Transfer News; or, Maybes

Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage.

Smashing Pumpkins, "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" 

This was what I found in my front yard this morning.
He will be "relocated" sometime today.
No, you don't want to know what that really means. 

Here's the GTMO version (it's a banana rat in a cage).

It's an appropriate metaphor for how I feel right now.

I tried SO hard to get a transfer this year. I wrote letters and got moved to A+ status. I put down every single school that had an opening with my certifications (13 total) and was sure I had a shot.

But alas, there was only funding to fill 132 slots, and all of "my" slots were filled with people with a higher SCD (Service Computation Date).

In other words, we are indefinite detainees of GTMO just a little bit longer. Or a lot longer. Who knows.

The money is great. I get free housing & utilities, a return flight to the States in the summer for all of us, and a salary better than any of the four states where I have worked.

But. . . money can't buy everything. I've spent the last couple of days dealing with the sad truth that I have no control over budgets, and I really, REALLY would like to live somewhere else. I want to travel and see the world. I wanted this to be our next year's Christmas card:

You know you want to see this on a Chrismukkah card. 

And not something like this:

Thank you, Google Chrome, for the dinosaur game built into "The webpage is not available"
because of no connectivity.
I've gotten lots of practice thanks to our internet and I can probably kick your butt in this game. 

Nobody else here got a transfer. Misery does love company. . .

Maybe we'll get out of here before #2 graduates. (That would be 2024).

Maybe I'll finally unpack those boxes from our 2012 move.

Maybe I will plan a nice little vacation with some of the money I was hoarding for a big move.

Maybe I will be here to see a little Cuba history in the making.

Maybe I will enjoy my much spacier house with an amazing back porch.

Or maybe I'll just feel sorry for myself a little longer and then come back with some brilliantly funny (or snarky) comment.

Here's to another year of banana rats and iguanas, grocery shortages and no mail service, lots of wine (whine) sessions on that amazing back porch, and hopefully a cure for island fever.

Bring back Doc Martens; or, I'm not even supposed to be here today

My favorite saying is this: Mann traoch, Gott Lauch. It's Yiddish for "Man plans, God laughs." 

It's like some higher being has had a good laugh or two at me this past week.

There was the radio (it's always the radio lately). We have an advertisement heard daily on our two Armed Forces Network radio stations that says, "Stuck on an island with nowhere to go: AFN Radio GTMO."

I chuckle. It's true, but still funny.

I swear this really happened last week---I had just heard that ad while scanning through stations, and then immediately after, on one of my favorite Cuban radio stations, The Eagles' "Hotel California" was playing.

Seriously.

Also, I took my son to see this movie during Throw Back Thursday at our outdoor cinema:

1994 was a good year. Clerks. 

I know, I know, I'm Mother of the Year for that move. I did sort of forget how, well, raunchy it is. (Just the fact that I use the word "raunchy" means I'm perhaps old and semi-senile and may excuse my lack of parenting judgement).

I still laughed, oh boy did I laugh, inappropriateness and all. Clerks is such a slice of the early 90s and reminds me of grad school (much of it spent hanging out with friends at a video store), driving around in my beloved 280z (I could write a book on how much I loved that car), living off snow-cones and Taco Bell, moving to Georgia and then Colorado in very quick succession, and often wearing my Doc Martens just like the protagonist (or anti-hero?) with my favorite movie line: "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"

And that's what I found myself saying while spending yet another weekend at school doing lesson planning. It came out of my mouth before I realized that, oh my god, I'm Dante Hicks, but without a hockey break (on the roof) or a significant other with a counting problem.  (The Doc Martens boots are still in the closet, ready for a much-overdue revival of flannel and mom jeans).  I'm spending every waking hour trying to catch up. Is it getting easier? Um, no. Am I getting used to it? Um. . . no. I am, however, headed to sleep at 9 pm because I'm going to work with my son, who gets dropped off for cross country by 6 am. It's amazing how much work you can get done when you are alone---just a pot of coffee, a stack of papers, and around 6:50, an exquisite sunrise that sort of makes it all worth it.

