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.

The Final Countdown; or, A Vagabond Heart

"WALKER PERCY ONCE wrote that at a certain point in his life a man draws strength from living in some authentic relationship with the principal events of his past. I have often pondered what it was that brought me back to stay [in the South]. I am forever drawn to the textures, the echoes, the way things look and feel, the bittersweet tug of certain phrases: 'We crossed the river at Natchez.' The South is a blend of the relentless and the abiding for me, and an accumulation of ironies so acute and impenetrable that my vagabond heart palpitates to make sense of them."   Willie Morris, from the essay "Is There a South Anymore?" Southern Magazine, October 1986. 

My favorite memoir is from fellow Mississippian Willie Morris. North Towards Home tells of Morris' childhood in Mississippi, college life in Texas, and life as a writer in New York City---and all in an attempt to find "home."  When I read his book in college, I couldn't help but feel it spoke to me. And I love his term "vagabond heart" in the above essay because it encapsulates how I feel. Morris did some wandering of his own before finally giving in to that tug to return to his native Mississippi, where he died in 1999. 

part of my heart---the Mighty Pearl River, MS

In one of my earliest blog posts, I wrote about not knowing where home is and my forever quest to find it. It's been a quandary as long as I can remember. I was a shy, strange child, and moving from the Delta to southern Mississippi was a rather traumatic experience. I didn't like having to meet new friends. I didn't like change. I didn't like people's prying questions, or having to deal with going to school (I had only attended kindergarten part time), and I remember thinking if I were quiet, I could make myself invisible. It's a trick I held on to for several years, until being part of a community over time made it impossible to do anymore. I was part of something. I had become part of the collective memory of my classmates with whom I attended 1-12 grade. My biggest pet peeve of life in that small town is when certain classmates would like to say, "Do you remember in kindergarten when. . . oh yeah, that's right, you didn't live here then." It was their not-so-subtle way of putting me in my place because I wasn't born there. Maybe this is why I never wanted to stay. Or maybe I just never took root and after reversing my original stance and working hard not to be invisible, realized that to some, I would always be. My hometown is not my birthplace, nor my sister's, nor my parents. Despite living there for twelve years of school and countless years of going back annually, I am in many ways still not "one of them." 

And I am totally okay with that. I love many people there. The adage goes, "Home is where the heart is," but truly, can you aimlessly travel from one place to another, holding those you love close, while knowing they live thousands of miles away and you'll be lucky to see them once a year? For me, yes. For others, not so much. 

These are the things I have tried to explain to many of my friends and even family members who have deep roots and love their towns. They have a sense of place I have never had. 

That brings me to this. We have a pack out date now, meaning that for three days in the beginning of June, a moving crew will invade our house and pack up practically every possession we have. We made the choice when we plunged into this peripatetic life to not put anything in long-term storage. Family valuables we left at home. Years of paperwork we finally shred. Many things---linens, furniture, pots and pans that we have had for the majority of our 24 year marriage---we have finally given away. 

Today we took the ferry over to the airport to pick up our son who is returning from college in Spain. The next time we take that same ferry will probably be when we leave here forever. As we left for the Leeward side and watched people jump off the dock to say goodbye to those leaving island, I wondered, who is left to jump for us? Will anyone come out? Teachers tend to leave the day school is out; we will stay another week, probably. So many dear, wonderful, close friends have already left GTMO forever. There's part of me that wants to sneak over to the other side the night before and stay at the hotel there so we don't have to say goodbye. I always get a little lump in my throat watching people jump and swim out to the ferry, even knowing they aren't there for me.

