Going, going, not quite gone; or, The time is nigh

We have been physically preparing for moving all of our earthly possessions for months now.

Every since I got the transfer notice in February, and even without official orders, we started downsizing even more. And this is something that has been ongoing since I arrived four years, seven months, and twenty three days ago. I landed on island on a Saturday, started work on Monday, and was told by one of my new colleagues, "You know, you are a little overdressed for what people here wear for work. You have to dress for the weather." Well. I immediately took some of my dresses to the thrift shop, and went to the NEX and got a few pieces of casual, warm weather clothes. It's the land of eternal summer and you dress accordingly. I had left Texas in a chilly October and a school that considered "dressing down" the occasional jeans and college shirt on Fridays; otherwise, we were told to dress "professionally"----no shorts, no tee shirts, nothing that looks like something you'd wear to a beach cookout, and never, ever sandals or flip flops.

Welcome to GTMO. Everything is different with island life and the downsizing and a new mentality started the week I got here.

At the end of my first year here, my colleague Brock and I celebrated every week's end with "Flip Flop Friday."™ If you're looking for something small to look forward to, I suggest this small celebration.  (Just give him credit if you try to make money off of it---I trademarked this phrase so you won't feel like you have to. LOL). 
*****

We are leaving with approximately five thousand pounds less than we brought. This is awesome because it is mostly small things that are now gone. I find it amazing because we've picked up a few pieces of furniture, but still managed to downsize. Our wardrobes are mainstreamed. We only have the toiletries we really need. We've gotten down to the pots and pans we really, really use. Same with kitchen gadgets. I had fourteen hair brushes. Have you seen my hair? I try, but even on a good day, it's not what you'd consider awesome or even good. How do you get so many hairbrushes? Especially when I've had days when students have asked me, "Did you forget to brush your hair today?" (true story)

It's so easy to accumulate stuff---sometimes it's gifts from well-meaning people who you have continuously told to PLEASE stop sending you things. If they don't listen, those things are re-gifted to people who need them. You want to give me something? Offer to watch my kids when I'm back in the US so my husband and I can go on a date. Take me out to a restaurant I haven't be to in over a year and offer to pay part of the bill. Sit with me on the back porch (or if it's too hot, indoors) and take the time to ask how I'm doing and LISTEN. Show me pictures of what you've been doing since I last saw you (especially if they are of your kids who have grown up while I've been away). These are the gifts I want.

Through two big moves in 5 years,  I've started thinking ahead to my children, and all the crap they will have to go through. I imagine the gift of my kids having only a few boxes of things to sort after I'm dead and gone instead of an entire house, garage, and attic. Wouldn't that be lovely? It is seriously my dream---that I leave my children wonderful memories and few possessions to choose to keep or give away.

amazing back porch---we will miss this!

waiting in the garage in the rain for the packout to complete

*****

The best part of GTMO, as anyone who likes living here will tell you, is the friendships we have made. Before we had our second child, my husband and I played in an adult recreation co-ed soccer league and made friends with many other couples. I think it's important in a marriage to have other friends who are couples, because it really helps you see that everyone is working hard---because marriage is hard work----and your struggles sometimes pale in comparison to other people's struggles. Plus hanging out with just your spouse isn't healthy. People need friends outside of their immediate family, and sometimes you need someone other than your spouse to tell your troubles to, to share laughs, to tell stories. After all, my husband (and my good friends) have heard my favorite stories 1000 times by now. But life happens;  we had baby #2 and were hermits for a while, and when we started to play soccer again, most of our married couple friends had either moved or divorced. Our circle of friends disintegrated in a period of 2 years, and we spent most of the remainder of our time in Texas isolated.

Living here has given us opportunities to be friends with all sort of folks. I've hung out with people I would have never, ever been friends with in the US---my supervisors, my children's teachers. People who come from very, very different backgrounds and sometimes values, but through a longtime, simmering friendship, I realize I do have much in common with them and will continue to be their friends after leaving. I found friends who felt like I've known my entire life. This is the beauty of a small community.

When you have to knock on a stranger's door in the middle of baking and ask for an egg or some butter, or you know the new neighbor probably needs board games and other toys to occupy their bored kids, you venture out of your comfort zone to help or ask for help. Every Thanksgiving, our little commissary seems to run out of Thanksgiving meal basics. You see people asking on our community fb page for everything from sour cream to sugar to cranberries to cheese. Several people step up. Some folks also offer up their homes to single servicemen and women who will spend a holiday alone. This is how people do things here---you never run out of what you need, because someone will give it to you. You don't have to be a hermit, because people will literally drag you out of your house to make you socialize. (That would be Karin---thanks for making me come out and play poker, even if I did christen your new poker table by spilling a drink on it).

