Happiness; or, Best Things

Things that make me happy: 

A couple of weeks ago, I had a student say, "Hey, I really like your dress!" Then he said, "you know, it sort of reminds me of Lord of the Dance!"

So, so many questions:
a). Was this a compliment or an insult?
b). How does a 16 year old boy know about Lord of the Dance? Didn't that go away in, like, 2000 or something?
c). I am not wearing a bolero jacket with appliques, a la Michael Flatley---so what does that mean? Really?

Also, it made me laugh. Really, really laugh. Sometimes you need that, and thanks to working with teenagers, I find quite a few things in the day to make me laugh. 

I love this quote: 

from Beloved

This is from one of my favorite writers, Toni Morrison, from her book Beloved.  It's written on the wall of my classroom. It's my new mantra. You are your best thing. That goes for you, me, everyone. I can't be superwoman and do everything at work perfectly, I am awful at meal planning and my "love/hate" relationship with the grocery store and cooking has drifted towards the "hate/despise" spectrum, but tomorrow will be better, and I am really making huge efforts to take better care of myself while dealing with the challenges of living somewhere without quality fresh produce.

As an aside (bragging here)---my 56 page master's thesis was on the book Beloved. 

As another aside---why doesn't anyone ever ask an English major about the subject of his or her master's thesis? I have never been asked this in a job interview. I know high school English teacher or librarian is not exactly the hallowed halls of academia, but dang---if anyone here reads this, and just happens to interview candidates about their qualifications for a job and sees they have an MA in English, take 3 minutes to ask about their thesis topic. Toni Morrison won the Nobel for literature the week I defended it, so I felt a lot of validation, regardless. 

Happy Meals make me happy (don't judge). This prize made me very happy: 

***book not included

Why? Batgirl was a librarian. She also happens to be reading the world's smallest edition of Beloved. Duh. 

This makes me really happy: 

After several weeks in Europe that did involve a little more walking than usual, but a whole lot more eating out (and, okay, a lot more imbibing), I lost weight. I really think it was because we a) sat down and took our time to eat our meals---it's that slow European dining experience that makes you savor your food and have a conversation at the same time; and b) we ate fresh ingredients with less hormones and antibiotics in our food. 

So we are really sort of screwed with b) here. But I have made an effort to take my time eating, and not gulp down my food like I'm starving to death. Until I tried to cut my finger off (making fresh cucumber and dill salad, by the way), I was also working out a bit. I really think now about what I eat. I can't go down to the bakery to get fresh Brotchen, but I am eating less junk food and trying to eat more vegetables. Anyway, the point is I've lost over 15 lbs, which is about what I've gained in 4 years of eating mostly processed food, and I'm feeling a million times better. 

The week of my son's high school graduation, I tried on one of my favorite dresses I only wear for very special occasions, and the damn thing shrank. I mean, my butt had grown. Not a ton, but enough that I was not comfortable wearing it and had to go with plan B dress, which isn't easy when you don't really have clothes stores here (and it takes 2-3 weeks to get mail, if it ever makes it to you in the first place). Moral of the story---don't wait until the week of an event to try on the outfit you've spent months planning on wearing. Geez. Moral of the story, part two---take time to weigh yourself occasionally and adjust your diet and exercise accordingly.


So I now have a special occasion dress that fits perfectly, a toy to remind me that I love being a librarian and ONE DAY I WILL be back in the library, and I have a student who thinks I look ready to break out in a Celtic groove at any moment. Life's not always perfect or even interesting here, but it's mine and it's my best thing.  

Crabby Days; or, Let's Pretend This is Normal

And now the latest addition of Let's Pretend This is Normal.

Exhibit A: I've got crabs. Lots of crabs.

They like to do things like tip my tacky yard art over. See my "gazing ball?" I don't even know what the point of these things is. I have a nice metal planter and I can't manage to keep a plant alive inside of it, so it's now home to this blue bowling ball-sized glass ball. It's quite heavy. And thanks to a blue land crab, it's always on my front door step (next to piles of banana rat poo).

