FAQs on All Things GTMO; or, What it is, what it ain't

Instead of having something new to say, I compiled a "best of" list from the last 3 years. Think of it as your own FAQ section of this blog.

This is what happens when your McDonald's runs out of meat for a couple of weeks.
Seriously. 

Refugee boat found at the Lighthouse Museum

These are the GTMO-specific posts. Maybe one day I'll put together another list of non-GTMO posts, since those are some of my favorites, as well. 

start here: 

EVERYTHING GTMO

It is What It is; or, Why GTMO is (really) Not Cuba (20 December 2012) This still sums up how I feel about this bizarre and beautiful place. 

Too Many Questions; or, I'm Still Not Hanging With Fidel (22 July 2014) Everything you want to know but are afraid to ask

View of Cuba ("real" Cuba) from the ferry

on parenting in GTMO: 

Drive-bys in GTMo; or, How a Gang Took My Youngest and Brought Back Pigpen (3 Dec. 2012) This is what happens to your children when you move here. You've been warned! 

Big, Huge Hills and Nautical Donuts; or, Field-Tripping, GTMO-Style (31 May 2013) What do you do for field trips when you can't leave the base? Read more here. 

banyan roots at the Bayview Restaurant

on mail, shopping, and other things they don't tell you before you come here: 

Pineapple Problems; or, Where's My *%&! Mail?!?!?  (15 May 2014) The mail issues are like pineapples. Or something like that. I tried to make a fancy analogy and it sort of worked. 

Mr. Post Man, Bring Me My Stuff; or, It's On the Barge. . . to Oman (15 Dec. 2012) What you can and can't get (specifically, food and mail).
The (Not) Love Letters; or, Going Postal in GTMO (12 June 2015) The mail, again. Do you see a pattern? This time with photographic evidence of what exactly to expect.

One of my favorite beaches, Chapman Beach

on tourist attractions and diversions: 

Merry Christmas Parade!, or, How I Survived a Drive-by Assault  (3 Dec. 2012) I still laugh when I read this one. 

Land of (the) Lost; or, Daytripping to Ft. Conde (2 Jan. 2015) A trip with photos to an abandoned fort hidden near a gorgeous beach.
Check, Check, Check; or, Make My GTMO in Miniature (10 April 2015): Rasta Hill, the Lighthouse Museum, my favorite banyan tree, and Goofy Golf
Big Beaches, big planes, big flags; or, Dance-off for World Peace (13 August 2013): Chapman Beach, Northeast Gate Tour
Beaches; or, My Sand is Bigger Than Your Sand (30 June 2015): a run-down of our favorite GTMO beaches

Postcard pretty! View from the top of Fort Conde

only in GTMO. . . 

Just Accept It; or, The Five Stage of GTMO (4 June 2014) This kind of went viral, with over 1000 hits. A year and a half later, it's still true. 

#GTMO Problems; or, Crotch tarantulas and toad-licking dogs (22 Feb 2014) A list of 24 problems unique to GTMO 

Sh*t My GTMO says; or, Happy 3 Year GTMO-versary! (20 Oct 2015) another list of bizarre things you hear (sometimes coming out of your own mouth) once you've been here a while

To the Lighthouse

Here and Now; or, Magic Trees and Other Oddities

November is what I like to call "no-school November." Between Veteran's Day, Thanksgiving, parent conferences, and report card prep day (yes, we get one of those), there is only one 5-day week the entire month. The constant interruptions and lack of continuity make it difficult to complete anything at work. It appears that writing the blog is one of those difficult things, too.

So here I am, December and I haven't written anything in weeks. Oops.

Dreams of transfers dance in my head this holiday season. Transfer season is upon us, and I am still dreaming large, and after last year's fiasco, facing the reality that I cannot do anything else to make a transfer happen. There is a limited number of moves in the budget, and if I am lucky enough to get one, great. However, it is not a given. I'm trying to make peace with the fact that we don't have an end date here, and I need to focus on the present instead of constantly planning for the future.

This has always been one of my biggest faults; at 14, instead of thinking about high school, I was planning out my college path. At 19, instead of focusing on college life, I was planning out a career, marriage, kids, a house, etc. (I know, I know. What was I thinking!!!) If it is responsible and mature to plan ahead when you are a teen, it is not so much at the cost of missing out on most of your teen years because you are too busy trying to grow up.

So now, at almost 46 years old, I am trying to live more in the present and enjoy La Isla Bonita instead of planning for The Next Big Thing.

With that, here are some pictures to show the here-and-now in GTMO.

(Warning: it's a little ridiculous. And strange. And awesome). 

MAGIC TREES 

I can't grow plants in my front yard because the banana rats eat them.
However, the banyan tree they live in is growing plants---and they won't eat them.
Look closely. . . 