Living here has been challenging and I've done my share of bitching (and itching---the bugs are out of control right now!). But I have learned in my 40s that I have the courage to march up to someone I've never met in my neighborhood and ask them if they need anything (and mean it). I have gotten over some of my anxiety of having people over to my house for dinner or social occasions. I'm not kidding when I say the thought anywhere else of having someone over for dinner gave me a major panic attack. I've kept my social circles very small over the years because I feel awkward with small talk. Here in GTMO, you sort of skip the small talk. It's all about "how can I help you in this rather difficult place?" I've had people flying back to the U.S. mail important documents for us. We've had people lend us everything from linens to a car. My wonderful and amazing neighbor Kim called me the day we were returning from several weeks in the US at the end of summer and said, "I know you are exhausted from traveling. I hope you don't mind, but we cooked dinner for you. You can come over to eat or I will deliver it to you." SERIOUSLY. This is what happens here. You meet generous people who realize that we are all in this hardship location together, and the best of the best make sure you have what you need to make life a little easier.

Everybody's Dancing in a Ring Around the Sun; or, Butterflies, Kayaks, Caves, and More

Spring Break was a blast. We didn't deal with the nightmare that is GTMO holiday travel. No hastily packed bags, no regrets for the overindulging in too much rich food, no early morning wake up calls to make the airport. We didn't do much of anything. And it was glorious. 

Ab-so-lute-ly glorious.

There were trips to the beach which included snorkeling and sea glass gathering. I have decided that the hundreds of pounds of household goods I am throwing out and giving away will be replaced with sea glass---five or six thousands pounds of sea glass. 

Okay, just kidding. I dream of leaving much lighter, but who knows---I have a sort of OCD/hoarder sickness. I cannot walk by a piece of sea glass and not pick it up. Woe is me.

I went kayaking near the hospital with friends and to Ferry Landing for a kid's birthday party and I'm happy to see so many large, brilliant orange star fish. Those who haven't been here 5 years can't appreciate what disappeared and is finally coming back after Hurricane Sandy hit the month we got here (Oct. 2012). My husband spotted a pod of dolphins frolicking (do they frolick? dance? play?) in the Bay, too. 

I caught up on literary pursuits. Okay, I'm lying. I watched a lot of television, mostly Netflix. At least it wasn't all junk; I did see a great documentary: Searching for Sugarman (2012). It's a story of missed opportunities and the realization that you haven't fulfilled your potential---and dealing with it with grace. It was a nice counterpoint to the seven part podcast that I listened to almost non-stop from beginning to end, "S-Town" (as in "Shit Town). It's is a true Southern Gothic cut from the cloth of Flannery O'Connor, with a little Faulkner, Welty, and Tennessee Williams thrown in. And it's totally addictive and will have you calling your friends (especially if you, too, are from a little southern town) and talking all the finer points of what makes it so disturbing and intriguing at the same time. 

I also finished the HBO mini series, "Big Little Lies," based on one of my 40 book challenge books. I couldn't manage to keep up with it pre-break (and it's less than 10 episodes). Read the book first, then watch the show. It will bring more depth to what you're watching, and the director/producers made some interesting changes in the storyline which also brought some depth. That being said, it's guilty viewing and not that much depth there. But that's okay, because I'm on break and I'm a little weary of my last 6 weeks of so with the Bard (Hamlet with seniors, Romeo and Juliet with freshman). 

I didn't read much. Okay, I read very little. I am damned and determined to read that "great Spanish novel" Don Quixote, but god gawd, y'all, it's slow. Sorry, I'm just not digging it thus far---but I AM going to finish it. 

I enjoyed the great outdoors (thanks to some DEET to make it more bearable). In addition to swimming and kayaking in the Bay, I went on some hikes with my husband. I had a few very close encounters with iguanas---we all know I'm blind as a bat, but even for those who can really see---because they blend in so well sometimes, you don't see them until you almost step on them. Or sit on them. Thankfully I didn't do either, but I did get thaaaaat close.

Best wildlife experience: the feral cat who, upon my opening of the closed garbage bin, let out a howl from hell, and shot out, claws first, narrowly missing my head. My life flashed before my eyes. Okay, I'm being hyperbolic. It did make me almost pee my pants (sorry, TMI). 

In an unrelated trip to the garbage bin, I stopped by a neighbor's house and ended up staying and talking until well past midnight. I love that sometimes you just find the right person for the right evening of good conversation (and good wine) if you look hard enough. Or if you are just taking out the garbage. (My husband to another neighbor: "She takes out the garbage at 8 pm. She comes home at 1 am. I'm not sure how she does it." )

Also I am amazed that in 4 Years, 5 Months, 2 Weeks, 5 Days of living here (heck yeah I count; sometimes it feels like a prison sentence), I still find firsts. 

