Brave New World; or, Techno-slothing

Technology has hit GTMO.

So instead of using the pay phone to call home, I can whip out my cell phone---the same cell phone that can call US numbers---and talk any time I want. I no longer have to wait to find a (free) public phone to call my house or my husband at work, which depending on where I was on base, once meant I could possibly stand in line. Yes, just like in the 1970s. Also I don't have to spend about $20 for a single decent phone conversation with a friend or family member in the U.S. anymore. 

a ball gown, a garden gnome, a diet Coke, and an honest-to-God functional phone booth

Okay, mom, now that I figured out how to close the phone booth,
how do I get out of this thing? 

You can't miss it, either. With little grace or effort to hide our oblivion to our surroundings, we have become an island of people who walk with our heads hanging towards the ground (or sitting and staring at our crotches). Welcome to the 21st century, GTMO---it ain't pretty. 

I'm just waiting for someone to walk into the Windjammer Pool or step on a not-so-friendly iguana or into the Bay because they aren't paying attention. And I'm sure someone else will be there with a cell phone, filming it all and posting it on Youtube, which we can all now watch without waiting hours to buffer.

I used to consider myself a tech-saavy kinda gal, but four long years of technology draught has made me feel like a doofus.  I am still not used to carrying a cell phone. I leave it at home. I leave it at work. I have people texting me, where are you? Do you ever answer your texts?  And the answer: only if I remember my phone. 

After 4 years of not using a cell phone, I forget to turn off the ringer at the most embarrassing moments. I don't ever check my voice mail. Even before trying to cut off my finger, I was awful at texting. And talking on it? I've always hated talking on the phone, so I'm bad about using it.

I was in my house last weekend and I heard a weird buzzing. It REALLY freaked me out. 

I've had hummingbirds fly into my classroom more than once (the last time, a student calmly and patiently opened her hand, and when finally rewarded with a tiny hummingbird gently landing on her palm, she released it unharmed outside---true story). We have other insects and animals that make vibrating, buzzing noises, too. So I'm thinking, it's a bird. It's a weird beetle or huge moth. It's a snake. It's a weird tropical creature that probably carries an incurable tropical disease, and it's in my bedroom.

It was none of the above. It was my cell phone making that unusual ring tone/buzzing noise to indicate that someone is trying to do facebook chat. 

And just like that, I'm talking to a friend in South Korea. It's awesome! But it's so strange, because I feel like I have been in a vortex of 1980s technology and missed out on 10 years instead of four. 

Oh, what I've missed out on.

There's the world of Youtube.
Of course we had Youtube before higher speed internet, but between buffering and the internet just stopping (or never even working), I never, ever watched those videos everyone seems to post on socal media:

Cats scared of cucumbers.
Cats riding on Roombas.
Music videos. I didn't realize bands still make music videos.
Vine compilations. 
Inspirational quotes set to music that are really, really, corny, but some days are exactly what I want to see.
Videos of people playing video games. And they get paid (a lot, evidently) for it. Seriously, W.T.H? 

And there is THIS viral video that just happens to feature my GTMO buddy's granddaughter, Aurora.

And right on time for the election---the nasty, vile, sometimes erroneous (okay, many times erroneous) information out there, many times in the form of fake-but-real looking news reports--- I sort of decided to quit watching Youtube so much and don't really click on people's videos on facebook anymore. A few weeks was enough. I'm totally over it now. 

Like my cell phone, I like to take my Youtube in moderation.

But then there is Netflix and Apple TV.

I had Netflix before moving here in 2012, but I find myself gobsmacked at what's out there and what I've missed in four years. 

I really *really* feel like I'm getting nothing productive done because I have access to television on demand. I am really overdoing it.

Like watching an entire season of Nurse Jackie with a friend in one sitting. Or watching all seasons of Scandal (don't judge) or trying to catch all of Gilmore Girls (again, no judging) so I can catch the special over Thanksgiving weekend. 

I had a friend who won't be named (and sometimes reads this) who grew up without a television in her home. When she bought her first house, she went out and bought a t.v. In a few days, she took it back. The store wanted to know what was wrong with it. Nothing, she said. I just watch it too much.

So this Brave New World, the one with cell phone calls (and facetime!) and television on demand (and youtube!) and viral videos, video chats, instagram, and facebook----I am a little overwhelmed. And I am underwhelmed. I do sort of miss working my way through a novel or a magazine in attempts to get to sleep. I miss stopping everything in my life so I didn't miss the one and only showing of Game of Thrones on HBO Sunday night (no on-demand here). It gave me a place to be and something to do consistently. 

Instead, now I can become even more of a hermit and choose to spend all evening on the back porch, my bedroom, or most bizarrely, in the den, watching something with headphones, while my kids and husband are sitting a few feet away, doing the same thing. 

I love being able to connect with more people in more places---it is SO hard to maintain friendships via messenger, because so much is missed in a text conversation---but I also feel like a true techno-sloth. In connecting with people outside the home, I feel cut off from what's around me. 

So with that, forgive me if I don't return your texts or call back if you leave a voice mail. I probably have left my cell in the car or at work, or the sound is turned completely off. If you message me on facebook and it seems like I'm online but ignoring you, it's only because I can't figure out how to make it look like I'm not on 24 hours a day. If I don't answer your calls, it may be because I am not fast enough to slide that stupid bar on the phone. Or I had the sound turned off and now it's dead, so calling it doesn't do any good in trying to find it. Or it's locked and I can't unlock it fast enough, because my fingers are TOO DAMN SLOW. 

And if I text you about my thong, it's actually supposed to be thing. 

Trust me on this.  

Island Hopping; or, A Quickie Vacation

We just got back from a quick weekend jaunt off GTMO for a mental health break/shopping spree. My wallet's a lot lighter, but my spirits are high (or at least until I go back to work on Monday).