It's been a great four years, six months, and 22 days in many ways. Despite my whining and complaining at what are truly first world problems (no diet Coke, no eggs, the pool is closed---again), there have been rewards that we have reaped and will for years to come. I'm still a little freaked out when I look back and think that in 2012 we walked away from a house, two stable jobs, friends and family, and a community we lived in longer than anywhere else in our marriage (10 years---and for my husband, the longest he's lived anywhere). We took a leap of faith and I have no regrets. The big stuff for those of us here that adds up to low morale at times is still small stuff compared to some of the big challenges of our life living in Texas.

part of my heart, this crazy, crazy place

I'm hoping my wandering spirit and vagabond heart will find a place to call home once we get to Spain. With a son only a few hours away, and the ability to get on a commercial airplane and get to our families faster from Europe than from GTMO, it's already got some things going for it that we don't have here. I will miss those here who I hold in my heart---and I hope they will take me up on our offers to visit. I don't think we will ever come back here to visit, and knowing we don't really have that option, unlike other places we've called home all over the U.S., makes me a little sad. 

The possibility that we will spend the next 10 years or so in Spain make me very happy. Could this be the place? Or, like Willie Morris, will I one day find that pull to the South so strong that I will want to go back to live? 

It is very possible that in six weeks from today, if all goes as planned, we will leave GTMO forever. How will I feel? Relief? Grief? Sadness? Giddiness? 

Maybe a little of all above? 

In the same essay, Willie Morris also wrote, "To escape the South, however — all of what it was and is — I would have to escape from myself."

The South is my home, who I am. As much as I have worked to lose the accent (some find it charming, but it comes with its own set of detrimental stereotypes), I am a southern girl through and through. However, it is not where I live. A wanderer is what I am. That cliche "citizen of the world" is also me. 

And Spain is calling. Onwards to more purging and packing for the next great adventure of someone consumed with wanderlust. 

read all of Willie Morris' essay here.

We All Sail On; or, Closing Out the Year

December is a landmark month in many ways. 

December is a month of reflection on what I could have done better these past 12 months. How I could have handled situations (and people) with more grace, how I could have been more patient, less reactionary, more organized. Maybe the main question is, how could I more safely handle kitchen cutlery? Should I really cook ever again? 

I also think of ways I have accomplished goals and I'm proud of many things that have happened this past year. I managed to spend a month in Germany and traveled all over Europe, some of that trip with just my youngest son, and in countries where I didn't really speak any of the language. I got a lot of new stamps in my passport, and although I didn't always have my camera out, I have images indelibly stamped in my mind. Some I will carry in my heart and don't want to share---most of these involve my two boys, who are constantly growing and changing. I sometimes find myself startled at photographs from just a few months back. I selfishly want to keep these memories for myself, because time is moving too fast. 

Our summer in Europe was sometimes exhausting and even frustrating (and I really did get my fill of churches for the next few years), but I loved the adventure and history and watching my children's faces as they took in Europe for the first time. I loved watching my husband navigate the streets of his childhood town in Germany and somehow meander through small streets right up to the door of his favorite toy shop from when he was 7 or 8 years old---and 40 years later, it's still there. 

Then in early August, I had to get on a train to board a plane back to the U.S., leaving my 18 year old son knowing that he was going to travel alone to destinations unknown for 6 weeks or more. He went where his heart (or wallet) led him, traveling to places like Bulgaria and Italy, where he has friends, and to Hungary, Poland, Austria, Egypt, Israel, and the West Bank. He saw pyramids, museums, and a famous Banksy. He argued with vendors and shopkeepers, he negotiated taxi prices, he learned how not to get ripped off, sometimes learning these things the hard way. He learned that you can't always hide you are an American, even if you don't always dress like one. If you've lived or worked or traveled outside the U.S., you understand why you don't want to always be known as an American. 

He stayed in hostels and nice hotels. He rode on trains, in planes, and used Über, too. He navigated this on this own, sometimes making mistakes, and never once was I completely at ease until he was back home in Cuba. But I was excited and at awe at how brave he was, how creative he could be when it came to problem solving (and it wasn't all smooth sailing), and how thrifty he was most of the time (since he spent mostly his own money). At 18, I never knew you could take off alone on a train with a backpack and a few hundred dollars and see the world. I am happy he got this opportunity. 