There was the first time to the top of the lighthouse. The restored lighthouse is open and we can go to the top for the first time in the five years we've been here. 

The stairs are steep, and the windows offer little in ventilation. It's not too unbearable now, but come summer, it will be hellish at the top, since it's all enclosed in glass. I felt like I was in a huge gazing ball, and I'm glad I chose the hot spring instead of the hotter than hot summer to see it. 

There was my first time to go to a party for someone who gained their U.S. citizenship. During break, a colleague's spouse was sworn in as an American in Florida and some of the staff threw him a surprise party when he returned. Call it a "we're glad you are now officially an American" party. There's a party for everything---and there are thoughtful people who put them together, too.  

There's magic here, too. 

All during the break, the base was covered with butterflies. 

I was reminded of my favorite novel: “It was then that she realized that the yellow butterflies preceded the appearances of Mauricio Babilonia" (One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel Garcia Marquez).

Nope, they aren't yellow, they don't announce the arrival of a guest, but they are everywhere.  And there is something magical about the glistening of white wings in the hot sun, and having them tangle in your hair in the breeze. I tried to capture them on film, but I'm afraid I didn't do a great job. 

You know what I didn't do? I didn't go in to work. I didn't grade papers. I didn't work on the yearbook. I didn't think about lesson plans. And with very, very few exceptions, I didn't wear shoes. 

I chased butterflies on trails. I dodged iguanas on the beach, and spotted several species of fish in two beautiful afternoons of snorkeling. I managed to climb rocks and a narrow trail and found a cave I've been wanting to visit before leaving (another GTMO first). 

And while driving Sunday night with the windows down in my car, pondering the end of break and listening to one of the few CDs I managed to salvage (because you never, ever get rid of the Dead), I heard these lyrics and thought how it could be my eternal-summer, beach-life, trail-hiking, Bay-kayaking, GTMO-living theme song, if I had chosen to stay here indefinitely: 

"See that girl, barefootin' along,

Whistlin' and singin', she's a carryin' on.

There's laughing in her eyes, dancing in her feet,

She's a neon-light diamond and she can live on the street. . . 

Well everybody's dancin' in a ring around the sun

Nobody's finished, we ain't even begun.

So take off your shoes, child, and take off your hat.

Try on your wings and find out where it's at"---

"The Golden Road (to Unlimited Devotion)Find" 

the Grateful Dead

Instead, I'll be dancing a jig barefooted on another beach, but undoubtedly missing the iguanas, the plumerias, the neighbors (but most likely not the feral cats or the hutias). I loved spring break and now I'm nervous but ready to move onward towards closing out the year---and this chapter----in Cuba. 

What Fresh Hell is This; or, Boxes of Feelings

Teachers do this awful thing during our "down time," i.e. unpaid vacations scattered throughout the year.

(No, we do not get paid for the times your kids are not in school. Our districts just spread our paychecks out evenly over the school year, or, in most states, the entire year, so we don't go completely broke during those long vacation months).

So now that we have ascertained that it's MY unpaid time---I've decided to treat my unpaid self to a week of----wait for it!---cleaning like a madwoman.

And that's the other crazy thing we teachers do.  Are we lounging around, watching soap operas, baking, doing whatever people supposedly do who don't work? (don't worry, those of you who work as domestic gods and goddesses---I know all of these are ridiculous stereotypes and myths). At least in my case, I am doing all the deep cleaning I can't do during the school year because I'm spending (unpaid) hours after work and on weekends doing my job that I can't do because of 1001 meetings (or because---heaven forbid---I chose to spend time with my own family instead of work on some weekends). 

Not that I don't love my job. Please, please don't get that impression. Good grief---I've been at it since 1991, so yeah, there's something there.

I've been reminded SO MANY times this week of why I love teaching. More about that in a bit. . .

Here's the deal: I have this horrible habit during moves (13 times in 24 years) of throwing those things we don't want to deal with in a box and repacking them over and over and over and over again.

Some people eat their feelings. I don't eat my feelings; I pack them in a U-Haul or moving company box and throw them on a shelf in a closet or garage to deal with, well, never. And one box has become seven or eight boxes, and I HAVE to deal with those things because I don't want to leave them for my kids to deal with, once the eight boxes have become 10. Or 20. Or a whole basement.

I am a hoarder of feelings. 

In anticipation of move #14 to our second overseas location, I don't want to move SEVENTEEN freakin' THOUSAND lbs. of goods to a new house. I still can't believe that's what we brought with us. I want to have only things we want, we need, we love.