Sign in shop window, St. Simons Island, GA

Things you take for granted while living in the US:

Trains

Can you imagine living in a place where you never, ever see a train? So seeing a train in Jacksonville made me feel absolutely giddy. It was like being a 5 year old again, counting trains and waiting for the caboose. (Am I the only one who misses cabooses?)

Contrails

Conspiracy enthusiasts aside, most people never really think about them. Few flights and one small airport = few contrails. Some days we don't have flights at all. If you see a moving light in the sky at night here, it's a shooting star. You forget about all the traffic above you. And also. . .

Street traffic

Driving more than 35 mph. People smoking or talking on their phones or putting on lipstick while driving. Red lights (we don't have any). Multiple radio stations. People driving nice cars instead of hooptie GTMO specials. On the road is a strange and marvelous place once you've been in GTMO.

Squirrels! 

Screaming "Squirrel!" every time we saw one never got old, because we have the only squirrel in Cuba.

Choices

Dear god, the choices. Clothes, groceries, rental cars. Hotels, meals, menu items. None of the "I'm sorry, we are out of bread/cheese/lettuce/meat" craziness that may or may not ensue when ordering a meal here. More than one gas station, grocery store, clothes store. And book stores! I so miss book stores. I like to pick up a book, read the jacket, and thumb through the pages before buying it. You can't do that with Amazon online (and we don't really get books at our one store here).

Stranger Danger

We have lived in a very safe place the last 4 years. I am used to running at night, by myself, wearing headphones and my biggest safety concern is that a big, fat, slow banana rat will wander out onto the sidewalk and into my path. I park at the store with the car unlocked. I'm not sure where my house key is. The biggest safety difference is my now-10 year old has lived 1st-4th grades here and has no real sense of "stranger danger" anymore. I do believe Americans live in an overly sensationalized society, where most children are kidnapped by disgruntled parents, not strangers, but that doesn't sell news, so we are terrified of strangers. Unfortunately, living here means my son now wanders off in huge stores. He doesn't bat an eye when strangers ask him questions that in GTMO are innocent, but in the States, cause a parent to raise an eyebrow. We haven't had to worry about watching our wallets in crowds, making sure we don't leave valuables unattended, or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The flip side is once you've lived in GTMO, you tend to let your kids wander around and play unfettered, leading to unwelcome and condescending stares from strangers and loved ones. How dare I let my child wander in the grocery store/neighborhood or let him go out with friends without a cell phone? But 1970s/1980s living is still possible, just not always in the US.

Also---there are a lot of people smoking in public in the US. And there are a lot of morbidly obese people. We don't have lots of overweight people in GTMO, especially compared to the US. Seriously, I feel like a fatty here and I'm right in the middle of my BMI. Being back in the US where everyone doesn't get up to do PT every morning and where the average age of residents is not somewhere in the 20s (and male) is a weird change. The husband even pointed out that being in public in the States, where there are people a lot older than in their 40s, tends to make you feel young again. If you are in your 40s (or older), you are OLD by GTMO standards.

Our spring break = St. Simons Island

So what do people who live on an island do for vacation?

We visited friends on another island, of course. This time it was St. Simons Island, GA. It's a gorgeous place and I highly recommend spending a day or a week there. We also went to Jacksonville for a day. We shopped. We ate out. We drove faster than 35 mph. The best part? Both kids had a lot of time to catch up with GTMO friends who now live in the States. And we got to visit with their parents, too. It was only Friday-Tuesday, but it felt like a month away (we definitely spent more money than we spend in a month here, but that's not really saying much). There was sushi, BBQ, Japanese food, and home grilled steaks. There was marveling at what most Americans take for granted. Target is sensory overload. You don't know how lucky you are to have so many choices at your grocery stores (including fresh produce). We bought sweaters and froze our butts off because it was below 75 degrees outside.

And now, we are at home-not home in Cuba-not Cuba until summer break. Planning boy 1's graduation and summer vacation is the focus of the next few weeks. Come July, we'll blast out for more reality checks, but in the meantime, I'm happy to be back on island time.

One happy boy

When Cows Attack!, or, Vacation, Part Two

I love animals; I really do. We've had dogs that were more like our children, and as a child, I grew up in a family that loved several dogs and cats. I even endured life with a crazy, cursing parrot in the house (Shit, bird!). But I have no love for livestock. Really.

As a small child, a petting zoo goat ate part of my ponytail. I looked the creature in the eyes, and it terrified me. I really think this was what started my irrational phobia of goats. (Goataphobia?) I can't even look at pictures of them. I HATE goats.

I fell off a horse as a teenager, and even worse, was almost killed by cows.

Okay, maybe they were not actually going to kill me. But tell that to eleven year-old me, because at the time, I was going to be killed by a herd of cows.

The cows belonged to my friend Susan, who lived out in the country. In elementary school, we would jump on the trampoline and taunt the cows. When I was seven, we were jumping and her grandmother suddenly rushed out of the house crying. We thought someone in her family had died. No, not a family member; instead, it was Elvis.

We graduated from mocking and taunting cows to chasing them with a go-cart. It was all fun until we ran out of gas, a far, far way from her house (and too far away for anyone to hear us screaming).

The point of the story is this: if you ever find yourself in a position to chase cows with a small, recreational vehicle, DON'T DO IT. A herd of cows does NOT like to be chased by a go cart. Who would've thunk, right? It was a terrifying hour or so before they stopped surrounding us and we could run back to her house.

Maybe it's a fear of bovine karma; maybe it's just that they are another big, smelly farm animal; either way, I just don't get close to them any more. Once you've had a herd of stinky, large, loud cows mooing at you and giving you the stink eye, you really don't want to be near them ever again.

So if I told you that to get to this:

I had to go through dozens and dozens of these:

You will understand why finding my ancestors' graves was such an adventure.

Summer vacation, part two---After we had visited Texas and Mexico, we ventured to my hometown in Mississippi (2013 population: 1576. Salute!). My cousin came down to visit and we somehow came up with the brilliant idea to chase down our great-great-great-great grandparents' graves in rural Shivers, MS.