Many people (some to my face, some to other people behind my back who, naturally, told me) have questioned why I would "let" my 18 year old son travel so many places alone. Wasn't I scared? Was that really a responsible thing to do as a parent? How could I allow him to do such a dangerous thing? Yet most people who have asked these questions have rarely, if ever, left the United States, and if so, not any time in recent history. Or they don't understand that you really can't stop an 18 year old stubborn kid (he got a good dose from both parents) who is determined to see the world. Do you "let" an 18 year old do anything? Especially when he's spending his own money and making his own plans?  In Europe, he could rent a hotel room and order a beer with no trouble. He was treated more like an adult there than in the U.S.  It was sort of trial by fire, and in less than a month, he will be going back to Europe again, but this time to live---in Spain, going to college in Madrid.   

So this is a year of letting go of the child who, when I was 25, was told I would probably never have (boy, that doctor was wrong), and who, at 4 years old, drove me absolutely crazy and made me question my parenting abilities every single day of my life. The child who went from an only child and center of our world to a big brother at 7 1/2, and never once showed anything but love and acceptance and pride in that role. He's a kid I would have wanted to be my friend in high school, and now I'm sending him to college and feeling those crazy feelings all parents have---and maybe even more, since we will be on two completely separate continents, and just getting to see each other will take a major act of persistence and coordination, especially for us living in GTMO, the Hardest Place to Leave on Earth. 

2016 meant seeing GTMO friend Erika (with Kim) at St. Simon's Island; saying goodbye to Ana (and later Elena and Uliana) at Ferry Landing; seeing Leslee (with Michelle) in Jacksonville; seeing my high school buddy Michelle in Pensacola; getting a long, wonderful stay with Anna in Germany; going to my first GTMO formal with Uliana; and seeing Ana again in Macedonia. 

As it marks the end of the year, I think of the many, many people I've met because of living here that I am thankful are part of my life, and I desperately hope that I've shown each of them the gratitude they deserve. 

We've made new friends and had some dear, wonderful friends leave island in 2016. Living in a community that is constantly in flux many times allows us to become fast friends with people for an intense 1, 2, or 3 years. As a result, we have friends from all over the world who, like our friends in Macedonia, give us reasons to visit places we've never even considered going before now. It also means that with every goodbye, you have to be willing to open your heart again to opportunities for friendships. I'll be the first to admit that sometimes I shy away from warming up to new people because it really does hurt losing people you really trust and enjoy spending time with. So many people I've clicked with have moved on and we lost touch. Others I talk to every week. It's the struggle of living overseas, but it is also the beauty of living overseas---you have friends all over the world who understand your need to not call one place "home." 

I also did not get good news about the transfer round that I was hoping this week. It's out of my hands and there is no special consideration for our hardship area, so I figure the chips will fall where they may. Another year here or a new adventure elsewhere in the world will not change the facts in 2017 that I am a mom who is going to worry about her son living alone abroad, or a mom who is going to worry about her "baby" becoming a middle schooler, or a teacher who is always tired (and my feet---I really can't wait to retire so I'm not on my feet 8 hours a day). In April, the two campuses will combine to one, so I will be back on campus with my youngest again. I will lose one of my very best GTMO friends (the best) in early 2017. 

Time marches on, and even slow island life goes on, as well. Many big changes are around the corner, and finding ways to deal with the trials, tribulations, and celebrations of GTMO will still be here. 

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.  

Fidel is Dead; or, History is Now

Ding, dong, the tyrannical dictator is dead.

After 4 years, 1 month, and 6 days (but who's really counting, right?), something BIG has finally happened on this island.

Friends are messaging me about being a witness to history. Fidel is dead. What's going on in Cuba?

Well folks, my guess is as good as yours. As you probably know, we live in US-Cuba, not Cuba-Cuba.

That being said, we are subjugated to endless rhetoric and propaganda every morning on Cuban radio. "This day in history" on one of the local stations is always something about either a) the Revolution, or b) the Spanish-American war. Cuba is always on the victorious side. The Heroes are brave and strong, and Cuba is morally superior to the dirty haters of liberty.

Or something like that.