So Dorothy Parker, whom I adore and wish I had 1/10 of her wit, had a habit of saying, "What fresh hell can this be?" any time anyone came to her door. Over the years, this became, "What fresh hell is this?" For some reason, it's one of my favorite expressions, and I have said this ad nauseum while opening those boxes of feelings I've been avoiding for years. Spring break has been SO much fun. It's been a fun-fest of feelings and shredding. Because the best way to get rid of feelings is to shred them----it's become quite satisfying, actually, to hear the constant hum of my trusty old shredder. 

There is paperwork for the four houses we have bought and sold. Each house meant so much---the first house in Colorado, which was still one of my top two; the house in Washington, where we brought home a baby boy; the haunted house in Texas that made me decide to never, ever live in a house built in the 1940s ever again (the ghost had nothing to do with that, btw); the last Texas home where we brought home another baby boy and lived in the longest of any house we've lived (8 years). Some of those houses were bought hastily and were probably not the best fit for us; others cost us money to unload, and caused a little resentment that things didn't go as planned. Today we have chosen a life where we will probably not own another house for many, many years. So seeing the former life of home ownership spread before me has dredged up many feelings, and shredding all that paperwork has been a little bittersweet. 

There are mementos from my childhood. Do I need yearbooks and scrapbooks and autograph books and diaries from my childhood? I took hundreds (I'm starting to think thousands) of photographs, starting in middle school, and although I've managed to mail several of them to friends in the US, I am finding even more that I need to get in envelopes and give away. My children are not going to want school pictures of kids they don't recognize. And honestly----I don't even recognize some of the people in the pictures. I am at the point of NO guilt over throwing out some of these things. It's all beginning to feel like clutter, and it doesn't have that official context of mortgage paperwork that had me holding onto it for so many years. It's sentimental stuff, and I'm trying to be tougher about throwing out something that's been thrown in a box for 15 years and I haven't thought about since. 

Those are the easy things. The harder things are those associated with feelings of failure and shame: paperwork and letters and pictures from what started as a lovely relationship (or so I thought, at 16 years old) and ended as a rather nasty divorce at 22. If you haven't been through a divorce, then you don't know this fun little fact: you will carry your divorce papers with you for the rest of your life. You need them to buy or sell a house. The military asked for them several times when I was a military spouse, and again as I am a civilian working for the government. I honestly forget about that first marriage (as a friend calls it, it's my "starter marriage") until I have to gather them again for official government paperwork. Incidentally, I recently gave my starter marriage an annulment (long story, too boring for a blog) and I did shred that paperwork. I am not Catholic, and no offense if you are, but I think annulments are silly and pointless. And the ridiculous amount of paperwork it required was taking up way too much room in my boxes of feelings. 

The more difficult boxes have paperwork to remind me of times of financial hardships, of very stressful health issues, of friendships that just petered out for some strange reason or another. I don't know why, but I had people I thought would be in my life forever, and I see now our relationships have just dissolved. It's neither person's fault; it just happens. It's life. And like a set of divorce papers, those cards and letters and photographs are reminders of something that maybe I should have fought for (or maybe something I should have never tried to make work). Unlike divorce papers, they can go to the shredder. 

There are letters and cards from people I have loved who have died. What do you do with letters from your Granny, especially when they make you smile and laugh every time you re-read them? What about cards? If they don't have a note in them, do you throw them away? But just being able to touch my  father in law's handwriting again, and chuckle at the types of cards he chose for me---he knew my personality so well---keeps me from throwing them out. This is the guy who called me EVERY SINGLE WEEK for the entire year that my husband was deployed to S. Korea to check on me. His loss 15 years ago isn't any easier today, and I grieve every week for what my kids missed. Will they get to know him by reading his funny little sarcastic notes and postscripts on cards and letters? I hope so. Those I kept. 

my Granny Ann's chicken scratch---she was a dreamer, a cloud gazer,
 a lover of small animals and children, and believed in sending and receiving letters.
As a college student, if I went over a few weeks without sending her a letter,
I got a note reminding me that I should write her.
And I did---often.  

I really do suffer from hyper-sentimentality, if there is such a thing.

That being said----I have shredded EIGHT extra large black garbage bags full of materials. I feel like I'm doing some illegal operation for the mafia (or the government). And those eight boxes are now 2 bins, very neatly organized into materials I am keeping for legal (and yes, some sentimental) reasons, and one more box to go through. I feel so accomplished. That supersized box of extra large ziploc bags came in SO handy. I can see everything neatly organized, and seeing everything spread out gives me reasons to do a second and third sweep and get rid of even more. 

Coming back full circle to teaching---one thing I have never thrown out is the letters students have written me. 

Since my first year of teaching, students have given me Christmas cards or even thank you cards at the end of the year with wonderful little notes. 