There's a cactus growing in a knot of the tree. 

The ground cover that the banana rats mowed through
when I planted it on the front walkway
is now growing in the tree where said banana rats live. . . 

DINING IN GTMO:

After a five-week closure, McDonalds is open.
The Bad: The signs say, "Sold Out." They are out of all beef products. Seriously.
The Good: McDonalds is bad for you anyway. . .

CELL PHONES IN GTMO: 

Cell phone, GTMO style. The Good: it's free, and the reception never drops.
The Bad: Won't fit in your GTMO special (but they are everywhere).

Coming soon: Christmas #4, GTMO style! 

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. 

Party Like it's 1999; or, The Kindness of Strangers

I really don't know why back in the late summer I thought, hey, I can be the Junior Class sponsor and plan a prom! 

I mean, REALLY. I hate throwing any sort of celebration and just planning a kid's birthday party causes me lots of anxiety. Is anyone going to show up? Am I going to have enough food, or do I have way too much? I also don't like dealing with the less-than-stellar mail service here (or lack of), and it's not like you can run down to the party center, the discount store, the grocery store, or the craft store to get supplies. So you are at the mercy of mail service that, well, sucks.

A plus is that in 3 years I have learned to be resourceful, if nothing else, and I was fortunate enough to work with kids who are also resourceful and creative + hard working to boot.

This is how everyone pitched in to make a prom happen at a school with less than 50 high school students:

• Instead of ordering very expen$$$ive cardboard cutouts for photo props, we had the Seabees make them. They donated the materials and lots of time, plus they drew half of the props themselves. A group of high schoolers spent 4-5 hours one Saturday designing the other ones. These will then be recycled for drama and music productions. 
• A couple of ladies from JTF volunteered their time, materials, and talents to paint the props for us. They also picked them up and dropped them back off at the school. 
• The youth director from the chapel volunteered his time to pick up the props from the school and transport them to the Bayview restaurant, the location of the prom. 
• A group of parents, staff members, and members of the community helped with the set up of decorations and the take down at the end of the night. 

In addition, we had help financially, as well. You don't get a blank check from any school to buy what you need for prom; it's always the job of the Junior Class to raise all the money. 

A prom for 40-50 people and a meal shouldn't be that expensive, right? 

Maybe in the States, but not here in GTMO. 

Because you are having to ship in everything via the barge (as in "it's on the barge"---yes, that barge) or via plane, catering is super expensive. And because trying to coordinate something other than using catering on base requires way more planning than I am capable of doing, you pay what you pay. It's the same with facilities---we were limited as to where you can serve 40-50 people and have space for a dance floor.

It's not just limited resources and the expense of everything here that's difficult---there is the money factor. Unlike schools in the states, we are limited in the amount of fundraising (both the amount and the number of fundraisers) that we can do by our district and by the base JAG. As a result, we worked 3 times harder to raise probably 1/10 of what we would have raised in the US. People on base are very generous (especially when they hear that it's for a prom). We had lots of half or all-day fundraisers, and every time we finished, we would count the money and I'd think, well that's another platter of sushi. Maybe this will pay for some decorations. Money doesn't go far here, but every single dollar mattered.

Despite working our butts off, we still came up short, but thankfully we had groups all over base that donated money (and one group donated the proceeds from a carwash they held with the students).

photo: Brian Teal Photography

Hardships aside, we do have something going here you don't get just anywhere else. For example: check out the view above. You don't get that back in a hotel ballroom in the US! We didn't have ice sculptures (like my former high school) or other fancy decorations, a live band or a four star meal. What we had was a great time for kids to get together and do what they do here---everyone was accepted and the kids got along wonderfully. Because the high school is so tiny, students 9-12 are invited (and 8th graders can go with a high school date). We have 49 students 9-12, and we had 41 students attend prom, including a handful of 8th graders and homeschoolers.

I can't imagine some of my former high schools allowing students to attend prom in casual clothes. Here attire ranged from a tux to jeans---I told the kids that the dress code was "something clean." We live in a place where you can't run to a clothing store to get traditional prom attire---it requires a lot of planning and hoping that the mail service works efficiently (which it doesn't) and that the clothes fit. Remember, we are behind a fence and can't just drive over into Cuba any old time to get clothes. It's also ridiculous to have a strict dress code because we are on a military base----several kids either just recently got here or are in the process of leaving and have all of their dress clothes in transit---so I told them to wear what they have, but please come. And they did. (And they looked fabulous, regardless of what they wore).

So for all of my worrying and fretting and hand wringing and sleepless nights, it went well.

Will I do it again?