In reality, Cuban radio is not going to broadcast the truth.

Please remember that the charismatic old man was also a ruthless dictator.

Please research and know the Damas en Blanco ("Ladies in White") still peacefully and silently march every Sunday for the release of their loved ones who have been imprisoned close to our little base. They are protesting the detainment of dozens of journalists and librarians who dared to think they could express freedom of speech and press. Hours before Obama visited Havana, the Cuban regime had them whisked away on house arrest so the US press would not cover their story.

Please think of the people here living in third world conditions. Since we've been here, there's been an outbreak of cholera in the area right outside the gate. There are lines for food and people still use rations cards. This is hidden from the tourists who pay lots of money to see Castro's sanitized version of Havana, but in the poorest area of Cuba (our part), it's common knowledge.

And here in GTMO, one of the most reviled places in the world for its prison (which residents here will explain---ad naseum---is not the main reason this base exists), we have international organizations which help dissidents who brave shark-infested waters, Cuban marksmen who are trained to shoot anyone they see swimming towards the base, or mine fields to seek asylum. They come because they have been persecuted for their religious or political beliefs. Many times, if your family member is imprisoned, you are persecuted, as well. It sort of reminds me of the N. Korean system of punishing future generations for the "sins" of its dissidents.

A trio of Cuban musicians,
hand carved by Cuban asylum seekers on GTMO,
and my favorite thing I've ever bought here. 

Fidel cleaned up the US Mafia that ran much of Havana and overthrew the military (and US) backed junta of Trujillo, but he replaced them with an equally violent group of rulers.  In recent years, he has morphed from a strong force to be reckoned with (who was known for hours-long speeches every year), to a rather pitiful, sickly old man whose last speeches were rather incoherent. All power was turned over to his brother, Raul, about 10 years ago. He was just the figurehead for the Revolution and a reminder of what could have been, had he chosen to use his influence to bring positive change without oppressing his people.

Don't hold your breath for normalized relations between the US and Cuba until Raul is gone. Don't think the people of Cuba are going to rise up and have a revolution now Fidel is gone---he's been "gone" for years now, and unless you are part of the military, you don't own a gun, anyway. Don't count on the gate opening and those of us in GTMO being able to flood into the nearby provinces---including Santiago, where Fidel's ashes will be scattered---any time soon.

Meanwhile, don't fall for the accolades of Fidel, who brought education and great health care to his little island paradise. He kicked out what many believed were American imperialistic leaders, and tried to bring autonomy to the country of Cuba. He did those things in an astonishingly effective and successful way.

But the human cost has been too great, and several other smaller (and larger) countries have done the same, without the human rights violations. President Obama said, "History will record and judge the enormous impact of this singular figure on the people and world around him." Let's hope the future will be kinder to the people of Cuba and bring about change into the 21st century that they so desperately need.

Oops,I did it again; or, Five in the Books

How appropriate that on the eve of Halloween, I would mutilate myself.

Fuzzy pic thanks to hubby who hates blood and pain.
I laughed at my stupidity while he turned green watching from the corner. 

Yes, that's real blood and that's what happens when you decide to slice your finger instead of a cucumber using a kitchen mandoline. 

(Not to be confused with a mandolin, a stringed instrument that I guess you could pick up and play whilst cooking dinner).

Now I am going through my day looking like this: 

I'm not flipping you off; I'm just showing off my
amazing bandage job, thanks to my hubby. 

Not pictured: 

The nice big slice in my thumb a few weeks back thanks to a sharp kitchen knife and a clumsy chef. I managed to super glue it shut, but it took hours to stop the bleeding on my finger tip this time around (mostly because there was no skin left), so to the ER I had to go. 

What's the moral of the story? I need to hire a sous chef. I need to avoid the kitchen. I need to pay better attention and not try to multitask while cooking. 

The worst part? The cucumbers were actually fresh and crispy, which is many times a rare and miraculous occurrence in the produce wasteland known as the GTMO Commissary. They had to be dumped (with probably the end of my finger---I never did find it). 