Equipped with a GPS, a phone number from our cousin in Pascagoula who has visited the grave sites, and a general direction of where the heck Shivers, Mississippi, is, my older (and braver) cousin called a total stranger and asked him if we could get on his property to view the cemetery.

The guy said he would happily show us the small family plot on his farm, but he would have to meet us at the gate so we didn't let the cows out.

Once we got on the farm I realized that yet again, I was surrounded by a loud herd of cows. I couldn't do it; I got out of the driver's seat and let Al take the wheel. They looked harmless, but I'm sure they would have attacked, had we turned our backs.

Okay, maybe not. Yes, I'm exaggerating (obviously). But do you know what the cows did do? They did something very, very bad.

For the several decades now that my family hasn't owned the property, it has remained a working farm. Even though the farmers did their best to protect our little family plot, which sits in a little grove of trees, cows somehow got to it and knocked every single one of the gravestones over, breaking several in the process.

Stupid, stupid cows. Herds of cows are dangerous. If they aren't surrounding the living with ominous moos, they are stumbling stupidly through graveyards, doing major damage.

My cousin and I had three of our four kids with us, gingerly brushing off graves (and looking for ticks, or worse, snakes, in the process). We excitedly said, "Look, it's Isham's Civil War marker!" "It's Elizabeth! And Eli!"

I've never seen a picture of any of these folks, and I don't know much about them other than what's in records, such as their birthdates, death dates, and from census records, their occupations. They were small time farmers in Choctaw territory. They lost children in childbirth, they went off to war, some died very young, and others lived to ripe old ages. Being in that small cemetery made me wonder, how did people feel during each of these funerals? Were they relieved that someone was no longer suffering from pain or disease? What about the young widows, left with hungry mouths to feed? How did they make ends meet? Did they have closure? I can't imagine the pain of losing a child; some of these families lost multiple. How do you ever get over that loss? And who was the last person alive to know any of these people? How long ago was that? My ancestors probably held hands, sang hymns, and comforted each other at grave sites that, almost 200 years later, their great-great-great-great-great-grandchildren would be traipsing around.

I hope one day, my sons will sit down as old men and tell their grandkids a story. It will go something like this: Long time ago, your wacky great-grandmother, Granny L, and her first cousin Al took us down a country road to a dirt road. Then we drove down a long, gravel driveway, that ended at a gate. We entered a farm and continued until we came to a little stand of trees. There, in deep brush, we saw Eli and Elizabeth. Hanson and Missourie. Isham and Rebecca. Who are these people? We aren't really sure. It's written down in the family genealogy folder she kept. What we do know is that they are part of our DNA, and maybe the reason we like music, or we like to tell stories. Or maybe why we like to fish or work in the yard. Maybe they are why we are good at math or science or English. Or maybe why we aren't. They were most certainly strong willed and probably quite stubborn to live such hard lives and survive. 

Or maybe their story will go something like this: Your crazy great-grandmother, Granny L, spent a sweltering, miserably hot afternoon screaming and cursing at cows while her cousin drove us to a graveyard in the middle of nowhere. She had a real thing about farm animals. Did we mention the cursing? Anyway, we don't know who these people were. All we know is she was shrieking with excitement and talking to their graves like they were RIGHT THERE. Did we mention she was crazy? That woman was cra-zy. She talked to cows AND gravestones. Certifiably CRAZY. 

Either way, as long as they remember our graveyard adventure and tell their own children (and grandchildren) about how very,very happy it made me to finally see the graves of people I have only read about, I will die a happy woman. (If they do it while eating hamburgers, even better. Stupid cows).

And maybe they, too, will take a winding trip in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi, to find the Myers of Simpson and Lawrence County who have shaped who we are today and in the future.

Slug Bug Fail; or, Las Vacaciones, Parte Uno

What do you get when you combine 11 flights on four airlines through eight airports? You get summer vacation. It's RAT time, and in case you haven't noticed, I've been on a hiatus of sorts while we've been enjoying a relaxing break from school and work the last five weeks.

Five weeks of togetherness. . . and believe it or not, we are all still talking to each other.

What did we do during that time? We visited family in Texas and Mississippi. We ate out. A lot. We got our fill of lots of food we simply can't buy in a restaurant here (and don't have the ingredients to cook).

We had teeth cleaned and hair cut. We bought books. It was so nice to be back where there are book stores---I can't stand having to buy a book online without the opportunity to flip through the pages first.

We shopped for items that are limited or hard to find here: cheap school supplies, kids' shoes that don't cost $50, OTC medicines we don't get here for some reason, and school clothes that were on sale. Every time I go back, however, I find that I end up buying less and less things.

It's funny how much you realize, with the passing of time, that you can do without almost anything. Case in point: donuts. I have always been a die-hard donut addict. Living here, where we get donuts but they are previously frozen and taste horrible, has been a great way to break me from that bad habit. I ate donuts once in five weeks. It had been 6 months since the last time I had them. With many things you wean yourself off of, they just aren't as amazing as I as remembered; I can't believe I'm saying this, but I can now live without them. Those of you who have known me a long time are probably thinking, Wow. Yeah, me, too.

We also went to a country I adore: Mexico. Mexico is the first country I visited outside of the US and my desire to travel the world and live overseas started there. I had never been on an airplane until I was 16 years old and traveled with a school group to Mexico City and Teotihuacan, Villahermosa and Palenque, and Cancun. Twenty five years ago this summer, I got my wish of living overseas while studying Spanish in Cuernavaca and living with a local family. Oh, and I also met the guy who would eventually become my husband on that same trip. So the birth of my wanderlust and the beginning of what would be a lifetime relationship all took place in Mexico. I've been all over and enthusiastically recommend visiting there if you haven't. We've been back three times now, always during our anniversary, once with our oldest child, and this time with both kids.