Some notes are written with sloppy handwriting and bad spelling; others are in the student's very best print. Sometimes they have a photograph or even a piece of poetry the student has written for me. And other times there is no letter or card---it's just a piece of artwork done for me.

I will be honest---I can't picture the face of a few of the students, especially the ones from way back in the 1990s. 

But have you ever gotten a thank you note for doing your job or a piece of poetry written for you? It doesn't happen to me a lot---and I will be honest, it has happened very little since I have been here. I don't know why; maybe it's just this generation communicates almost exclusively electronically. I have several emails and facebook messages that have made me smile and thankful that I get to work with teenagers.

An email isn't the same as a hand written card, however. Getting something so personal, especially when I know how hard it is for so many teenagers to express themselves to adults, has made me hold on to these things. They were a labor of love, and something I will definitely keep. 

YOU'RE, Tyrone, YOU'RE. But the sentiment is appreciated
Wonder if he'd feel the same of me at 47? And don't worry, kid;
I've had administrators at the above-school level
who didn't know the difference
between your/you're, either.
Also, Tyrone is 34 years old today. Ouch.

This process has been somber, and in a lot of ways, it's created feelings of grief. I won't even go into some of the personal things I have found, but there are little things you throw in a box, and when you reach in and take them out, they can give you all sorts of feels. If they can be shared with someone else, I'm boxing them up and sending them on. If I no longer have a relationship with that person, they are being thrown out. If it's something that makes me feel regret, I try to throw it out, too. Why hold on to sadness?

Here's to a life that eventually contains no boxes of feelings, where everything can be unpacked and displayed, and with no boxes to shuffle from one house to another. It may not be completed over spring break, but I have a manageable project that won't have me hollering, "Oh what fresh hell is this!" every time I pull out another tidbit of my past from a messy, unorganized cardboard box.

Más Purge, por favor; or, Quiero tener duende

The Great Purge of 2017 continues.

Oh. My. God. Becky, would you look at her books?

Or movies? Or games? Board games AND video games?

Not to mention all the electronics that will eventually have to go?

Yesterday I came home to the husband on the back porch burning up the shredder double time like a mad man. I feel like we are in an illegal organization with the amount of shredding we are producing. Good grief.

Of course, this takes a lot of time, as does listing tons of stuff on one of the base fb selling sites. I'm really trying to figure out why I am doing this.

Here's what happens---I get some of the following messages:

a) "Yes! I want this __________. Please hold it for me and I'll be over at _____ to pick it up!!!"

(24 hours later-----"oh yeah, forgot to tell you, sorry, I don't want it after all" and the 3 other people who were once interested are suddenly not interested anymore).

b)."I know it's listed for $60, but will you take $5?"

c). "Very interested!"
(I send a message and never get a response).

d). "I'd want it and I'll pay for it. I don't have a car. Do you deliver?"

So WHY am I doing this?!!?!?

As it's all sitting around on my dining room table, never being sold, I'm rethinking the need to get rid of all of this stuff by selling it and just throwing it away. Or giving it away. Or anything but dealing with flaky people and SO MUCH STUFF. Ugh.

The point of the story: I have too much stuff. I also hate selling things. And I don't hate people, but I sort of hate dealing with people.

Otherwise, I'm making preparations for a big PCS move (that's Permanent Change of Station for all you non-military/DoD, real-world people).

In more exciting moving news (no, no orders yet), I got this in the mail:

Do you know how exciting it is to organize all of my toiletries, clothes, etc into 100 extra large ziploc bags?

No, you probably don't. Take my word---it's exciting.

If you've done a big move, you know the more organized you are, the better. Just like the less junk you have to move, the better.

In other news, I've been researching Everything Spain and sometimes I get so excited, I can't even sleep at night. I've also had a hard time doing my job.

It's not because of the moving excitement; it's because NOTHING TECHNOLOGICAL EVER WORKS IN OUR BUILDING.

If it's Monday, either a) the internet, b)the server, or c) the network will be out. Of course, today is Wednesday and it's the same. I am an idiot and can't say "no" to sweet, begging children, so I got suckered into doing yearbook which I cannot do without any of the above. I am in technological hell. Some things haven't changed in five years. I think it's the universe's way of telling me that if I had any remorse over leaving, fuggedabouit.

Also, H and the rest of the elementary school are moving into either extra classrooms (okay, we don't have extra classrooms---they are taking over labs we actually use) or "learning cottages" (aka "portables" aka trailers) on the grounds of our school while they are tearing down the old elementary school to build a new K-12, two storey, high-tech, 21st century, *insert educational buzzword here* school in its place. You know, the school that was supposed to be opening this year but has been delayed for years.