A few years ago, I did this: 

Dark road + running off large shoulder=major sprain 

And ended up for several months like this:

So do I need a Halloween costume? Or do I just go as the world's clumsiest human being? 

I just took my mummy finger and my almost-11 year old and celebrated his 4th anniversary of landing on this rock, and his 5th GTMO Halloween. 

It was not a big day to celebrate because it was an exhausting weekend (big sale at the dive shop for the 2 big guys, a sleepover for the littlest guy, and an unplanned a 2+ hour long visit to the ER).

The last 3 years, we've managed to be part of a party of some sort or the other, with the kids venturing out in a large gang, Peanuts style, and the adults enjoying adult beverages and lots of laughs in our old neighborhood, Nob Hill.

This year Halloween fell on a Monday and started at 5. Many people weren't even home from work yet. Because of the weird rainy season we've had this year (a definite anomaly here), the neighborhoods are full of waist-high grass and tons of mosquitoes.

If you didn't recognize me as Clumsy Mom, you should know me as Anti-Zyka Mom. I actually hit a friend up for bug spray instead of candy when I rang her bell---this would be after I had already sprayed down once---because they were vicious.

With us in a new neighborhood, we didn't do our typical adult beverages, since I now have to drive across base to my home. Plus the whole Monday thing---not the best way to start a week.

It was rather low-key, with visits to some old friends and the realization that I really don't know many people here any more.

It was bittersweet going to our 4th Trunk or Treat when I realized that I only knew 2-3 people there. I feel so out of touch; I no longer have friends who are H's classmate's parents. It's sad, because I miss hanging out with the kids and having adult conversations at the same time.  It wasn't a conscious choice I've made; people just come and go, and I have managed to stick to the same circle of friends the last year (or what's left of them), with none of the remaining ones having kids H's age anymore.

I work at distancing myself from work and keeping out of the fishbowl, but sometimes I need to dive back in. It's isolating and smothering at the same time. Keeping that balance, even after 4 full years, is a nebulous thing. I'm happiest reading a book in my house, but sometimes, especially in this tiny place, I need to venture out because I am realizing that while I was hibernating since school started, the base population has changed drastically.

That's the transient nature of living and working on an isolated base, and also the issues with being an introvert who would rather spend the weekend alone than out socializing.  It's just another thing to work on while living here---how to get out of my comfort zone and work on being a social creature.

Sh*t my GTMO says; or, Happy 3 Year GTMO-versary

Things only heard or said in GTMO:

You don't want to go to Ferry Landing Beach yet. They still haven't brought back the sand the storm blew away. 

I'm sorry I'm late. There was a traffic jam on Sherman because 2 male iguanas were fighting and wouldn't budge. 

Can't sit down yet. That's the iguana that likes to beg for food. 

We had a scorpion in our light fixture/tarantula in our garage/cane toad in our plants/banana rat in our engine block/feral cat on our patio/boa in our backyard/crab in our toilet.

You live in Nob Hill? That's like living the in country. It takes at least 10 minutes to get to your house from the NEX. That's got to be rough. 

Don't tell anyone, but the Commissary has plain yogurt/sour cream/eggs/butter/bacon/fresh vegetables. And if you hoard what's left, I won't tell anyone. Just let me borrow something if I need it. 

Can't leave yet. An iguana is in my fin bag. 

Amazon Prime is amazing! It only took 2 weeks for my package to get here! 

I'm so tired of explaining to people how we can't leave the base/can't drive to Havana/can't eat Cuban food/can't buy Cuban cigars or rum/still have to abide by the embargo/don't speak Spanish here. 

Wha g-wan, mon/ma brudda/ma sista! 
Every ting crisp? 

Can't mow the yard yet. Got to wait for the iguana to move along.

Just walk to my house and I've got wine. I NEVER run out of wine. 

We don't have cabs. We have safe ride. It's free. 
We don't have cell phones. We use pay phones. They're free. 
We don't have a movie complex. We have an outdoor movie theater. It's free. 

