Yes, indeed it did!
Those of you who have been following my rambles and rants about this, that and everything know that I had a cunning plan. The plan was to work my way into the good graces of the home office and not have to work 100 road miles away from Chez Sarge.
This entailed working two days a week Up North and two days a week at the home office. Just to make sure that they remembered who I was and what I looked like you see. Every week was two "road games" and two "home games". It was starting to get rather wearying. But...
As the bit above indicates, the cunning plan has borne fruit.
It has succeeded.
I make my triumphant return to the home office this Monday, next.
I am as surprised as my colleagues, who felt that my quest to return to the home office was rather in the vein of Don Quixote. Well, it seems that I was not tilting at windmills.
Warning - Tangent Alert!
Speaking of windmills. When la famiglia Sarge had the opportunity one summer (long ago) to spend time in the delightful state of Mississippi, we rented a condo. Which was furnished. Which had maid service. It also had a pool and was just across the highway from the beach (Gulf Coast doncha know).
As the Missus is no slacker when it comes to order and cleanliness in the family quarters, the maid had very little to do at our place. My wife convinced her to set a spell and take her ease when she came to our place. For you see, the maid was in her sixties and my wife felt bad about her having to work so hard. So instead of cleaning for 30 minutes or so, the maid would sit and chat with the Missus and the progeny.
Now the Nuke and the WSO took to the maid as she was funny and had lots of good stories for to enchant the young ladies. Now the maid had a very old-timey, Deep Southern accent.
While the WSO was still in diapers and wasn't really at the coherent speech part of her life journey, the Nuke (being two years older) was learning language at an unbelievable rate. But to this day, her voice will still (with some words) come out sounding like a sixty-year old black woman from Mississippi.
What does this have to do with windmills you ask? Be patient, I'm getting there.
Four-ish years later when we were assigned to Germany, we found a home in a very lovely little village. The village of Waldfeucht. (Which translates loosely to "damp forest". It was mostly farmland when we lived there, I guess back in Roman times there was probably a forest there. A damp one.)
At any rate, I came home from work in the early days of our life in the "damp forest" and when I walked into Unser Hause, the Nuke came running up to me and announced, "Daddy, daddy, our town has a wint-meal!" (Do that last bit slowly, it has to be drawled out. If y'all know what I mean.)
"A wint-what?" I queried.
Well, the Nuke repeated herself once or twice, then stomped off absolutely convinced that I was as stupid as the day is long. (She still thinks that. I have to admit, I have given her lots of evidence to support that particular theory over the years!)
Finally I puzzled it out. Wint-meal equals windmill.
Wow, that was a long tangent.
Back to Our Saga...
Alright, it's not much of a saga, more of an epic tale. No, no, no, that's not right either. Oh, I've got it, "Back to Our Story".
So this coming Monday, the 20th of August in the Year of Our Lord Two-Thousand and Twelve, I once again am assigned to my home base on a permanent basis. I may still need to go Up North on occasion during the transition from the old project to the new project.
But I'm home. That's what really matters.
But truth be told, I shall greatly miss the Folks Up North. They are good people and I had a great time working with them. Today was my last day of being "on loan" up there. It was bittersweet as I had to say Au revoir to some awesome people. Perhaps we'll meet again. I truly hope so.
But I'm home!
But for the Folks Up North, I give you one of my favorite pipe tunes, The Skye Boat Song. Enjoy!