Anxiety Dreams; or, GeTMeOutta Here

Today's weather at Naval Station Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: high of 87º and cloudy, then rain, then low of 72º. Get me a jacket; I think I've acclimated!

I've been having awful anxiety dreams, sort of like those you get as a teacher before a year starts or when you are returning from a long winter break.

It's not the "I'm teaching and forgot my pants" variety of dream, but these do cause the same sort of panic. It's the, "I'm praying I'm getting off this island before someone realizes a mistake was made and I am stuck here for three more months" dream.

I officially have cabin fever and I HAVE to get away for a few days.

When we first moved here, people said, after six months, people go crazy. You gotta plan a trip off-island. I didn't realize at the time how absolutely, incredibly difficult that would be, or I would have paid better attention and starting planning then.

I am SO ready to get off this rock.

And getting off and back on is no easy task. It's a little more complicated traveling when you have orders, and even more so when you are flying on and off a military base.

We have to have our passports---not tourist passports, but our fancy "no-fee" ones. As an aside, the fee for processing the no-fee passports was $100 because Fort Hood wasn't able to process them. They couldn't process them because I didn't have orders yet. I didn't have orders because I didn't have my passports. So much for no-fee and welcome back to the world's largest bureaucracy!

Also, if you are making a move overseas with the government, if at all possible, avoid Ft. Hood. Drive one, two, six, or ten hours away. You will probably get everything done in one trip instead of the five or so it took us. They lost our moving paperwork; they didn't return phone calls; they tried to tell me that you can't bring family members to GTMO; it goes on and on. The entire experience made me happy that we were never stationed there.

So back to the passports---these passports can only be used for government travel, which is sort of a drag because you never actually get them stamped leaving or coming back. Remember: GTMO is USA-Cuba, not Cuba-Cuba.

It's so sad to have a passport that's been used but has no stamps in it. That's sort of the beauty of a passport, right? You can go back and look through your stamps and realize how much you've seen and how much more of this big world you still need to visit.

I requested our airline tickets back in January because I knew that the flight would fill early. It's Spring Break next week, yet the only flight during Spring Break week is that Friday. Go figure. So our options were: take 4 days off work and fly out tomorrow (Tuesday); take 1 day off work and fly out on Friday; or take 2 days off and leave Friday of Spring Break and come back on Tuesday of the following week.

Do you see how ridiculously inconvenient and nerve-racking it is to get off this island? Also, it costs a little over $2K just for round trip tickets to Jacksonville.

And nope, that's NOT first class.

Anywho, I have to make sure we have the passports and some paperwork saying we can come back on island, take an early ferry to the airport for weigh-in, and then wait for take-off.

You mean you don't have to sheepishly announce your weight to the ticket clerks and whomever is listening in line behind you when you check-in to fly?

You have to give your weight and the weight of your suitcases when you fly here. Since they won't cut off a pound (or more) of flesh, you will be leaving those bags, if necessary. Also you hope you don't get bumped because they need to weight allowance for mail or because troops are flying in/out on your plane. (Flight movements were the main reason we couldn't get out of here most of last summer using Space A travel).

I'm a nervous wreck and hoping all goes as planned. It's our second trip back in 18 months, and the first time was for only 10 days last summer. Four of those 10 days were spent traveling. It wasn't exactly a relaxing vacation, but I did get to see my little niece whom I had only seen once before our trip. I got to visit with my younger sister; got to hang out with my older niece (I am always partial to those older sisters); spent time talking to and getting to know my little cousins a little better, who were in elementary and middle school last time I saw them; and had some quality time with my big cousin Al who, next to my husband, sons, and father, is my most favorite guy in the world.

Hopefully this time next week we will be enjoying a nice, relaxing (ha!) vacation at Disney World. Never in my entire life have I been so ready to stand in line (wearing my air cast) for hours. Bring on the real world! I can't wait.

Bring on the funk; or, That time we saved a bird

It is so hard sometimes not to wallow in self-pity, you know?