It's crazy that a family who lives in the Caribbean would chose another Caribbean location for a vacation, but that's exactly what we did. We stayed near Akumal this time. Why Mexico? For one, you can't beat the food. If anyone reading this is willing to cook me chilaquiles every morning for breakfast, I'll put you up for free. (I'll also make the mimosas). We ate nopales and tamales, dozens of types of salsas, fresh fruit, and ceviche. Those were just my favorites. My somewhat-picky kids managed to eat traditional Mexican food for almost every meal, three times a day, for almost two weeks. I was proud of them.

nice, small sand (unlike my nice, big sand) in the Yucatan

In addition, I love mariachi music, handcrafts and folkart, and in the Yucatan, the Mayan culture. The highlight was probably visiting Chichen Itza. I totally got my geek on at the Mayan ruins. The kids enjoyed it, too.  We also ventured into a Chedraui supermarket (clothes, food, and major appliances) and swam in a cenote. We visited a Mayan village and walked around Playa del Carmen. But mostly, we just relaxed and read, took naps, swam, and relaxed some more.

Hammocks make you sleepy. True story. 

We were in an area that doesn't have as many American tourists as other parts of the Yucatan, and thus, less English speakers---and it felt great remembering how to carry a conversation in Spanish. We all got to speak Spanish, including our 2 boys who have each been in Spanish classes for 3 years (elementary language classes is one of many advantages DoDDS kids get over the majority of American kids). As son 2 said to me, "We aren't in Cuba anymore, mom! We have to speak Spanish now!" Oh, the irony. My GTMO friends will totally understand the lack of Spanish in Cuba (at least in US-Cuba).

Chichen Itza

One more thing: if you take kids to Mexico, whatever you do, don't get suckered into playing "slug bug." Seriously. If you have ever traveled or lived in Mexico, you'll understand why. OUCH.

photo source: https://insanitysauce.files.wordpress.com

More on vacation, including going through a cow pasture down a dirt road off a gravel road that was off a country road, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi, all in search of my great-great-great-great grandparents, next time.

She's Lost Control (Again); or, Delicious Ambiguity

from one of my very favorite memoirs, It's Always Something. Read it! 

Working a Federal Government job in uncertain economic and political times can be very stressful. My first year here in Cuba, I had left a job and colleagues I loved to try a new adventure. It was a huge leap of faith, and I found myself looking at the prospect of being furloughed within the first year of being here. 

That ultimately didn't happen, and I have to remember that eventually everything works out, one way or the other. Worrying won't change things. 

Part of the huge leap of faith of moving here was also the hope that this would be the best place for my family. At times, I have felt that our GTMO time has been the most positive experience possible for our family. We spend more time together as a family here than anywhere else we've lived. Sometimes life repeats itself, too. As a kid, I spent many hours hanging out in my mother's classroom after school (and in her classroom as her 2nd grade student), and I spent many hours working with my father in his drugstore. Today, I see my oldest son every day at my school and he's in my English class. He has a part time job that lets him work with his dad every week. 

Perhaps my oldest will look back and appreciate these things, too. I hate that he is stuck taking so many classes online (with the world's worst internet connection) and that there are so few choices of AP level classes. I have to get over my mother/martyr tendencies and remember that he has gained a world view he would not have gained in Texas. Three years ago, he was interested in computer programming. Let's just say that a few years with GTMO technology did away with that. But now he is talking about working in diplomacy. He is interested in studying abroad, in learning languages, in studying other cultures. He wants to do volunteer work teaching English. An interaction with a teenager who briefly attended his school has piqued his interest in teaching ESOL one day. The teenager was a Cuban refugee seeking asylum. The student moved to another part of the world, but one brief conversation changed my son's life. 

My youngest has spent hours running and climbing and riding bikes. He loves to swim in the ocean and has recently discovered a love for fishing. He had these opportunities in Texas, but his parents didn't have much time to take him. 

Time is a luxury. I recall the last conversations I had with grandparents who are gone and have thought, would I have said anything different if I had known? Would I have taken the risk to teach overseas many years earlier if I had known that our family would have more time together? 

So much is uncertain right now. I like to pretend that I am a laid back person, but I have a real good dose of Type A personality. I think that's why I love being a librarian---so much order, so much tedium with writing records, so much to being precise. There is an element of control in what you do. When I shifted back into the classroom this year, it's been chaos. I'll spare you the pity-party but will just say this: it's exhausting. I think that's the word I've used the most when I describe this school year---"exhausting." 

I have banked on leaving here for good this summer. After three years in a hardship location, I should be in category A and have a good chance of transfer. Except my first year was five days short of being a complete year, and much to my chagrin I found out during the application process that I am in category F.  This means I am quite possibly looking at another year here to be able to travel, have more grocery choices, have more shopping choices, and have more class choices for my son. He will graduate next year, so if we don't move this summer, he will do most of his four years of high school here. 

And I have no control over any of it. I cannot make my name magically appear at the top of the transfer heap, and I cannot make a tiny high school suddenly offer more rigorous courses. I cannot control the fact that the military is shrinking and federal schools are closing.

I cannot control if I am teaching yet more new preps next year. I don't want this (I would really like to be a librarian again), but I cannot control what my admin and district wants. 

I can control my health. I am feeling SO much better since surgery. Having major surgery here was a huge leap of faith that paid off. 

I can control that I can only do so much planning and grading and planning again as a teacher. I can do the best job possible with what I have. It's not the ideal situation for a teacher. I had some pretty damn good teachers in my small high school in rural Mississippi, and they, too, had several preps on their schedules. I can give my students the best education possible because they, too, deal with hardships, such as a hybrid of online and in-seat courses, and the stresses of living in a small fishbowl of a community. 

