Mrs. Petty Officer, I presume...

Jumping ahead a few steps....

After a simple civil ceremony, we each signed a piece of paper, (our marriage license) and it was official. Shortly thereafter, we boarded a plane and headed for California to start our life together as husband and wife.

We drove from the airport to our new home, the spacious apartment he shared with one of his co-workers off base. I spent about an hour puttering around my new place, looking in the cupboards, figuring out where to put my clothes and getting a feel for the place. My new husband, Jack, and I got back in the car to take care of business... military business.

Our first challenge was getting on base. Jack, of course, had his Military ID, and showed it to the guard at the gate. The guard raised an eyebrow at me, wanting to see my ID, too. I dug in my purse and pulled out my Texas driver’s license. This was not what he wanted to see. We had to pull the car into the security area and get a pass so Jack could bring me on the Base. I was beginning to feel like a stranger in a strange land.

Properly permitted, we went into the medical clinic where Jack worked as a corpsman (more on this at a later date). We went on a whirlwind tour of the place, where I was introduced to his Commanding Officer (CO), the Chaplain, several of his coworkers, and several ranking Officers in the clinic. I did not know or realize it at the time, but he had to get permission to marry me from his CO, and he had spoken to the Chaplain at length about our marriage. I thought he was introducing me to these people for my benefit (which of course, it was), but he was really introducing me to his Command as part of his duty as a sailor.

Next, we headed off to a Personnel office. We filled out a stack of paperwork and gave the clerk a copy of our marriage license. It was a Federal holiday, Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, so they were not able to issue me an ID card. The clerk apologized profusely, which I found puzzling. I smiled and waved, and said I'd be back another day to get my ID. The next stop was the Commissary - also known as the grocery store in the Civilian world. Jack, the bachelor, did not have a lot of stuff in his kitchen and we both knew we would have to do some serious grocery shopping if I was ever going to make him dinner. It was a strange place, indeed. I had never seen 30 varieties of rice at my local Albertsons in Houston.

We did a pretty good job of filling our grocery cart and headed for the checkout lanes. Jack had his ID in hand. The cashier asked to see my ID. She had not even started ringing us up yet. She and I both looked at him and started firing off questions. He made at "time out" sign with his hands and we both stopped. Jack told the clerk we had just gotten married and they could not issue me an ID card because it was a Federal holiday. She looked at him and me and him. I was all giddy and giggly... we showed our brand new shiny matching wedding bands. She reluctantly went ahead and rang up our order, which Jack paid for with his debit card. I was beside myself with confusion.

As we were wheeling our groceries to the car I was asking questions a mile a minute. Why did he have to show his ID if he was not writing a check? What was the deal with the clerk giving me a hard time? blah, blah, blah, blah blah.