Yes, they are moving during spring break instead of over the summer. No, I don't know why.

My husband keeps telling me that I need to quit getting so riled up over things here because it's not my fight to fight. He is right (he always is, dammit) but I can't help it; it's like a genetic defect.

My future focus will be trying to quit fighting the good fight and focusing on things I can control. That leaves. . . looking up Everything Spain and daydreaming about a house that's hopefully a little less cluttered (our clutter is well hidden in drawers and closets, mind you). It will have its own sets of frustrations, and I will be reminded, again, that I need to quit fighting and just give in. But I also will try to let go and give into a new culture and let the stress of our final months of GTMO wash away. . .

Duende. From the page "Spanish words that don't translate directly into English"---I really liked this one.It's used with tener (to have)---"Tengo duende."(pic source: http://bit.ly/2nkDv9A)
From another website, loosely translated: "To have the art, the magic, the spell of captivating people with art and the will and affection of other people" (www.significadoode.org/tener%20duende.htm) 

I want to try to find things to make me feel this word. Isn't it a beautiful concept? It's usually used in conjunction with flamenco, which originates in the area of Spain where we will live.  I am SO ready to feel that way about the food, the art, the architecture, the people of Andalucía. . . and to stop fighting so much to control things that are, well, not my things to change.

No More Rock-n-Roll Lifestyle; or, Bocas Cerradas

"En boca cerrada no entran moscas."

I had to learn a huge list of Spanish idioms in college, and this is the one I liked and remembered the most.

Basically it means, "in a closed mouth, no flies will enter."

In other words, learn to close your big mouth so you don't have to put your foot in it.

I've had to do that with much frequency lately. I don't know if it's because with a somewhat/certain end date I feel free to finally relax and be me, but I am losing patience with certain types of people and situations. Sometimes the real me needs to sit back and keep her big mouth shut. 

Part of it is my never-ending frustration with the bureaucracy that is working for the federal government. Part of it is I finally don't have to deal with certain types of personalities much longer, and I am having a hard time biting my tongue. I try to be professional, and on the occasions that I have been rude or inconsiderate, I have really tried to apologize. I know I'm not perfect and I own it.

But maaaaan. . . the closer I get to leaving, the harder it gets to keep my big fat mouth shut.

And to answer the question many of you keep messaging me---still no budget resolution, so still no orders, so no definite summer plans of when we'll move and where we will be en route to Spain. I now have two sets of orders waiting in the queue. The first is RAT in conjunction with PCS orders (in other words, our yearly paid trip back to the US coupled with our trip to Spain). Everything is still on hold until a budget is passed. I'm also waiting for our child's educational orders so he can---wait for it---move back to Cuba for 2 months and then move back to Spain. Makes a lot of sense, right?

Actually, it does, because he will have nowhere to live for the 2 months between the end of the semester (mid-May) and the time we get to Spain (hopefully mid-July). And most importantly---he gets to clean his room before the big move. Oh boy! 

I'm trying not to be fatalistic and think something will go wrong, so hope springs eternal in GTMO! This means I am throwing out 4-5 big black garbage bags of stuff a week. Things like worn out clothes that I can't give away. Living in 365 days of summer means you wear out your shorts rather quickly---I have several pairs I love that have frayed so badly and the pockets have completely worn out, but I just can't get rid of them yet. Who the hell has sentimental shorts? That would be ME. Broken toys, old catalogs, worn out shoes, the list goes on.  Expired medications and toiletries, dried out nail polish---it's exhausting. I went through my gardening stuff today and threw out broken pots and tools. It's just the tip of the overwhelming iceberg full of crap we have managed to accumulate through 25 years together.

Today it was a also trip down memory lane during my cleaning binge, and I threw out hundreds of CDs. I could have donated them to the thrift shop, but their shelves are full of CDs that nobody is buying. I could load them onto my computer and iPod, but really, I bought most of those for only a few songs. Remember when you bought a CD for one song? The brutal truth is unlike all the books I've given away, most of them are too embarrassing to take them to school to offer up for free because I didn't always have the best taste in music.

This reminds me of a favorite song from Cake's very first album I bought when we lived in Colorado Springs and listened to non-stop (where did that CD go?!?!), "Rock and Roll Lifestyle":

Well, your CD collection looks shiny and costly
How much did you pay for your Bad Moto Guzzi?
And how much did you spend on your black leather jacket
Is it you or your parents in this income tax bracket?
Now tickets to concerts
And drinking at clubs
Sometimes for music that you haven't even heard of
And how much did you pay for your rock and roll t-shirt
That proves you were there
That you heard of them first?