Earlier this week, my sister sent me a care package that contained, amongst other things, several canned chipotles in adobo paste. I know it's a silly thing, but it made me so happy. It is really hard trying to adapt recipes sometimes when we have such a limited supply and variety of food here. I have been looking forward to making carnitas for a long time, and for the first time in a while, I excitedly went to the grocery store (okay, that's an exaggeration---I HATE shopping, especially grocery shopping) and went to buy the meat we needed.

We asked the butcher for a boneless butt roast. He said, "We only have it with the bone-in." Okay, I thought, I really don't care this moment because I HAVE CHIPOTLES IN FREAKIN' ADOBO SAUCE. Bring it on, butcher man.

Then he said, "Oh, and we don't have any right now. Maybe they'll be on the next barge over. "

Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.

My favorite Mexican cookbook with my yet unused Chipotles. 

I was so mad, I just wanted PB&J. I guess I should be thankful that the commissary finally got the bread problem under control and we can buy bread almost every day now.

So I went home and concentrated instead on our summer vacation plans. I am feeling a little claustrophobic, and just the thought of getting somewhere with more than one store, where I see more than the same people everywhere, kind of excites me.

Here's the catch about leaving: because of my SCD, I don't get RAT, but instead can use an EML to Space A.

In real world language, because this summer occurs less than a calendar year from my hire date, we don't get tickets home for summer at my work's expense. Our options are buy tickets (very expensive), or try to get a space available flight.  To fly Space-A, you have to be on leave, send your paperwork to the air terminal, and hope that there is space on one of the nine flights a month off the island.

Problem is anyone with a paid ticket or anyone PCSing (permanent change of station---in other words, they are leaving and they ain't coming back) can bump you down the list. And evidently, this summer full of people moving from the island. We're talking entire military units leaving.

Which leaves us looking at fewer and fewer options to leave. There have not been seats available thus far, and the next few flights are almost entirely booked, as well.

We can pack and sit at the terminal and hope we win the lottery to leave the island, and if not, come back the next time there are flights. This also means we can't make any advance reservations for hotels, rental cars, etc. We have a few options of where we can land (Jacksonville, Norfolk, DC), but without making reservations ahead of time, we risk driving around (granted we can get a car at the terminal) and finding somewhere to stay that isn't too expensive (or in the 'hood).

Yes, I am complaining. Considering that I got a job offer and was here in a few weeks time, you'd think I actually like flying by the seat of my pants.

Well, I don't.

So the whole situation has had me in a sort of funk.

The island is rather deserted---virtually everyone from work has already left, most of the kids' friends are gone, and it's sort of a ghost town around here.  The base pool is closed for repairs, the sequestration means the bowling alley is closed during the day, and you'd think we'd be all excited about going to the beach every day, but the wind has the water stirred up and it's not the best conditions for swimming.

So what is there to do?

I'm trying to keep the kids' momentum up--they've done a great job of getting out of the house and from in front of a computer or television, so this is frustrating.

And then, this morning, a visitor came and made me see things in a different perspective. Sometimes in life the right person at the right time makes you see things just aren't that bad.  A worker came over to repair a few things around the house. That is the beauty of living in base housing---you have a water leak or a broken door or a loose tile, and someone is there to fix it within 24 hours, usually. The workers are mostly Filipinos, working for low wages in US terms, but a solid wage in their own country. I talked while a gentleman did a few repairs, and his story was the same of many others: he has a wife and children back home, and he sends most of his salary here directly to them. He gets a paid return ticket once every 2 years. He misses his family very much. Like many of the workers, he does other side jobs so he can be an even better supporter of his family.

Just talking to someone about how much he misses his children, but how thankful he was that he got to see them at Christmas, made me realize that I really have so little to worry about.

I am here with my family. Even for the year my husband was away in S Korea, we knew we'd be reunited in a year and that he wouldn't have to turn around in a few weeks and go back for a long period of time.

Anytime after the end of October that I'm on leave, we can travel back to Texas and see friends and family. Hopefully we can take a quick hop back to the mainland/the real world for a week this summer, but if we don't, it will be disappointing but not without the knowledge that we only have a few more months to wait.