I have to fight crabs sometimes to get in my classroom. They are small and feisty---they put up their little crabby claws and run towards me, like they are going to take me down. I pick them up, move them off the sidewalk (so nobody steps on them and squishes them---sadly, it does happen), and an hour or so later, do it again. And again. All day long, they keep sideways walking into the wall by my door, and I'm always moving them to the grass. It's like a crazy game, where a crab is getting the last laugh.

(Or maybe, just maybe, Island Fever has officially made me crazy).

Either way, this is the new normal.

Exhibit B:
We also have a major food crisis. McDonald's, one of our eight fine eating establishments (we also have Windjammer/Pizza Hut, O'Kelly's, Bayview, Jerk House, Taco Bell, Triple B, Subway), will be closed for six weeks. The high school kids can no longer eat at the Galley, our mess hall (and best eating establishment here, in my opinion) for a discount price. The buses no longer take kids to the Galley or anywhere else off campus for lunch. So we now have even less options.

Am I sad? Not really. It is unhealthy junk food, after all (as are about half of our food choices here). But their chicken wings and sticky rice are my FAVORITE go-to meal/comfort food. We are small and isolated, but our McDonald's secret menu item is the BEST I've had anywhere else we've lived.

Of course, I've eaten at McDonald's here more in 3 years than in the 40+ years of my life combined pre-GTMO, so who knows what super-secret items are really out there. All I know is we have even less places to go for a quick meal. The fact that I would even consider fast food a "meal" is a new normal, too. 

Also Exhibit C: I recently berated a childhood friend on facebook for killing a huge tarantula he encountered while working in Equatorial Guinea. Did I mention it was huge? I wouldn't have blinked an eye if this had happened 3 years ago, but my new normal is loving tarantulas and making sure they aren't unnecessarily killed.

There's D: 

I feed iguanas hibiscus flowers for fun. Just letting that sentence percolate in my head blows my mind.

I call her "Mama" because she has baby iguanas running all over school. I'm afraid a boa has eaten some of them; let's hope that the remaining ones can outrun it and grow up to be other cute iguanas. I am glad that a female has taken up at school instead of a male, since they are SO much friendlier. 

So feeding wildlife hibiscus blooms is my normal. I am not kidding when I say that even on the roughest, toughest, most exhausting of days, I feel 100 times better by just watching her walk around our school atrium. 

And finally, E: 

The Map of Lost Map has THREE new pins, thanks to our ever-exciting mail service. Sometimes we get it three times a week; sometimes, three times a month. It's always like Christmas up in here. I am still waiting for a package I mailed in July to get to GTMO (and it's September). It's been stuck in Customs in Chicago forever now. 

I still can't understand how 09588, the USS Truxtun; 09009, Ramstein, Germany; and 09357, Kuwait City, Kuwait, look anything like 09593, but whatever. My mail is well traveled and my map contains lots of pins of places I have never been (but would like to visit one day). 

Further Adventures in Culinary Delights; or, Gourmande, I Ain't

Sometimes we find odd items at the commissary. Before thinking it out, I buy them up, bring them home, open my cookbooks (yes, I'm a throwback to the cookbook era instead of Googling recipes, mostly because, you know, GTMO internet), and I attempt to cook something new.

Most of the time the recipes involve cheese because, as you have probably read, I'm all about the cheese.

A few times a year we have brie cheese. I like to slather the top with apricot preserves, top that with sliced almonds, wrap it in puff pastry and bake until it's a gooey mess.

However, being GTMO, more often than not, if we do have brie (it's rare), we don't have puff pastry. (You can substitute refrigerated crescent rolls). Or we don't have apricot preserves (you can substitute any type of preserves). Or we don't have sliced almonds. At all. Yes, I live somewhere where we run out of things like almonds.

Ironically, I have an almond tree in my back yard, but they are highly toxic and there's a crazy process to make them edible, so I just admire it from afar.

The mystery tree---after 2 years, we got confirmation that it's an almond tree

We got Gorgonzola about a week ago. I don't remember seeing it before. I've had (and loved) Gorgonzola spinach cornbread. Just because you are eating something healthy like spinach doesn't mean it can't be encased in a high caloric fusion of cheese and bread, right?

But the recipe calls for cream. In 2 1/2 years, I have seen heavy cream at the commissary ONE time. Seriously. Once. You don't realize how often you use cream in baking until you need it.