I kept all the David Bowie, REM, Pixies, Hole, and the Replacements.  My first Fiona Apple album---still love it---and the Jane's Addiction CD I listened to non-stop in college. And there were CDs I listened to all the time I can't find---all the Beatles and Stones (Some Girls was my favorite in college), Bob Marley and Peter Tosh, Nirvana, the list goes on. Yes, I am dating myself. I didn't have much from the 80s, but I could supply a throwback 90s store with all I just threw out. And I really feel a little guilt for all the plastic that will be burned---they burn garbage here, and when I lived in the neighborhood nearest the landfill, you could always tell plastics day---my eyes would burn fiercely and I would have a horrendous headache for 2-3 days afterwards.

The flip side of downsizing is I have taken 3 big loads of books to school to donate to teachers, and they are almost all gone. I took a huge box of children's books to the thrift store---some were in pristine condition---which is exciting, because their kids' collection isn't the greatest. I took a huge basket of both of my kid's clothes that were also in great condition. Hopefully someone can use them here, and part of the proceeds from the thrift store goes to scholarships for high school kids, so I feel really great about that.

My favorite college professor whom I have mentioned in this blog numerous times, Dr. Karen Austin, once told my husband and me before we married that all adults should have to make a big move at least once every five years of their lives. It forces you to continually downsize. I've realized a few things about my life during our move here and now getting ready for another move: I attach myself to sentimental items (shorts? CDs?!?!) I can live without. I can live with half of the clothes, toiletries, and even food I have and survive very comfortably. My parents raised me to be frugal (and we gave away tons of clothes and toys every year), but I have somehow managed to let the weeding go by the wayside and accumulated more stuff. The little bit of traveling I have done has shown me how much less most people in the world need, and I am on my never-ending goal of retiring with what will fit in a few suitcases and not much else. 

Letting Go; or, Finding (or Losing) Joy

A couple of years ago, a friend turned me on to the book The Life=Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. She has a whole method of basically stripping your house down to only things that "bring joy" into your life. 

You are supposed to look at each object and ask if it brings joy. If it doesn't, you let it go. 

I know, it's like a new age-y, touchy feely way to see things, but I really have taken it to heart, even if I didn't make my way through the entire house. 

In the last few weeks, I've managed to get rid of about 50 books. If you know me, you know this is sort of monumental. 

In attempts to get through about 20 books that I really don't want to drag to Spain but really don't want to get rid of yet, I'm doing the Popsugar Book Challenge where you read books from several categories. I'm zooming through books and then adding them to my give-away pile. I'm working on my third give-away haul now and making progress through the list---so far, I've read 6 out of the 40. I started a couple of books and knew immediately I just wasn't going to finish them, so that was easy---onto the stack they went. 



I have found dozens (probably more like hundreds now) of pictures I have mailed to high school and college friends. Pictures bring me joy, but they are also sitting in a huge Rubbermaid container in my garage, so I'm hoping they bring someone else even more joy where they can put them in frames, or an album, or even throw them away if they want. They are no longer mine, and I'm glad to be rid of them. They belong to people who can enjoy them now. The hardest has been sending photos of siblings, spouses, or parents to friends who have loved and lost them. I love when someone in my family posts pictures of family members who are gone (or even pictures from my childhood that I have never seen). 

I can't open a drawer, a cabinet, or a closet without throwing something away. It's sort of Marie Kondo, guerrilla style. I am taking great joy in taking out the garbage. 

I'm also working my way through the pantry. My husband did a fantastic job of cleaning out the fridge last week, and this is after we both had done a thorough cleaning out during the winter break. How many types of mustard can one family have, really? We are soon going to get to that really funky stage of a move where you have weird combinations of food just because you are getting rid of it. Pot stickers and salad and corn! Why not? Shrimp and black eyed peas and sauerkraut! Yum. I'm working my way through the pantry and hoping to move very little more than spices, because those are expensive to replace and because in my librarian/OCD way, I have alphabetized my spices and have them neatly spaced out in 2 drawers. (I take my spices seriously---even if I don't always cook with them). 

I have given away some items from my garage and closet that I haven't used since I got here. I am accumulating clothes to give away. Most things we are going to give away because the sheer pain of having to have a garage sale for 50 cents here, 1 dollar there, outweighs the chump change we'll get for it. I'll give it away and spend that Saturday at the beach, thankyouverymuch. 

When Son 1 went to college, he did go through several pieces of clothing and we sorted into throw away, give away, and save for brother piles. Good thing, too, since brother just went through a hellacious growth spurt in the last couple of weeks and hardly has any clothes that fit. And our one and only store does not carry any shorts for boys in sizes 12, 14, or 16. Yes, you read that right. You cannot buy shorts in a tropical climate where it's hotter than seven hells half the year, and hot as one hell the rest of the year. I'm going to scour the thrift store this weekend in hopes of getting him through until the few pairs I bought online get here. (It's now taking about 3 weeks to get mail. I will not miss a) the inefficient mail service or b) the slim pickings for clothing in our little tropical paradise). 