Definitely not next year. I am not the sort of person who has the confidence or foresight that what we are doing now will pay off many months from now. Flaky mail service, the added expenses of anything you do here, the inconvenience of having to plan something months and months in advance because you can't do anything last minute at an isolated, small base, created so much anxiety that I honestly wasn't able to enjoy everything until an hour or so into the prom, when I realized yes, this is going to work. I need a break and I'm looking forward to spending some of those 100+ hours I spent on the prom with my senior next year (I am still in denial), his cute little brother, and my baby-daddy, who was a good sport and was my prom date.

Clockwise, starting top left: 1920s jazz cutouts for photo props; our Speakeasy door (tickets had
the secret password on them); view of the dining room and our feather centerpieces; part of
the games which included card games and a foosball table (seriously); some of the
giveaways at the door; the beautiful and delicious cake at the center of the
dessert table. Not pictured: the bar with mocktails and lots of kids
on the dancefloor and in the dining area
All photos: Brian Teal Photography

I get so frustrated with this place sometimes and how it just seems like you have 1001 factors going against you when you try to plan anything. I've dealt with my share of disappointments this year. Some are big, like the transfer round that wasn't a transfer round. Some are small, like items that arrive broken in the mail, or that things are so stupidly expensive here. But then something comes around to put my life in perspective and I have to be humble and thankful for what I have.

To depend on what Tennessee Williams called "the kindness of strangers" in Streetcar ----having people you've never met volunteer time, talents, and money to help, many of whom have no connection to the school other than they want the school to have a successful prom---was both an eye-opening and an humbling experience for me. Seeing my son and his classmates work together so well to make this work---did I mention that there are only TWELVE students in the entire junior class?!?---made me so very proud of them.

After prom, I went home quite exhausted, with aching feet, but with a full heart. https://librarianwanderlust.blogspot.com/2015/05/party-like-its-1999-or-kindness-of.html

Woman on the Verge; or, Bob Marley Earthquake Survival Tips

The luxurious island life has been wearing me down, MAN.

Sporadic/non-existent internet at work makes getting the yearbook uploaded to the company site in time for a tight deadline a nightmare.

I decided to finally settle in since we are here indefinitely and ordered a rug. It's on the barge. . . along with the last of the decorations we ordered a month ago for the prom (which is in less than 2 weeks). Yikes again.

And for at least the 4th time since we moved here, the entire island is out of Diet Coke. The struggle is REAL.

If my life were a movie right now, I have a great title in mind. Unfortunately, the great Spanish director Almodóvar already used it:

Young Antonio Banderas---Rahr

So I'm putting this out to the universe (or at least the few people who read this): if I take on two huge tasks that are due at the same time, which happens to be at the end of the year (really a big deal when you teach h. school, especially seniors), please shoot me. Hit me. Remind me that I'm a moron. Remind me that I am physically and mentally exhausted, that I can't formulate a complete sentence most days, that I have been plagued with headaches (and twice, the hives) because of the stress. Please remind me.

I was actually volun-told to do one of these tasks (yearbook), but I chose to be a class sponsor to organize prom. I am so type A and such a worry-wart, I have lost tons of sleep over "what can go wrong?" scenarios. I am not cut out for this sort of thing. Lesson learned. 

I've spent a lot of time lately figuring out why I am basically living at school right now---these 2 things are a big part of it. So is teaching 5 preps. I'm trying to find ways to balance it all for next year and putting family first. It won't matter in 10 years if the yearbook was perfect or if I had beautifully written lesson plans; I will have 2 boys grown and out of the house, so I have to find ways to spend extra time with them, instead of 15-20 hours a weekend at school. 

Just yesterday, H reminded me of what I miss out when I'm working 60 hour weeks instead of hanging out with him. 

Here are some quotes:

"Fun fact, mom!  Did you know that 50 Cent was shot in the tongue?" 

That's not really "fun," but the total randomness of this declaration made me laugh. 

"I know what to do in case of an earthquake, mom! I get under a strong table. And then I sing Bob Marley's 'Three Little Birds.' Loudly."

Thanks, kid, for reminding me that every little thing's gonna be alright. . . 

Weeding and Waiting; or, A Move in the Near Future

Almost two weeks after I wrote about the uncertainty (and lack of control I have) over our current condition, nothing has changed.

This I do know: I am definitely not in control.

I know this: We are moving to a new house.

No, it's not a new house in a new country. Instead, at least for the present, we are moving to a new house on base.

I got a nice surprise when I opened my email a few weeks ago saying that we were being offered a brand new house. We've been on a waiting list for a larger house for a year now. Then I panicked---what if I get a transfer? Do we want to move twice in a few months?