And then there is the bird. A little bird has my spirits up, as well.

The kids and I were playing in the yard two days ago and spotted a dead baby bird on the ground. We didn't see a nest anywhere nearby and figured one of the many crazy Gitmo feral cats had dragged it into the yard.

Then the next day, I spotted an adult bird on the ground. At closer inspection, we saw a nest and baby bird on the ground next to it.

The poor bird and nest had fallen out of the tree, probably during the windy rainstorm the night before.

A google search later said you can wear gloves and put a bird and nest in a tree (preferably the "crotch" of the tree---yes, it really said that) and there is a chance the mother will come back to the nest. Mother birds don't recognize their babies by scent, so the old wives tale about not touching a nest is untrue.

My superhero husband donned some gloves, stuffed the nest into the crotch of the tree, and gingerly picked up a spritely little baby Mourning Dove and placed it gently in the nest.

And guess what? The mama and the daddy (or maybe its other mama? We do love the book And Tango Makes Three) flew down and hung out with baby bird.

This morning they were all hanging out. The adult birds had taken some mud and straw to reinforce an even bigger nest, and the baby was moving a bit.

All is well. I don't know if birds truly have bird brains and just figure the wind carried the baby and nest back, or if they were confused as they watched the hubby do his work, but they are feeding it and it will hopefully grow up and remember us.

In other words, the bird better not poop on Pearl, my Gitmo Special.

So here's hoping the Bluebird of Happiness (or maybe dove) really lays one on all of you, especially if you are also finding yourself in a funk.

Cabin fever; or, If Idle Hands are the Devil's Workshop, We are Now in Hell

We heard this before we got here, and it's true: Gitmo is a great place to live, if you are an outdoors person.

One of our neighbors, now retired, told me an awesome saying from his days here with the Navy---at Guantanamo, you are either a chunk, a drunk, or a hunk. And believe me, you have every opportunity here to be a hunk, even if you are one or both of the first two when you arrive.

There are great roads for biking or jogging. Beaches for swimming and beachcombing. Water to kayak or sail. Trails to hike. Skate park. Basketball courts. Dozens of (shaded) playgrounds. A 5K almost every weekend. A golf course.

Which is all great. . . until you have a hurricane that messes everything up. Thanks to Sandy, the beaches have been closed to swimming and diving. The marina is closed for boat rentals. And since none of our things have gotten here yet, we don't have bikes (and I stupidly left my running shoes out of my suitcase, so they will be here in 6-8 weeks).

And it's been raining, so the (free!!!) outdoor movie has been a bust, as well.

Ladies and gentlemen, we officially have cabin fever.

It's one thing when it's just me, and I'm stuck indoors with a book. It's another with two kids who have been promised the beach since we started packing for the move, and a husband who has been cooped up with said kids for 3 weeks now.

We have been blessed with two kids who, at dinner time, have to have their names called out the front door so they'll come in to eat. Most afternoons, they are riding bikes, skateboarding, kicking or hitting a ball. I have been panicking since they landed because I knew they had very few options for activities due to the wacky weather.

We've been in the NEX 2-3 times a day since the kids got here. We ran into a colleague who is also dying of boredom. His two young kids, along with our youngest, entertained themselves for a while looking at birthday cards.

Yes, they were THAT bored.

Thank god for card games, even if I am a horrible loser.

THEN---the sun came out today, Cable beach opened for swimming, and we are no longer stir crazy.

Fighting the tide on coral and rocks is bloody business---I'm rather scraped up and I'll wear beach shoes from now on. But I got to swim in the ocean! And the kids have done that less than 10 times in their lives (less than 5 for the youngest), so I'm so happy that it was worth the wait. I am still limping from a nasty bump to my knee (bony knees + fast current + sharp coral = ouch!), but we finally got to go to the beach! And I now feel like we really live here.

Look at the farmer's tan on that skinny boy! 

And if you don't believe it was worth the wait. . . here are some pictures the hubby took today. :)