I can take opportunities to get away more often. Last weekend, the family took a Space A trip to the States. It was a very stressful experience getting on and off the base. Not only did I have to have tons of paperwork approved (and spent hours writing lesson plans for three days off work), but we weren't sure if we were going to get on the plane. There is only a limited number of Space A seats. It's the difference between making a $300 r/t reservation per person or basically flying standby with a $52 r/t expense per person. We arrived seven hours before leaving for GTMO, but we got on the plane. (As I told my husband, in that time we could have flown and landed in Hawaii instead of sitting in a cold terminal in Jacksonville, waiting for an ever-delayed flight). Like so much here, it was more difficult than you would believe, but the reward of getting away from GTMO for the first time in seven months was worth it. A weekend felt like a month away. Shopping for items you can't buy or have shipped here, eating food you can't get here, and visiting with Cuba friends who were visiting or living in FL made it worth it. 

Islands in the Stream---the Bahamas, maybe? 

To fly here from the US, you cannot pass over Cuba, so we have to take the long trip around the E end of the island to get to our little SE corner. My heart did flutter a little when we passed over a small group of islands (maybe the Bahamas?) and then saw the mountains and beaches of Cuba. When the pilot made the now-familiar announcement to "please allow the residents of GTMO to exit the plane first," I looked at the faces of the new families sitting and waiting to disembark. 

It's CUBA!  And a bad airplane pic!

I recognized the look of nervousness and bewilderment and wonder on their faces. I remember those feelings well. I felt some relief exiting the plane, feeling the blast of heat on our faces, putting on my sunglasses, and walking down the large staircase. Maybe it's the bizarre feeling of being an old-time movie star (or part of Air Force One), but exiting the plane, walking across the runway and into the terminal is always my favorite part of the trip. 

Or maybe, it's just that after 2 years, 3 months, and 15 days of living in GTMO, this is for us, at least for now, home.

This guy greeted us at the Leeward Ferry Terminal.

Lists and More Lists; or, Archers Can't Complain

We are STILL waiting for any of the Christmas presents to make it here by Thursday.  Not a single thing I ordered (mostly in mid-November) for the kids or husband has made it yet. NOTHING. Seriously. . .

Instead of focusing on gifts, so far this holiday we've done that thing we always do, which is the "where do you want to go next" game. I honestly don't think it hurts at all to dream, and because I will probably have some say in where we go (or more precisely, where we don't want to go), we make mental lists and talk about all the overseas options.

We probably won't hear anything in January at the earliest, but in the meanwhile, Son 2 has decided against only Belgium, the mistaken land of Legos, for a more broad-based list of locations. Almost 2 years ago he created the "talk list," and now I present the "must have" list for any country:

Things we need for relocation

A) We need internet speed. That is anywhere else in the world but here, so that doesn't really narrow things down. I won't miss the shady phone/internet monopoly here in Cuba.

B) Then there's the NEX size. I say scratch the NEX off the list permanently. Honestly, if I never, ever set foot in another NEX after leaving here it will make me happy. I'm tired of $250 purses, $40 flip flops, and other top-shelf stuff that does not impress me, especially when I'm trying to shop on a budget. I'm no mathematician, but you can buy 10 purses at TJ Maxx for what one Michael Kors purse costs, just sayin'. I'm more than ready to live off the economy somewhere else. I will also be happy to shop somewhere where I don't have small children (neighbors, students) screaming my name as I'm carrying a box of tampons in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. 

So that doesn't really narrow it down, either. 

C) There is "animation camp." I don't know where he got that idea, but he's been talking about really wanting to go to an animation camp. Is there really such thing? And is it something you can do online? Because if you can do it via internet, that means anywhere but here.

D) Toys. It's almost Christmas and the entire no-mail situation has been more stressful than it should be because somehow, inexplicably, we have less toys for Christmas in the NEX than before. As far as we can tell, there were no Christmas toy shipments. We don't get the same sales circulars that you get from the NEX in the US; in fact, since we've moved here, the amount of toys and children's books has dwindled drastically. You don't need toys to be happy, I know, but it is frustrating when you go to a birthday party (and most kids here have parties where all the classmates attend) and you have to chose from the same 5 Lego sets we've had for a year now, for example. So I can see how Boy 2 would like a little variety.  Make them German or Japanese, and that's even better. 

That's the thing. I'm ready for variety. I am hoping for good news in January or so that I will be eligible to transfer (and then the real fun of figuring out where we can go is next). 

Also----is it a little ridiculous that a kid wants to live somewhere with toys or functioning internet? These are things we took for granted in the US, but it's crazy, bizarre, and strange that we live in a place where those things are extras. I'm hoping they are a good trade for some of his freedom, because he definitely won't have free reign of the neighborhood in any other country where we can live. 

My birthday was this week and it was a nice, quiet night at-home event with friends and family. One of my friends and I started talking about horoscopes and she told me that Sagittariuses (or is that "Sagittarians?" ) are the most optimistic of all signs (I looked it up later just to make sure. She's right. And we are the most adventurous. Go figure). I should also point out that we are half archer, half horse's ass. I've never been accused of being the former, but I've been called the latter more than once. 

http://www.imagesbuddy.com/images/183/sagittarius-23-novembe-21st-december.jpg

Basically, Archers are "blindly optimistic," which means I shouldn't complain. So on that note, here are some positives from the last week or so: 

Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork paid off and I got 2/3 of my last summer's travel expenses reimbursed, finally. Trust me, it's a big deal and a happy occasion (and I'm still going to resubmit, resubmit, resubmit for the other 1/3). 

Ticked off more items from my not-bucket list and went to the Cuban home to visit the special category residents (basically, those who stayed when the gate closed). They sang "happy birthday" to me in Spanish (2-3 versions, all at one time!) and it was the BEST rendition I've heard ever. I'll never forget that. 

Also: checked off that I went back to Ft. Conde.  A boat ride across the Bay and a trek through the jungle (okay, it's really not a jungle) and we were at an abandoned early 1900s fort.  I'll post more about that (with pics) later. 

Son 2 got to be in a second Christmas parade---this time, a boat parade. How fun! Another GTMO first! 

I am taking better care of my health. I had surgery last week and I'm having more before break ends. Not a great way to spend vacation, but if it's what it takes to make you feel better, it's worth it.