My husband always has said this isn't a bad place to live if you aren't into material things, but dang, somethings "things" are pants. One thing you really can't go without is pants. 

Calm Before the Storm; or, Life in Limbo

So we are going to Spain. . . 

but we don't know when 

because we don't have orders

because the government needs to pass a budget to fund our travel

and without orders we can't arrange for a pack out of our house hold goods

or make travel arrangements to see friends and family in the US before our big move

and we can't make arrangements for temporary housing while we are waiting to find the right place for us. 

And this is life when you work for the government. 

So I am very excited about our move, but I guess it will get real once we have actual orders and can get this great big ball rolling. 

In the meanwhile. . . 

I am purging starting with my books (hardest thing for me to weed)

and going through clothes to give away (who needs 7 pairs of flip flops or 10 swimsuits in Spain?) 

or thinking about what I need to do for a new life with new electrical currents. 

Yes, I am thinking about electricity. Obsessing over it, actually.

None of our electrical appliances and gadgets will work if they are 110V without a transformer, which is this obnoxious little box you have to keep around to plug said electrical gadgets into. 

I know I want to keep my Vitamix and my stand up mixer because I use both of them more than any other appliances, but what about everything else? 

Is is worth dragging a waffle maker and toaster, an electric razor and hair dryer, hair straighteners and curling irons, and my beloved Clarisonic (that thing takes 5 years off your face, I swear---and no, I'm not getting a kickback to endorse it)?

I can live without an iron because, well, I don't iron. About 3 years ago, I pulled out the ironing board and the iron, filled it with distilled water and waited for it to get good and steamy, and my bewildered then-8 year old said, "Mom, WHAT are you doing?" I explained I was ironing. He said he had never seen an iron. 

True story.

There's the coffee pot. The stand up fan. There are lamps. Clock radios. Cordless telephones (do people even have phones in their homes in Spain?). 

So much to think about, and it's mostly electricity. 


Most of the rest is easy. I'll get the youngest in on clearing out books, toys, and clothes, and will probably have to bribe him with promises of iTunes cards or graphic novels to keep him motivated. 

Because I can't focus on realty listings (we will live off base, thank you sweetbabyJesus) and buying a car (because our GTMO specials just won't get it in Spain), I am focusing on minutia. The minutia of the week is electrical voltage. I've become obsessed with flipping over everything in the house and seeing what voltage it has. So far, we will be selling and giving away a lot of things. But that's okay. 

One of my first posts about life here was about digging up plants out of a random stranger's yard. His words of wisdom to me were this: 
"You come here with nothing, you leave with nothing. Make sure you give everything you can away when you leave the island. It's the GTMO way. And it's just stuff---you can't take it with you when you die."

When we evacuated (and I really thought my husband, who was left behind, was going to die---but that's a whole other story I will probably never write), I took the following in a small carry-on: two almost 100 year old pictures of my grandfather and my husband's grandfather, both wrapped in my favorite scarf from my first trip to France; my (first! signed! Canadian!) edition of Margaret Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale and a copy of a book written from a man from my home town, Mr. Thomas Jefferson Young, which I gave to my parents; the Morgan dollar my grandfather gave me as a little girl that I brought with me on my maiden voyage to GTMO as a good luck charm; a small envelope of baby pictures of our oldest, which were all from film, and a handful of pictures of my grandparents, mostly in b & w and from years and years before I entered this world; a canister of every SD card and jump drive I could find in the house; the diamond drop necklace my grandparents gave me when I graduated college---the stone had been an earring my grandfather gave my grandmother for their 25th anniversary---my sister has the other one that she, too, got when she graduated college; a small picture I painted of my youngest kid on the beach and the only thing I've painted that I've truly, really liked; my stuffed rabbit named Elizabeth (after my sister---it's her middle name) that I've had since I was 4 and has been to camps, college, and even Mexico; my husband's grandfather Harvey's bible; and other than my computer/iPad, a few days worth of clothes. I didn't come close to the 40 lb limit.

Everything else was replaceable. It made me realize---it's all stuff.  

My Papaw George's gift to me---and his handwriting---
makes this worth much more than face value.
It's become a good luck charm over the years.
I will carry it with me on our trip to Spain. 

If we get to Spain with useless electrical devices or too many flip flops, we'll figure it out. That being said---I'm looking forward to a smaller load than our arrival here (all those crates!) and can't wait to tread lighter and trade in more things for life experiences.