Can't leave yet. There's an iguana in my fin bag. Again. 

Today is Surf -n- Turf. I'll save you a place in line. Make sure you bring your $5.55. 

Subway is out of bread. 
Taco Bell is out of meat. 
Pizza Hut is out of cheese. 

Can't drive yet. Got to wait for the iguana to cross the road. 

Do you think you can die from inhaling too much DEET over a period of a few years? 

I lost my kid. I think he's in a tree with your kid. 
Your kid's not with my kid? Well, I'm sure they'll be home by dark. 

I saw a manatee/shark/octopus/ray on my last dive! 

What's the best way to cook fresh conch/lion fish/snook/lobster? 

Can't park there. There's an iguana in the way. 

I'm pretty sure you won't die if you eat expired eggs/yogurt/milk/meat. 

Kids in the States are boring. They sit on their cell phones all day. 

Be home by Colors!!

Can't speed here. Iguana crossing!

Happy 3 Year GTMO-versary to us!! And THANKS to all of you who have kept up with our crazy adventures along the way and for all of your support. XOXO

Blustery Days of Our Lives; or, Sands Through an Hourglass

In the words of Pooh, it was a "rather blustery day." Make that two or three of them.

For a few days, we were at what's known as "COR III" for hurricane readiness. COR III this time around meant we were not in the direct line of the projected hurricane, but we got a tremendous amount of wind and rain. 

Watching hurricanes is always in the back of our minds since we got here; after all, Hurricane Sandy hit a few days after I arrived. 

According to Weather Underground, in September we got 0.41 inches of rain. August we got 0.8 inches, and July, 0.26". And on and on. You get the picture. For the last year, the forecast has been: arid, dusty, with a rather miserable amount of humidity. Two days before the storms hit, the heat index was 104º.

Then we got our first measurable rainfall in over a year. It was exciting. The kids at school literally jumped out of their seats and to the door before I could say anything. One student pointed and kept stammering, "Whhhhaaaat is thaaat?" I am serious. That stuff falling from the sky is rain, y'all! Everyone driving Jeeps, the unofficial vehicle of GTMO, realized that they were going to have a very wet ride home. Roads and sidewalks were temporarily flooded, the ceiling in my classroom started leaking, and sandbags were out. I'm happy about the change in temperature, but I can do without the howling wind and sideways rain.

Sirens go off and we get base-wide announcements on a PA system, or as most people here call it, "The Big Voice." The problem is you can't understand it. At neither work nor home can I actually hear it for the pouring rain. It's like Charlie Brown's teacher: Wuh Wah Wah wuh wuh wah.  Like so much here, you depend on word of mouth. People are very dependable about letting everyone know what's going on. 

Preparations included moving potted plants and anything else that can fly around the backyard onto the back porch and taking the bottles off of the bottle tree. My sweet little trees I transplanted from our Nob Hill house, including 2 that were from a cutting of the Truffula Tree, are now blown almost completely down. I'm going to wait until the rain passes to stake them back down again. 

Now for the aftermath---I'll put the bottles back out and stake up the tree when it's a little drier out.
The Commissary has been out of any edible produce for four days now. Supposedly we'll get some tomorrow. My son's SAT test this weekend has been put on indefinite hold; he couldn't take it Saturday because they couldn't unpack the barge container that housed the tests due to rain; Saturday they didn't unpack it due to wind, so he couldn't take it on Sunday, either. Now he is at the mercy of College Board as to if he can take it at all in October, or just scratch that and take it for November's test day (hopefully). Life is complicated when you are isolated and have freaky weather.

We did go for a ride around base, and stopped at Ferry Landing. Here is is, April 2013:

The sidewalk above has at regular intervals three stairs that go to the sand.

Or at least it did have sand. Here is one of the staircases this morning:

And here is Ferry Landing. Lots of big rocks, but no beach whatsoever:

They will bring sand back in, just like they did with Hurricane Sandy, and all will be normal (or as "normal" as you can be in a place where the beach washes away).