I am almost finished with what I hope is my last grad class for a while.  I was up to 1 am trying to get technology to work this morning and it verified my suspicions--- I would be an absolute sadist to ever assign any technology-based project to my students here. 

So far, vacation's been relaxing (and it really doesn't officially start until Monday). Here's to two weeks of adventuring and relaxing, celebrating and chilling out. Happy Winter Solstice to you! 

No News is Good News; or, Anything But Ebola

The US, it seems, has gone Ebola crazy.

I don't want to sound callous or disrespectful to those who have actually contracted the disease (three actual victims and three million + scared to death).

But from the stories on the internet and the reports on television, I'm really happy that I'm in what my friend in Germany calls "the bubble."

Living overseas means you are as isolated as you want to be from American news. I'll be honest: when you turn on the news on Sunday, and the headline is the same story, same interviewees, same footage, same rhetoric 5 days later, it's nice to be able to shut it off and not turn it on again for five more days. And if the same news is still the headline story? You just wait another five days and something else will come around.

With no newspapers available here, we don't have to see the news unless we choose to turn it on. And many times, we simply choose not to turn it on.

In the meanwhile, my major worries the last 2 weeks have not been Ebola, but when the heck is the Commissary going to get tofu again? Seriously, folks, the little shelf space for tofu has been empty for at least 2 weeks and counting, and I really want to make a soup that needs tofu.

Instead of Googling "Ebola," I spend my days looking up things like the following:

(upon finding mystery eggs in our kayak stored in the backyard) snake eggs, Cuban boa eggs (they give live birth---who knew?), Cuban racer eggs

Also: tarantula eggs, hummingbird eggs

Most probably they are lizard eggs.  I'm going to see if the Biology teacher will let me use a microscope so I can open and check them out next week.

Other things I've Googled (instead of Ebola) include:
how to propagate hibiscus,  plumeria, and coral trees
how to harvest almonds (the mystery tree in our backyard)
how to grow coconuts
how to grow pineapples

Coral tree flower and seed pod. Each pod grows 2 trees!

What to do for iguana bites, shark bites (always must be prepared!)

The Cuban Rock Iguana---our base's favorite vegetarians

More Googling:
U.S. mail shipping laws for fragrances, batteries, and anything with chemicals

Recipes that use local foods such as mangos, lionfish, and ginips

Google Maps for locations of our lost mail and when I want to dream, the list of other DoDDS locations

And instead of Ebola, those of us living on tropical Caribbean islands have to worry about these things most Americans have never heard about, which I have most definitely Googled:
ciguatera
chikungunya
reef rash
stinging hydroids
fire coral
mango rash (sent my youngest to the ER---he got it in his eyes)

REEF RASH: This is what happens when you swim into coral. Don't ask.
One year later and I have a nasty scar. 

Also, I do read about Cuba. Often. I read blogs of people who are, quite frankly, living on the edge there. Most would be considered dissidents (and speak often of propaganda and how the news of recent deadly cholera outbreaks or the latest rounds of arrests for speaking out against the government is all blocked). I sometimes read about what's going on here on the base. I'm not talking about the military side, but the Commissions.

In respect to both matters, I think of the saying, "There are three sides to every story: yours, theirs, and the truth."

You could probably say the same about anything I write here, as well. I don't tend to write about my biggest frustrations and issues here because, really, who wants to read that? I refuse to talk about "that place" because it has nothing to do with why I'm here. As far as the fences and guard towers near my house, I'm not really going to talk about how I feel about that, either (or the fact that the US is here). It's complicated.

There are three sides to the story. The beauty is that I can choose what I want to believe and write about, and you, dear reader, can interpret it any way you like.

Summertime, and the Living's Easy; or, Reflections on Summer 2014

School starts for teachers on Wednesday, next Monday for students. Part of the beauty of teaching is you don't really have to keep up with the day of the week, the time, etc all summer long. (And forget the date---I somehow missed that it was August until a week had passed).

Reality has set in that I will have to set an alarm clock (the same one that's been flashing constantly since a power outage---a regular occurrence---sometime before I got back on August 9).

Instead of moaning about the loss of an overall great vacation, I will dwell on some of the best parts:

Chasing Wabbits (or almost-tame bunnies):
Hung out with this little guy
who lives in my parents' neighborhood.

Family reunion time!

Went to a family reunion to see 1st, 2nd, and 3rd cousins and my aunt/uncle. Loved seeing my cousin who was a teacher/librarian with DoDDS many years ago. She was stationed in the Philippines and Germany. It was nice to be around someone in the teaching world who speaks the same language of RAT, LQA, COLA, etc etc. 

Watched kids grow up before my very eyes. A year in the life of a child is huge---my two nieces have grown so much, especially the youngest who was only a year old last summer. But my niece and nephew in Texas have grown tremendously in two years. So did our little friend Carolina. 

Caught lots of frogs.
Don't have frogs in GTMO---
only poisonous cane toads. 

Played Barbies with my oldest niece. I want to copyright the name "Crazy Hair Barbie" now, because she is my alter-ego.

Saw childhood friends. Made my heart very, very happy. The lengths they go to in order to see me is, well, quite humbling. 

Slept late in my childhood bedroom.

Went shopping with my grandmother. She can still outlast me any day. 

Look closely-those are beans!

Visited a dentist. This doesn't seem like an event, until you know that he was a student in my very first high school class, back in Hattiesburg High School when I was a student teacher. I'd like to say I taught him everything he knows, but unfortunately, I didn't teach him much (except Tennessee Williams' The Glass Menagerie).

Got lots of dirt under my nails.  
Had great luck with the Louisiana Purple Hulled Beans in my parents' garden, so much so, my mom declared, "We have enough to feed Coxey's Army!" then gasped, "Who is Coxey?" That's one of the many rich Grannyisms we all find ourselves spouting from time-to-time. We didn't have much success with blueberries, but at $5 a half pint here in GTMO, the small handful for free was a treat. 

We ate snow cones. 
Lots of them. Why can't we have those here in GTMO?