I also know that, as of today, I'm still Category F in the transfer round. This is the main reason I decided to say yes to moving to a larger house. We can't control the transfer round, but we can control the size of our house---a first since we moved from Texas in 2012. Base housing is free. That's the good. I'm not going to sound like an ingrate about my free house, so I'll just say that the best part of this move is that we won't be connected to neighbors anymore.

It's not that we have lousy neighbors; it's just that it's difficult living in a duplex house. I haven't shared a wall with neighbors since we lived in an apartment in Colorado over 20 years ago. I wish I had a dollar for every time I've said the following: Don't stomp up the stairs. Turn off the bathroom fan---it's too loud. Please come downstairs to talk to me instead of screaming. Turn down your music. Quit bouncing the ball on the wall (why do boys always do that?). You can't play your guitar because it's X-o'clock and the neighbors are probably sleeping. We try to be considerate people, but it's really a challenge with kids who have never shared such close quarters with neighbors.

I do know this, too: we still have a lot of fine quality crap that we hauled here. Some of it we hauled from Mississippi to Georgia, Georgia to Colorado, Colorado to Washington, Washington to Texas, and then Texas to Cuba. Seriously, 22 years of marriage means lots and lots and lots of fine quality crap.

I keep reminding myself that unlike a lot of our friends and neighbors here, we brought EVERYTHING with us to Cuba. We also moved with less than a month's notice to clean out lots of closets and an attic and a large garage. We didn't do so badly, considering the circumstances. We had a garage sale this past weekend and got rid of several things. It was nice to say goodbye to clothes and toys and books and small appliances.

As with everything else, we don't know when this move will happen; we are waiting for phones to be installed, and last I heard (three weeks ago), the phone equipment was on the barge. *sigh*

I don't like feeling like I have no control over the future, but that's sort of how you have to roll in this system. It has really been an exercise in trying to live more in the present instead of hyper-focusing on the future (something I've done since I was a child).

Moving to another house has given me a large positive goal to focus on. I'm just grateful to have something in my life I can control right now. It will be a lot of work (we have to move ourselves), but instead of sitting around, worrying and wishing and waiting, I can be unpacking and rearranging and still simplifying our lives by weeding out what we don't need.

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

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

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

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

Things we need for relocation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Very GTMO Christmas Parade, again; or, Santa in the Tropics

A typical GTMO float decoration, and the moon rising in GTMO, with parade revelers waiting for floats

It's really hard to get into the Christmas mood when you live on a Caribbean island.

(And no, I'm not asking for sympathy, especially from my friends and family members living in the snowy, icy areas of the US right now).

It's just hard to get into the Christmas holiday season when it's hot outside. Decorations look a little odd against palm trees and blue skies.

The youngest got to participate in the GTMO parade for the second year in a row. He wasn't quite as excited as last year, but he had a great time. I guess once you've done something, the new has worn off and it's just not the same ever again.

Loving the full Cuban moon

But there was more of the same that I loved about our first Christmas parade here---kids pelting the revelers with candy as hard as they could throw, people ducking and dodging, and so many cute little faces. The best part is that after 2 years here, I knew most of those cute little faces, and I loved hearing them call my name (as I was moving like a ninja out of the way of flying Jolly Ranchers and mini Hershey's bars).

I was really bothered my first year (and second) that slow and unreliable mail service meant presents didn't get here on time. However, with our sights set at paring down what we have, and the selected variety of what we have here at our one and only store, we may have one of our smallest Christmas's yet, gift-wise. (And to our family in the US, so sorry but I am STILL mailing the Christmas/Hanukkah gifts. Happy New Year's, maybe?)

Less shopping choices means less impulse buying of junk the kids won't use six months from now. Depending on online shopping with painfully slow mail service means less buying online.

(I'm trying to be calm. In reality, not a SINGLE THING I have ordered online has made it, and some things were ordered over a month ago).

And beautiful, summer-like weather in the dead of winter means I find myself in early December going, "Oops, I did it again!" and forgot to order those presents back in October.

Instead of worrying about presents, I'm exciting thinking about our new Cuban Christmas traditions: local caught lobster and a day at the beach.

And what's a better present than that?

Befuddling, Excruciating, and Maddening; or, No Regrets

It's hard going through the passages of life so far away from your loved ones.

It's not just death I'm talking about. I have dealt with death and grieving since I've been here, but I am talking about the not-so-depressing, just everyday things that most people take for granted when they live near their long-time friends and family. Things like birthdays and anniversary parties, get-togethers with the girlfriends, and spur-of-the-moment phone calls for advice.

My husband is an AF Brat, lived in Europe for a large part of his childhood. He didn't experience monthly or every-two-month visits to the grandparents, yearly family reunions, and summers with the cousins, and he turned out relatively normal. But the thought never occurred to me as a child that I'd be one of those people who sees my parents only once or twice a year. It is what my life has become. It's the one downside to living so far away.

