DATE: Thursday, Oct 2, 1997                 TAG: 9710010607

SECTION: LOCAL                   PAGE: B3   EDITION: FINAL 

COLUMN: The Home Front 

TYPE: Military 

SOURCE: Jacey Eckhart 

                                            LENGTH:   72 lines

A ROLLING STONE GATHERS MOSS BUT MUST PACK IT OFF TO D.C.

I should have known we were sunk when that submariner's family moved into our back yard.

After all, when we transferred here a year ago, we were lucky enough to find a neighborhood where we walk to both schools and church. I had discovered an honest mechanic who tenderly, patiently and masterfully explained the intricacies of my transmission. I trained the manager at Baskin Robbins to whip up one of those Cappuccino Blasts as soon as she saw me coming. And I found two - count 'em, two - reliable teen-age baby sitters who do not smoke, drink or beat the children - and they play Candyland.

My only problem with Norfolk was the dearth of little girls in our neighborhood for my 7-year-old to play with. I thought that obstacle alone was enough to hex us and ensure that we would be here for at least a couple more years.

Then this sub family shows up with FOUR splendid daughters who not only whisk Kelsey away every afternoon, but today they begged to have Sam come over, too. Bliss, bliss, bliss.

I should have known it was just too good to last.

I had just snuggled down in the loveseat with the newest Dick Francis novel on my lap and a bowl of chips at my side when the phone rang. It was Brad, sounding pleased.

``Talked to the detailer, Jace,'' he said. ``We've got orders to D.C.!''

``Great,'' I said, flatly. Washington, D.C. - home of Our Nation's Capitol, $3 gallons of milk and no sea pay. ``When do we leave?''

``Right after Christmas. Isn't that great? Gotta go. I've got visitors.'' He hung up and I banged around the kitchen, annoyed with myself for being annoyed.

Did I really think that we would be able to stay in Norfolk? After nine moves in 10 years, I ought to have learned that when the Navy uses the phrase ``Permanent Change of Station,'' it is a relative term. I've had bottles of Tabasco sauce that lasted longer than this move. I've had pregnancies that lasted longer than this move. I've had bills from our last move that lasted longer than this move!

Why do we have to move again, I asked myself, furiously chopping carrots for the salad. Other Navy families don't have to move so much. They spend their entire careers flitting from one job to another, all in the same area code. One of Brad's college friends landed in Norfolk right after flight school and has been here ever since. A family on the corner is making its first PCS move in 10 years. None of the chiefs in Brad's department has moved more than four times over their entire careers.

So why do we have to move again? Why?

Brad always says you have to go where the job is - and where the job is differs from community to community. You have to get your ticket punched, he tells me.

I know that. I probably know it better than he does. After all, I am the one who sees Brad's progress from job to job. I see how he applies the things he's learned at each command, how he is better at managing people problems, how he is amazing at troubleshooting everything mechanical.

Understanding the system, however, doesn't stop me from wishing that the Navy would be content with a Virtual Brad while the real Brad stays cozily in Norfolk. I've got things for him to do. But it swears it needs his actual body. Thus, my actual body and all our worldly goods will have to move to D.C., too.

I finished the salad and put it in the fridge, then headed out the back door to make sure Sam wasn't torturing the girls. The screen door banged loudly behind me. Someone should fix that.

Usually, I am more than ready to leave a place when Brad gets orders, ready to roll right out of there and leave that town's traffic problems, local politics and banging screen doors behind.

Somehow, I have been caught gathering moss this time. I've gathered too many people and too many things in one place. This time, I just don't want to let go.

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