Experienced New Orleans with my youngest. 
The places---St. Louis Cathedral, the Quarter, the French Market, a streetcar through the Garden District.
The food---muffulettas at Central Grocery, beignets and café au lait at Café du Monde, and dessert at the Camellia Grill.
The people---met up with my childhood friend Beth whose been a New Orleans girl long enough to call it home, and shared laughs with the Camellia Grill waiter who grew up in Meridian (and really hated it). The Quarter is the best place for people watching, and New Orleans never disappoints.

St. Louis Cathedral, New Orleans

Last time I was in New Orleans, I was in early stages of a pregnancy with Cletus the Fetus (now, thankfully, named something a little more respectable) and couldn't deal with the plethora of smells that is Bourbon Street. This time was more pleasant. My life-long love for New Orleans started at my first visit I remember, when I was about the same age as my son (8). He looked up at the beautiful old buildings as we drove through the Quarter and exclaimed, "This is nice place! I'd like to live here!" (my first thought as a kid) and then---"Uh, do you think there is a lot of crime here?" (not a thought I would have had at his age---I just laughed. I don't want to deter a boy's dreams).

Got lost on my college campus and home for several years, thanks to a tornado that took out some landmarks, and renovations before and afterwards that changed the face of USM. That being said---it looks really great now. 

Went back to school---Monticello High School---now Lawrence County High. Had a great tour with one of my follow Red Devils, Silas, who is a few years ahead of me, and loved seeing the new additions, the updated building, and the bandhall---it smelled the same! Band geeks forever!! 

Country roads, take me home---looking out the windshield near Utica, MS.
Yes, that's a guy on a horse. In the highway. Seriously. 

*****
I am going back to my first love, teaching English, this school year. Instead of being split between 2 campuses, I am going to be at the high school full time, teaching English (all levels---yes, 9, 10, 11, and 12. That's what happens when you work in a tiny school).

So now I need advice---should I keep the url the same, or does anyone even read it (https://librarianwanderlust.blogspot.com)? I'm still a librarian, I'm just taking a small break. Suggestions are welcome. Please leave them in the comment section below! :) 

Traveling Close to Home; or, Chasing Ghosts in Natchez

"The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page." ----St. Augustine

Funny thing happened---I saw this quote online several months back and thought I'd have to use it at some time in my blog. Then a couple of dear GTMO friends left for Asia---we've spent countless hours eating and drinking and laughing these past 2 years---and one of them gave us this beautiful collage/painting that she made. I am so happy to have it as a reminder of these crazy 2 years with new friends and to remind me of why I chose this crazy life. 

We can't travel more than a few miles within the confines of our gated community here, but I also have to stop and think, wow, I'm living in the Caribbean. My kids have experiences you can't get anywhere in the United States. And one day, our time will come and we will have the opportunity to see more of the world.

This summer I spent some quality time in Mississippi seeing places there I have never seen.  I had one friend tell me that he thinks he is too old to travel and see the world, but there is so much of the United States to see, you can spend a lifetime there and never get bored.

Which brings me to Natchez.

I am a horrible Mississippian because I have never done the Spring Pilgrimage of beautiful antebellum homes in Natchez or seen some of its famous landmarks. I finally took time to go, and as an added bonus, I spent the day with my youngest son and my lovely friend Janis, whom I haven't seen in over 10 years. Janis was my across the street neighbor during the college Semester That Changed Everything in Cuernavaca, Mexico, and she's the sort of friend who easily fills in our 10+ year conversation gap with funny and interesting stories. Within a few minutes of meeting at the Welcome Center, we were off and running, chasing ghosts in Natchez.

We first stopped for lunch at Mammy's Cupboard, a restaurant that you, well, just have to see to believe.

Mammy used to be African American, which is so politically incorrect today (and so stereotypical Southern when it was built in the 1940s), but now she is sort of racially ambiguous. Maybe she's Native American. Maybe she's just a white girl with a nice tan. Either way, she's a landmark and the pie is awesome. And now my youngest can tell everyone that he ate under a lady's skirt while in Natchez.

Then we went on to Longwood Estate.

Longwood was built by a wealthy cotton planter in the 1860s and is the largest octagonal home in the US.

During the course of the home being built, the Civil War broke out, the planter lost millions of dollars worth of crops, and ultimately, only the basement of the home was completed.

We walked around the finished basement and then stared in awe at the unfinished top five floors. All that potential, built with Northern carpenters and with money earned in an agricultural society driven by slavery. The house epitomizes the good and bad of the Old South (beauty, cruelty) and I really enjoyed the tour, despite the bittersweetness of someone's broken dreams as public spectacle. It was well worth the trip and an architectural marvel, unfinished and all. 

But the highlight of my day was the cemeteries.

I seriously love old cemeteries.

I love beautiful old tombstones---it's a lost art, the ornately carved headstone. I love epitaphs. I love the stories they tell (or even more interesting---the stories you must infer).

I love the National Cemetery in Natchez with its uniformity, and graves from every conflict since the Civil War. We stumbled upon the fresh grave of a WWII veteran buried that very morning. My ancestors lived on the grounds of the cemetery in a house that is still standing today. My great great grandfather Charles was born in Germany, immigrated to the US at 12, served in the U.S. Army, and eventually became the superintendent of this cemetery and zigzagged across the country (including Texas), working at other National Cemeteries, as well. He is buried at the National Cemetery in San Antonio.

National Cemetery in Natchez, Mississippi

His daughter, my great grandmother Mabel, married a man named Philip who at one time, worked at the City Cemetery, and they raised children---including a daughter who would become my grandmother----in a house between the 2 cemeteries. It is still standing today. I love thinking that my grandmother once bounded up those steps to her home, or sat on that porch with her siblings.

The Weiss house in Natchez, and my grandmother's childhood home.

I love the City cemetery with its tombs that tell stories. There is the Turning Angel (any fans of author/Natchez native Greg Iles will recognize this one), a somber angel built in remembrance of several young women who died in an explosion. Legend is the statue's face turns and follows you if you shine lights on it at night.