It doesn't mean that you can't still be close to friends and family when you live out of the country. There are emails and letters (and care packages---oh, how I love care packages!). There are the occasional phone calls---although calling here is a real pain. When calling on our calling card (to avoid exorbitant prices), our family members call a 1-800 number, enter a PIN, then our international phone number. All in all, it's like 28 numbers. At least we aren't in the days of rotary dial phones.

It doesn't work, but it's still cool. 

This is the one thing I miss while in the Commissary (well, other than actually having a well-stocked store---Why have we been out of plain yogurt for almost a month?? Why don't we have food coloring AT ALL? Why are the eggs two weeks out of date? How are we almost out of all school supplies? Okay, rant is over): I miss calling my grandmother from the grocery store. I used to call my grandmother at least once or twice a month to ask her how to make something. It would go something like this: "Grammaw, if I'm buying fresh turnip greens, WHAT do I do with these things?" She'd give me a quick run-down on how to pick good ones, how to clean them, and how to prepare and cook them (and when my grandfather was alive, he'd chime in, too).

Our mail doesn't appear to be coming at all---we used to have three mail flights per week, and then it was cut down to two. I haven't gotten mail in over two weeks. Our +4 zip just changed for the second time since I've been here, so I'm hoping that the mail's just a little slow and that it didn't end up in Oman or Europe again.

Just because sometimes life here is slower, with 25 mph speed limits and only once-a-week shipments of groceries (or even mail) on the barge, it doesn't mean life is necessarily slower. Because of the pace of everything, I feel like I do more work than ever. Our painfully slow internet and communication issues make me very impatient and I feel like I'm spinning my wheels, since I'm a "work smarter, not harder" kinda gal. There are days that I have to refrain from banging my head on the wall in frustration because I find taking 15 minutes to check email absolutely excruciating. And don't get me started on the inefficiencies of working for the World's Biggest Bureaucracy---it's maddening what it takes just to get much-needed items, such as book glue (no, not the same as Elmer's or a hot glue gun) so I can do my job the right way.  I know Those People in Washington could care less about how budget sequestration is affecting my ability to salvage damaged books in my little library. I have had my mini-breakdown over our insufficient resources, and once I let go, I really do enjoy my job.

I can truly say that for the first time in my life, I am able to say I'm a "work hard, play harder" person, as well. It's what I've wanted to attain for a long time. I can finally see tangible rewards---not in material items, but even better. I can go to the beach for sea glass hunting, swimming, or diving almost any day. I spend afternoons with my husband and kids. The weather here is fantastic. Less choices for goods and restaurants, less distance for work commutes, and a wardrobe for one season altogether mean more savings in the bank. I spend more time cooking (which I mostly enjoy) and we spend more time sitting around the dinner table as a family. I have time to take art classes and pottery classes, which give me great joy. My oldest gave up cello, but he's spending lots of time playing the guitar (he's now up to 3 of them, 2 electric and an acoustic) and the bass, and I don't believe he'd be practicing so much if he had all the distractions that teens have in the States. My youngest has a spectacular farmer's tan, thanks to spending hours outside instead of in front of a computer or television.

Pie. Yum. H helped me make this apple pie from scratch. 

There are many hardships to living here---some emotional, others a matter of inconvenience---but as we are slowly coming upon our one year anniversary, I can say without any hesitation that we have no regrets.

Oh, and Happy Birthday today to my Daddy. (I know you actually read this---and I thank you for everything, including shaping me into the independent, determined, and stubborn person who does crazy things like uprooting my family on a month's notice and moving to an isolated military base in a Communist country. I really thought it through beforehand and carefully weighed the decision, as you taught me. Thanks for showing me how hard work pays off, and how you must always take pride in your work, even if it's something small like mowing a yard or washing a car. Thanks for not taking it easy on me because I'm a girl. Girls can do anything boys can do--and better. You taught me that. I love you!).

Blame it on Liberace; or, The bird, the bees, and some fireworks

Well, now. My magazine from May 20 is much better traveled than I am.

It's a New York magazine (never mind I'm not from New York; I still like it) and was supposed to come to Cuba.

Somehow it ended up at two places first. It was covered with the red tell-tale stamps that map out my mail's detour before it hit Gitmo.

"Missent to DPO 09642" means it was sent to Madrid, Spain.

Then "Missent to 09613" means it then went to Livorno, Italy.  (At least it wasn't Oman this time).

I understand that the photograph of Michael Douglas (as Liberace) is quite disconcerting at first glance. I'm going to assume it was so distracting that a few postal workers along the way put it in the wrong pile. I'm okay that it's well traveled (at least it wasn't a bill). I just wish they would have thrown in a postcard or two.