Today marks 3 years that we announced to everyone that we were moving to Cuba. It's been a crazy, wild ride. I didn't dream I'd live somewhere where keeping a hurricane kit is normal, or running out of basic food items is normal. I didn't think I'd be chasing iguanas or tarantulas at work, or dodging huge rodents in the road at night. It's been in many ways a new life, one of frustrations and joys, disappointments and life-long friendships. The one thing it's never been is boring. 

Thank God it's broken; or, Pedro's (finally) on the move

Today's weather in Naval Station Guantánamo Bay: 88º and it's hot, y'all! 

Being a tall person my entire life, I am often called upon to "come here and get this [such and such] from that top shelf." The problem with our house is the kitchen cabinets are over a deep set counter, which means I have to really get on my tip toes to reach the highest shelf. This problem became apparent when, upon grabbing a pyrex casserole dish, another glass dish hidden inside it came crashing down, narrowly missing my head in the process.

The crash was horrendous, the mess was heinous. Glass slivers and chips and chunks sprayed EVERYWHERE, thanks to a tile floor that had the dish bouncing like a ball before its demise. I swept, I mopped, I swept again, and I vacuumed. Twice. Even after finding dead (and live!) scorpions in the house, I have an aversion to wearing shoes indoors, but I now find myself wearing flip flops in the kitchen.

My thoughts?

Thank God. That's one less thing I have to pack.

And just like that, I've been secretly wishing that everything I don't need would just tumble out of a cabinet and end up in the garbage. That would make the process of moving to another house oh-so-easy.

Some good news. . .

Pedro the Yard Chicken has a new home.

We got keys today for our new digs! Stay tuned for the Continuing Adventure of Tacky Lawn Art (Bottle Tree, you are next) and inevitably, more broken dishes along the way.

Looking Backward & Forward; or, Happy 2 Year GTMOversary

Almost exactly two years ago today, I was driving around our new home, Naval Station Guantánamo Bay, for the first time.

I was excited. 

I was terrified. 

Would my kids hate it here? Would they fit in? Would my husband think I'm crazy for leaving the relative comfort of the US for such a strange and unique place? How would I like my new job?  

Two years later, we aren't worse for the wear. 

In fact, in many ways, we are much better. 

I wake up in the morning and can see the fenceline with Cuba outside my front window. I also see mountains and the Bay. On a clear day, I can see the buildings of Caimanera, Cuba (but can never, ever actually go there). I hear the National Anthem broadcast daily over a base-wide public announcement system and listen to Cuban radio to and from work. My "local" news is from Miami (and after watching that for 2 years, I wonder why anyone would want to raise a family there). I work with people who have worked on several continents. Many of my students are nomads, "third culture" kids. I dream of joining some of my former colleagues in several Europe or Asia locations. 

I still am amazed that we are living in a place that isn't quite a foreign country, but definitely not the US. My kids have dealt with challenges we never even considered---they constantly say goodbye to good friends, the oldest has to deal with balancing online, correspondence, and in-seat classes in a tiny high school. This is considered a "hardship tour" for DoD employees with good reason---expensive and almost-impossible travel on and off island for civilians, waiting constantly for things that are "on the barge," and technology that harkens back to days of the early 1990s. 

And in our exclusive little gated community in the Caribbean, surrounded by fences and Communists (and Marines with guns), my children have more freedom that they could have dreamt of in the US. A few miles from the prison (yes, that one), and they are safer than anywhere else we've ever lived. We live in a fishbowl---not just everyone in this small place knowing all your business, but our community is scrutinized and criticized daily in the media by people who have no idea what it is really like to live in GTMO. 

(My favorite conversation the last 2 years was with a friend who, after several minutes, realized that yes, Guantánamo Bay is "Gitmo." She truly freaked out. It is Gitmo, but really, it isn't. If you live here, you know what I mean). 