There is also the grave of Florence Ford, a 10 year old who was so deathly afraid of storms, her parents had steps built leading to an underground shelter with glass between the shelter and coffin. Her mother would sit in the shelter during storms to keep her dead daughter company until the weather blew over. 

I know summer wasn't spent touring Europe or Asia or even Mexico, but it was relaxing and I love the connection between past and present generations. The fact that my son was along for the ride made it that much better. As I walked amongst the tombstones of two cemeteries that span over 150 years, I couldn't help but think how incredible it was that three generations of my family had lived so close to each place, and during all these years, each of the six generations has spent time walking around these same tombstones. My son was fascinated by all those things I love about cemeteries, too, and I hope one day he will bring a seventh generation of our family to enjoy this beautiful and sacred place.

You Can(t) Go Home Again (Texas version); or, Au revoir, les Texans

Ah, vacation. There are relaxing vacations. You know the sort---books on the beach, sleeping late every morning, eating whatever, whenever you want.

Then there is the "travel vacation," where you attempt to visit every family member, friend, and favorite spot in one or more locations during a tight schedule.

This summer brought my Renewal Agreement Travel (RAT), which is our free trip back to our Home of Record (HOR). Our trip to Texas fell more into the 2nd category than the first.

The adage "you can't go home again" is a theme in countless songs and poems. It's the wistful end to a movie. It's the bittersweet epiphany of a novel.

Before we left to go back to our HOR, we heard this from several GTMO friends, too.

"It's your first trip back to Texas in two years?" 

"Yes, yes it is." 

(tsk tsk) "Well, you know what they say." 

"Who? What?" 

"You can't go home again." 

And to all of you who like to tell me, "I told you so"---it is true. 

Texas---my "home of record"---was never home to me. I wasn't born there. I had only visited it a handful of times before moving there in 2002. My great-great grandfather is buried in San Antonio, yet in ten years of living there,  I never made the two hour trip to see his grave. He got to Texas for work and eventually died there, but it wasn't really home for him, either. His life work (managing national cemeteries) took him all over the country, and I think I inherited his peripatetic nature.

As much as I tried in 10 years, I don't connect with stories of cowboys and the Mexican War and the homesteaders and the outlaws. I learned to appreciate Keeping Austin Weird, although it has nothing on Olympia, Washington, or Portland, Oregon (but good try!). I love the town of Georgetown with its marvelous town square and beautiful, historical buildings, and Texans truly warrant the positive reputation for being friendly, outgoing, and gracious. 

I have a son who is a Texan by birth, but left after six years. My oldest lived in Texas more years than his birth state, yet he is just as likely to tell you he's from Washington than there.  Maybe he has the same identity problem I have---just because you live somewhere for a long time does not mean it's home. 

Welcome to Texas, y'all! ABIA

This doesn't mean that I didn't hope to feel like I was back where I belonged when we finally returned after two years. I really wanted to have that connection to place that comes with "home."  As the plane taxied into the Austin airport, I thought about how I would feel seeing our home we sold while living in Cuba. Would I get choked up? Would I cry? Would I feel a profound homesickness? 

I finally mustered up enough courage to drive by---alone, as I wanted the moment to myself---and I felt, well, nothing. Zip, nada. The house was purchased by investors and flipped. It's now mid-century modern style, which isn't my thing. Parking in front of what had been our home,  I didn't feel the expected emotional tug on my heartstrings. I didn't want to ring the doorbell and tell the owners that "this used to be my house!" or take pictures. Instead, it is someone else's house, someone else's home. 

It felt good to let go and not have that attachment. 

I felt the same way about the few favorite food places we got to visit. I've missed Tex-Mex food and Texas BBQ terribly. I envisioned myself eating pounds of brisket, migas tacos, my favorite Jägerschnitzel from Walburg, and enough homemade tortilla chips to feed a small army. 

In my mind, every meal was going to be an "event," a homecoming of sorts or celebration of what we've missed. 

Instead, it was just food. In many cases, we just didn't have enough time to go where we wanted.

Texas' perfect food: the Breakfast Taco.
Make mine a Migas from El Charrito in Georgetown, Texas

Many places are smaller and quainter than I remembered about our town; others are much more beautiful than I remembered.

When you build up a time and place in your mind for two years, your imagination sometimes runs out of control. You always imagine perfect weather and everyone you encounter along the way will be accommodating, kind, and thoughtful. There is never out of control traffic. People you want to see will not be out of town on vacation. It's easy to plan around what you want to do.  You aren't bleeding money for meals and rental cars.

Reality is much less glamorous.

Texas will always be my core set of friends who helped us for ten years. It's the friends who dropped everything and rushed to entertain our second grader as he waited for his baby brother to enter the world. It's the friends who offered to babysit so we could have "date night." It's the colleagues who became family, and we shared everything---marriages and divorces, childbirth and miscarriages, the joys and heartbreaks of raising kids. I attended their weddings, cried when they lost parents and grandparents, celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, and helped them move into new houses.

I am sorry I didn't get to see some of my friends who made Texas a wonderful temporary home, but because they are who they are---more family than friends in many cases----they understood that I needed to say goodbye and move on down the road after a week and a half. There are times that you just need to close one chapter so you can continue. This trip made it crystal clear that Texas is not my home. 

Texas is in the rear-view mirror, and will probably remain there much longer until my next visit. There was some bittersweetness, some joys over how some things have changed, frustrations over others, and I felt some closure on unfinished business (such as the house) at the time of our hasty departure when we suddenly picked up roots and moved to Cuba .

Welcome to Mississippi: MS River Bridge in Vicksburg

Now that I am back in Mississippi, I am finally relaxed and experiencing a real vacation from fast-paced life. I may have to drive 20 miles or more from my parents' small town to find things that were readily available in Texas, but I also find that island life in GTMO has taught me to be more patient (and to realize that food and shopping aren't the most important things in life---or in a vacation).