And I STILL got it earlier than the magazines that are on the racks at the NEX.

Our baby bird has flown the coop. I was going out to my car a few days ago, and something in the bushes caught my eye. It was baby bird!  The little dove was flitting and flying, not too coordinated-like, right onto the top of the fence, and then into the neighbor's back yard. Saw him later on the neighbor's car and roof. I hope he hangs in this area a little longer, and I'm glad he at least made it to flying. It did my heart good to see our little bird was out on his own.


I FINALLY got out and hiked the ridgeline this past week. The dirt and rock trail follows the crest of some large hills surrounding the base, and it has the most beautiful views for miles (of not only US-Cuba, but Cuba-Cuba). I went with a friend and our three kids, who will be in 1st, 2nd, and 4th grade next year. In places, it's quite the hike---steep inclines and washed out trails make it challenging. The kids were awesome---two took tumbles and got a little scraped up, and another was attacked by a swarm of bees, AND they still lasted for a little over five miles. Not bad at all!

Because there was a trail run on the next day (July 4), the trail had flags every few yards with names of servicemen and women killed in war. It's quite sobering hiking by dozens of these names. I don't know what's worse---the majority of  PFCs, probably kids who are 18 or 19, or the higher ranking folks who were probably quite a bit older and maybe had their own wife/husband and kids at home. It's tragic any way you look at it. Probably 2/3 of the flags had blown over, so the kids helped put them upright, which is no easy task since the soil here is like concrete.




And the pot at the end of the rainbow was a trip to McDonald's, of course.  Don't judge; try cheering three tired, sore kids through trails and then YOU tell them "no."


We celebrated the Fourth by going to an outdoor festival for the kids (bouncy houses, face painting, games), then the oldest and I went to watch an all-girl (or mostly all-girl) AC/DC cover band.  Just seeing a group of women thrashing guitars and watching men scream like a bunch of teenage girls made the concert worth it. That, and I never thought I'd hear men scream/sing along as women belt out,"We've got the biggest balls of them all!" It's my all-time favorite double entendre song ever. It never gets old, even if I'm not a teenager anymore.

We also had a great feast with friends, and as with all things here, it was a mish mash of just about everything and most excellent: sushi, apple pie, and ribs. Doesn't get any better than that.

And of course, there were fireworks---amazing fireworks. There were fireworks that made shapes of stars, hearts, and happy faces. I've never seen that before. It was one of the best displays I've seen. I imagine the Cubans also watched in amazement. I wonder what the Cuban guards think as they are watching the fireworks from their perches in the towers, looking down at the bay.

I also thought of my grandfather Dudley and how he would have loved the wonderment of it all. You know, celebrating the birth of our country while living in a communist country; celebrating everything patriotic with friends, including some first and second generation Americans; and being thankful for the Chinese for inventing fireworks to celebrate the most American of holidays. My grandfather was a lifetime firework aficionado. He never got too old to get excited about a firework show. One of the last times we saw him, he pulled a lawnchair into the driveway as we shot some off in the street in front of his house for New Year's.

As I was oohing and aahing and saying "wow" over and over again, I thought how much I hope that in my 90s, I will still be able to find the little things in life exciting and fun. That's how my grandfather lived his life: he still found joy in everyday things, and he freely shared his joy with all those around him. Whether it's a bird that's flown the coop, or the silly looking iguana running across the road, or a huge Owl Moth in the back porch---I try to slow down and remember it's the little things that make life big.

And yes, that even includes getting my magazine with a somewhat bewildering cover over a month late. It's still all good.

Never Thoughts; or, What's Cooking? Not a damn thing.

And now, the latest edition of "never thoughts."

Never thought I would be excited about bread, sour cream, butter, or yogurt being on the shelf of a grocery store. 

Never thought I'd follow a web page to see when people post things like, "Block cheese at the commissary! Really! Get it before they sell out!" 

Never thought I'd have a closet full of running shoes and flip-flops. Didn't think I'd be all excited about a sale on shoes---especially running shoes. Or running shorts. Or lightweight, absorbent socks. Or that I'd be able to run a 10K and not absolutely die. 

Never thought I'd have to scream for my kids to come in at nightfall.

Never thought it would be damn near impossible to visit the United States. Saturday's rotator flight? It has 1 available seat. Again. Ugh. 

Never thought we would have to give a graduation card in Spanish because there are absolutely no other ones available. (The kid did think it was humorous, even if he didn't understand a word of it). 

As much as I love winter clothes (scarves! hats! mittens! cashmere!), I don't miss winter. Or fall. Or spring. It's pretty much summer here, all year long. 

