nervous,
really a wreck after his thirty years of service!
But even then when all's said and done
she still believes that Army life's fun.
She has lived every minute, and, why, good grief, she'd
have been bored with a doctor or merchant chief!
But there's one fancy medal, and service men wear it,
but it's their wives who should have it -
THE LEGION OF MERIT ! ! "