Life overseas is one of the nicest perks of military life, but can also be one of the toughest adjustments.

In this week's Spouse Calls and next, military spouses share their advice about oerseas life and overseas moves.

"We loved everything about living in Germany except being far from those we loved," said Army wife Elsabeth Ridderhoff.

"We missed some American shopping and Chick-Fil-A, but that's why you go home a few times. Being an ocean away from family was the hardest thing. When something went wrong here or at home, it was very hard to be so far away and unable to help of be here."

I was privileged to interview two innovative and intrepid women this month. Each has reached out to meet a need. Each has taken chances and broken new ground to do what she feels called to do. These two women come from different worlds and see different needs. But each started from scratch to do the work she was called to do, planting the seed with her own funds, time and passion. Both are seeing the fruit of their work.

Both are named Sally:

The Air Force Combat Action Medal has been recently awarded to an airman at Ramstein. Congratulations to Sgt. Robert Scheel.

This has already made news on the main Stripes web site, in a story by Jennifer Svan. It is noteworthy here, because the medal was designed by an Air Force spouse, Susan Gamble. Susan is also a Master Designer at the U.S. Mint.

Read more about her in this Spouse Calls Column from April.

The first medals were awarded in 2007, as noted in this Stripes story by Lisa Burgess.

The Oct. 11 Spouse Calls was written by grown-up military brats about their experiences, both good and bad. I am always interested in the perspectives of the entire military family. We often can make the best of even the worst of times.

An online article from a military town newspaper describes current military kids at their best, even if their singing was less than Idol-worthy. Read this guest column from The News-Enterprise of Hardin County Kentucky, written by the garrison commander at Fort Knox: 'Worst' rendition of anthem was 'perfect.'

You will be proud.

As pity parties go, it was a beaute -- and no one was invited but me.

I was in a post-move funk and feeling pretty sorry for myself a few weeks ago. I wrote a column about being "the new kid" and feeling alone at my daughter's open house. The response from readers was immediate. I got more letters after that column than just about any other, and some of those are featured in this week's Spouse Calls.

Most were relieved to hear that they are not alone in their loneliness. Several wrote to offer me encouragement and wisdom, and all of it taken to heart.

"Pumpkins!"

I'm sure I said it out loud -- even though I was shopping alone. I had recently had a conversation with a friend about the lack of pumpkins at the commissary. I was struck by the irony of a sign in the previously pumpkinless store that proclaimed "Pumpkin carving headquarters!" Yes, there were the implements, but not the implementees.

Until today. I walked into the commissary, and there they were in living color: brilliant orange and gold. And I have to say the timing was perfect. October has just arrived. Leaves are falling.

I did not park near the store. I was planning to grab flour and sugar and go (after paying, of course.) But once I saw them, I was determined to take those beautiful orange orbs home today!

There's that point in a move when there is no light at the end of the tunnel -- at either end. It feels like the transition is endless: Can't remember when it started and can't project when it will be over. In some moves, this experience hits harder than others. This was one of those moves for me.

I almost didn't recognize myself in the middle of that dark tunnel. What happened to the "real" me, the one who knows everything will turn out right?

I wrote this week's Spouse Calls column while visiting my hometown in Oklahoma. I was shamlessly sipping cappucino, writing about the "Small World" of military life, while my daughter slaved away at driver's education class. When her class was over, I picked her up and took her to get a burger at the local Braum's.

As we walked in, Jessie did a classic double take and said "That looks like ... but it can't be."

"Can't be who?" I asked.

"Miss Cathy."

I looked and immediately saw the woman, who was either Jessie's dance teacher in Ramstein, Germany, or a dead ringer, down to wardrobe and hairstyle.