I can bitch and complain and moan and groan over what I do miss, but that list has somehow, miraculously, gotten shorter. 

It has all come down to this: food. 

I miss food. As in, good quality produce and meat. I miss farmer's markets. I miss locally grown food. I miss the comfort food of my childhood. I see many of the people I love in relation to food. Grammaw = purple hulled butter beans. Granny = lemon pound cake (Aunt Irene's recipe!)  

Paw = jars of fresh green beans.  Mom = shrimp étoufée or gumbo. Dad = homemade peach ice cream or orange sherbet.

I spoke about this at a wedding once, about how food can seal a deal. I really think the turning point in a relationship with a colleague was when she took me to a restaurant called The Southern Kitchen in Tacoma, Washington. I was so homesick at the time---living in grey, depressing Washington, feeling isolated from my family, having a hard time making friends, and with a small baby---that one small gesture of kindness made me realize I could hang with that chick the rest of my life. I almost cried in my grits, biscuits with white gravy, and sweet tea. It was that good and the trip there meant that much to me.

Waffles in Cuba? No, silly. It's Brussels. 

(That same friend and I, fourteen years later, spent a few weeks last summer eating and drinking our way across Europe. I'm happy to say that we don't have to have food for our friendship to flourish, but it does make for some great memories along the way).  

My group of friends in Texas and I would meet once a month or so and discuss what we were reading---all over a nice, home-cooked meal, potluck style.  

Food is what brings people together. I love going to our friends/neighbors' house here for a meal (and usually a card game). I've learned to keep a bottle of wine in the fridge for last minute invitations. 

Not Cuba---Beefsteaks in Germany

And if you've been to my house for a meal  consider yourself a rare species. Why? I have horrible anxiety about cooking for people or for planning any type of event. I am not a foodie. I'm the antithesis of a foodie. Food is, well, something you need to live. It's not special. I don't understand my friends who pay big bucks for organic heirloom tomatoes (and then want to talk to me about it---bo-ring). I don't even really like tomatoes. I can read and follow instructions to make most recipes, and I know some tricks and shortcuts. I can proficiently work a pressure cooker, a food processor, and I love my fancy stand-up mixer. But cooking is just for eating, and that's not terribly exciting, either.

I just don't get obsessing over perfect meals---maybe because I've spent over 1/3 of my life at the table with children. And children, as we all know, are messy and sometimes disgusting in their eating habits and tend to prefer hotdogs over most anything else. Once you've had a child barf the meal it took you 2 hours to prepare all over the dinner table, well, you kind of lose interest in dazzling and just go for the quick-and-easy.

So we have ascertained that I don't especially enjoy cooking, but I do enjoy the company of my friends. 

And I have never been crazy about shopping, but now, I loathe it. 

The fact I'm having to spend so much of my time thinking about shopping lists and planning for the unexpected and having to improvise on the fly is killing me. 

I'm not putting all the blame on the commissary---after all, all groceries have to be barged or flown in. I guess many fresh ingredients can't make that voyage. And we are a small base (only store = commissary/NEX combo), so I shouldn't be surprised that we don't have the room or demand for several things I used to buy in my trusty old HEB in Texas. 

But I still have frustrating days. 

Today is a prime example. Went to the commissary to get ingredients for something I'm making for tomorrow night. I knew we don't have liquid shrimp boil here (we aren't in the South, after all), but with our more-than-ample liquor section, I figured we would have clam juice. Surely people are making Bloody Marys, right? But no shrimp boil, no clam juice. Plan C: make a seafood stock using chicken stock that comes in that funky little paper container. Nope, they don't have that either. 

And I'm out of ideas for Plan D. Actually, we'll just use that crappy stuff full of salt that comes in a soup can. They don't even have a low sodium version. 

See? I'm pissed and bitter. This would be how that alcohol mysteriously always ends up in the buggy. And how I end up taking 2 Excedrin Migraines every single time I come back from grocery shopping.

Also, I wanted to make brats tonight. Got the brats, got sauerkraut, but no buns. They are out of buns. 

*sigh*

It's like this EVERY SINGLE TIME I come to the grocery store. The blame is on me, not the commissary. I'm just not patient or creative enough to wheel around the store 30 times finding improvised ingredients for Plan B, Plan C, Plan D, and Plan E. I've never lived anywhere where I had to do this for almost every meal. I see why people give up and buy junkfood for their families. I refuse to do that (most days, anyway)---but it is SO tempting. 

Bacon pancakes and Heineken for breakfast. Not Cuba; Amsterdam.

And don't get me started on restaurants. I dream of bowls of Vietnamese Pho, platters of Tex-Mex migas, or plates of German Jagerschnitzel (all which we had locally in our town in Texas).

