A hunk, a chunk, and more; or, Quick cash now!

Much earlier I wrote about a common Gitmo saying---you leave Gitmo either a hunk, a chunk, or a drunk. I heard an even better (and probably truer) version: You leave a hunk, a chunk, a drunk. . . or a monk.

There's a serious shortage of women on this base.

Not that I don't mind hearing "Yes, ma'am!" and having doors opened for me everywhere I go.

I do imagine it's difficult being single here, so MWR does a lot of free or almost-free programming for single and unaccompanied service people---kayak and biking trips, hikes, bingo night (seriously), golfing tournaments, ceramics classes, etc. MWR stands for Morale, Welfare, and Recreation for you non-military folks---and even though at first glance, recreation programs may seem like a no-brainer when it comes to budget cuts in difficult times, they are so crucial for the morale of a small, isolated base with very limited facilities, especially for people away from their families or alone. Despite what this place is lacking as far as places to hang out, MWR does a great job of trying to entertain everyone, even us non-military folks.

Tonight I took advantage of one of the MWR programs and went to a pottery class. It was so much fun---they have a slab roller, extruder, and several wheels. You can buy boxes of clay and store it there. Glazes are cheap and they fire everything for free. Plus it's a great way to spend a couple of hours, whether you are single (and perhaps lonely) or just are looking to learn something new. I foresee a mother/daughter pottery date next week.

I have become part of the coterie of parents who scream out their back doors, "Hey _____, come in! It's dinner time!"  This evening I saw a tree next to the playground undulating in a very unnatural matter---it definitely wasn't the wind---so I went to check it out and realized there was a kid in the top of the tree (thankfully, not my kid) shaking these out:

A bounty of beautiful mangoes.They are green and small, but we'll see what happens once they ripen. 

Our youngest has decided that he wants an iPad, and once he realized his $37 wasn't going to buy one, he's planning and scheming ways to make money. He had all these bundled in his shirt and said, "Mommy, mommy, I have a GREAT IDEA. I can open a store, right in my room, and right in my room I can sell FRUIT." 

Sounds like a TERRIFIC idea, right?!?!?  

The idea of hundreds of sticky, green mangoes in his bedroom really frightens me, so I had to break it to him gently that there will be NO FRUIT SALES in this casa since it's probably illegal and with all the trees on base, the demand for mangoes is as low as the price. 

That stopped him. . . I hope. 

By the way, the oldest informed us (correctly) that mangoes belong to the same family as poison ivy, and the skin contains urushiol, the oil in poison ivy that makes some people break out. You can get contact dermatitis just from touching them, and some people are very allergic to them. I am the only one of the four of us not allergic to poison ivy, so I guess we'll find out in the morning how our fruit gatherer faired, since he managed to get sap from head to toe before his brother gave us the dinner time lecture on the perils of picking mangoes. 

Spring Break has officially begun for the kids, so maybe our little schemer can think of another way to get some quick cash while he's out of school.