Our life is full of sunshine and iguanas and slow traffic.  Hurricane kits and large rodents that will eat your car. Feral children and free outdoor movies. Impossible mail system and an infuriating monopoly on substandard phone and internet service. Cheap and easy SCUBA diving. Shortages of groceries and very, very few restaurants. The most amazing sunsets on a weekly basis. Neighbors that look after each other. Kids who experience the wide berth of freedom on a base that is geographically small and where everyone makes sure you are home by sundown. 

Here's to our first 2 years of Cuba-not Cuba life, and with much excitement we look forward to what the future brings.  

Looking forward while living in the present---life in GTMO

The *not bucket* List; or, It ain't over 'til it's over

Two years here, and there's still much to do.

I'm working on finding ways to keep on keeping on with fun in the sun in our little exclusive gated community. I'm calling it the Things I Must Do Before I Escape GTMO list (I refuse to say it's my GTMO bucket-list, because I hate that over-used phrase, and honestly, I associate either fish bait or vomit when I think of a bucket).

The Things I Must Do Before I Escape GTMO List:

1. Get a boating license

2. Do some sea kayaking

3. Get back into doing pottery

4. DEFEAT CANDY CRUSH

5. (okay, play less Candy Crush)

Isn't this the most disturbing this you've seen all day???
My mutant foot, thanks to a severely sprained ankle.
Ugh. 

6. Run again. It's been a long, slow journey to recovery from a sprained ankle. Who knew?
7. Soccer, again (the ankle. . . )
8. Dive again (damn ankle!!)

9. Catch a lobster

10. Gathers some conchs

11. Visit Ft. Conde again

12. Paint: 

Recent painting of my favorite GTMO banyan tree 

13. Spend less time at school (no more staying until 6 pm)

14. Spend more time at the beach

15. Master the homemade loaf of bread (nothing but abysmal failures thus far)

16. Go sailing

Sailboat for rent

23. Figure out something creative to do
with the 500# of sea glass I've collected (thus far)

17. Grow some peppers
18. Get off this rock more than 1 time a year
19. Ride my mountain bike on the trails
20. Teach son 1 how to drive a stick shift (life skill!)
21. Finish my ESOL (or Reading?) certification (or both?)
22. Save, save, save money

28. Go to the lighthouse museum

24. Clean out the hall closet
25. Clean out the garage
26. Have a killer garage sale
27. Take more photographs with my amazing new camera

29. Eat more Jerk

30. Learn to play "Blitzkrieg Bop" on the ukelele

31. Whittle down my shoe collection to a reasonable size 

32. Finish the Diana Gabaldon "Outlander" series

33. Do a craft fair at least once with son 2 (he has some creative ideas)

34. Invite people over more often

35. Go to Leeward for a day, this time with the entire family

36. Spend more time visiting our nice little community library

37. Continue my back porch wine sessions with my awesome neighbor

37. Figure out how to get grass to grow in our yard that looks like the moon

38. Photograph a deer and a boa (not necessarily at the same time. . .)

39. Spend more time at the plant nursery

40. Walk JPJ hill

41. Spend less time talking about work or thinking about it

42. Spend more time talking with my family and planning new adventures

43.Clean out Pearl to restore her to her former somewhat pristine glory

44. Fly a kite

45. Go to an astronomy event

46. Get prints of some of our better GTMO photographs

47. Not sweat the small stuff

48. Remember it's all small stuff

49. Give away more seedlings/plants

50. Downsize, downsize, downsize (got to tread lightly)

51. Yo-ga, yo-ga!

52. Continue working through viewing a large list of amazing 80s movies with Son 1

53. Enjoy 100s of more hours with my board game loving Son 2:

Ticket to Ride. . . 

or Life? 

54. Finish at least 1/2 the books stacked up on my bed side table

55. Hablo mas español, aunque nadie habla español en US-Cuba. (No estoy en Cuba-Cuba).

Also, last week we cooked what we thought was a cut up pork roast in the crock pot, only to find out that it had skin. And maybe hooves. I don't know. It was crazy-scary.

Add to that list that I'm working on finding ways to cook with what we have here (and no more surprises, please).