Even though some people think living on an island near the beach MUST be like being on vacation all the time, life here isn't necessarily easy. It's all about adapting and improvising, and we've done a relatively good job thus far on almost every aspect of our life. 

I'm just having a really tough time with this one. 

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.

My favorite Mexican cookbook with my yet unused Chipotles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, I don't.

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

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

So what is there to do?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoarders, Unite!, or, Speculation and Conjecture

The thing about being in a small community, whether a small town or a small military base (and we are both), people tend to feed off each other's energies and gossip can fuel hysteria.

A few months back I wrote about how the ridiculousness of waiting a week for bacon to arrive on the barge is what unites people here in Gitmo.

Waiting for the barge to bring groceries, clothes, cleaning supplies, gardening supplies, not to mention household goods and automobiles, is a sport of sorts here. People actually post on the roster or facebook page when coveted items (block cheese! bread!) show up at the Commissary. So in light of the recent horrific news that the barge had 22 containers that fell into the Atlantic and are unable to be salvaged, the irony of the famous Gitmo saying "It's on the Barge" hasn't been lost on anyone. At first, it was kind of preposterous---seriously, how can so many containers fall off a barge? Then it got scary. How many people have been waiting for their household goods for months, and now they are chewing their nails to the quick, waiting to see if all their worldly belongings have been destroyed? The news has been slow as to what exactly was on the barge. Again, more gossip, more hysteria.

In the haste of moving here in less than a month, we brought things that, in hindsight, should have been left with family members back in the States. As I have been busy in the never-ending quest to downsize and simplify, simplify, simplify, I have not been able to part with sentimental items. I would be crushed if I lost my favorite stuffed animal from childhood, or a necklace my grandparents gave me for college graduation, or the portrait on my dresser of my grandfather and five of his brothers in Newhebron in the early 1900s,  posing in their best clothes (some of them barefooted)---it's proof of roots, as my mom likes to say.  All those items and more are part of who I am, and remind me of people and places I miss. I can't imagine the agony those folks feel, waiting for news about their own sentimental things.

In yet another case of gossip-fed hysteria, I wish I could say that panic didn't set in for me when I realized how dire the situation is if we don't get any shipments of groceries, dry goods, clothes, and everything else, but I found myself joining dozens of other people, grabbing toilet paper, eggs, bottled water, and other necessities that we may go weeks without seeing. Usually we are a civilized lot---you see 2 cartons of eggs left, you take one. This time, people were going for it---I saw people with several boxes of cereal, cases of beer, multiple bags of dog food, etc. I wish I could say the community has faith that the Commissary will pull through and has enough items in reserve in case of a shortage, but the weekly empty shelves here tell another story.

And yet MORE news. . .

I have several people asking me weekly now about the sequestration and furloughs.

Am I going to be furloughed? Maybe. Probably. Most definitely. Not a chance.

It depends on who you ask, what's happened with Congress that day (stop laughing), and what kind of mood everyone is in.

Add the speculation and conjecture about furloughs to the gossip mill. So many of us here are government employees of one type or another, and thought of going 22 days without pay is not fun for anyone. And misery loves company, so you have to avoid the glass-half-empty folks while managing to keep your head out of the sand.  (How is that for mixing metaphors?)

It is what it is. So it goes. I'm just going to keep on running (hate it! HATE it!) and hopefully let the stress melt away.

Speaking of running---the youngest and I did a Dr. Seuss 1 mile Run Fun at the North Gate last weekend. The North Gate is the point where a select few Cubans who were allowed to continue working here used to enter US territory after the fence (and embargoes) became the norm. The last 2 Cubans retired in December to much fanfare---they were celebrities here of sorts---and it is now just another relic of the Cold War. We ran on the fence line and I couldn't help but wonder what the heck the Cuban guards only yards away in their guard towers thought about us in our Dr. Seuss costumes. I wonder if Cubans know about Dr. Seuss. Hopefully, that's not on the banned reading list or considered dirty American propaganda---although who knows. I have to say, after reading Dr. Seuss books to several classes all week, I feel like I've been through a government run brainwashing program. (I have to contain myself and not scream lines such as, "I do not like them on a boat! I do not like them with a goat!" at random moments. I need a Dr. Seuss de-tox, Sam-I-Am).

I am also signed up for a 5K this weekend. Woot! Cross your fingers that I don't fall into the Bay or whatever. I really don't even know where it is. Nobody does. We are bused from the Downtown Lyceum to the super-secret route, which will be revealed on race day.

Expect the unexpected---and make sure you tell everyone about it. Welcome to Gitmo!

Postscript: just read from an official source (yes, really) that the containers on the barge had NO personal goods (yay!), but did contain items bound for the NEX/Commissary (boo!). So no regrets for hoarding!!!