So it's sitting in my fridge, waiting for Plan B. The expiration date is looming, so its future is uncertain.

Speaking of expiration dates, we've been told that is "best buy-by date." In 2 1/2 years, I have bought more eggs that are out of date than in date. They are always expired. Not sure why that is.

I also attempted to make corned beef and cabbage a few weeks ago. Found a beautiful, fresh corned beef, but alas, no cabbage. What can you substitute for cabbage? Nothing, right? So I put back the meat. Then a week later, we had a nice variety of cabbage, but alas, no corned beef.

It's a vicious cycle and a matter of timing.

Things we always have in our frozen meat section:
whole rabbits (yes, head, feet, everything)
goat
ox tail
"cubed pork"---mystery pork with skin and maybe hooves
pig's feet, pig's tail
ham hocks (I love these in my red beans and rice)
things that look like pork chops, that upon further inspection, are actually sliced ham hocks

So we recently went to eat at a friend's house and were supposed to bring something. Baked brie? Nope, no brie. Gorgonzola cornbread? Nope, no cream. But I did have a coveted ingredient in the fridge waiting to be used. My husband recently bought the one and only package of FRESH mozzarella cheese we've found in the commissary since we've been here. Real mozzarella, y'all. I'm in heaven.

So I set out to make a Caprese salad with my nice block of mozzarella, but---you see where this is going, right?---no fresh basil. (I did have a basil plant, but it died a very sad, violent death, thanks to the Cuban sun and my negligent watering).

Do we get brie or Gorgonzola or mozzarella or heavy cream more often than I see it? Probably. Do I go to the Commissary every day? Heck no. I go maybe three times a week. I'd probably have more success if I tried to time my trips around barge shipments and went more often, but honestly, I'm used to making do with what we have. And who needs that much fattening food, anyway?

So we went to the dinner with an improvised pasta salad (orzo, mozzarella, basil paste, tomatoes, capers, balsamic vinegar, pine nuts, and olive oil).  We had fresh snook and permit. You can't buy fresh fish at the commissary, but if you are lucky, you have friends who will share their bounty with you (and several other friends who bring their own improvised dishes). And someone brought baked brie! They are much better at finding and hoarding than I am (and I'm glad they did it). There's no potluck like a GTMO potluck!

***post script: two days after writing this, what did I find in the grocery store? Cream! Seriously. I still haven't made that cornbread, but there's cream in my fridge. That's a first in 2 1/2 years of GTMO. 

Ain't No Thang (but a chicken wang); or, Blessings & Gratitude

This makes me happy:

GTMO McDonald's serves this:

Cue OutKast, c. 1994: Ain't No Thang But a Chicken Wang

Sticky rice + chicken wings = happiness

We may not have gourmet restaurants or much variety, but it's finding the weird and strange little things that makes me happy. How many of you have rice at your McDonald's? 

This makes me feel blessed: 

We've had a rotating door of colleagues and neighbors bring food to the house since my hospital stay. I am humbled to no ends that people have taken time out of their busy lives (almost all are teachers) to cook us a delicious meal. We are lucky to live in a small and close-knit community where people look after each other. 

Also, I am blessed to have a husband who does more than fair share of cooking all the time (I can cook, I just don't like to do it, especially after a long day at work). With being Mom/Dad/Nurse during my recovery, he has gotten a much-deserved break from cooking, as well. We are both feeling very thankful right now. 

This makes me feel lucky: 

I have gotten to a point living here where I don't really buy anything. Living in one season, you don't need many clothes. Driving less than 50 miles a week and no faster than 35 mph, you don't need a new car. We no longer own a house, and it feels GREAT to be homeless. 

I love my new "normal." It's not for everyone, but getting away from that lifestyle has made us all feel like our so-called struggles of GTMO---no Diet Coke at the commissary for a month, limited and expensive flights off island, ridiculously slow internet---seem very trivial. 

The first year here, those issues seemed huge. Now, it's sort of like, "eh, we've had no fresh fruit for 2 weeks. It will show up sooner or later." You learn to deal. You learn to live without. 

In the words of my second favorite Henry (Thoreau): "Our life is frittered away by detail. . . Simplify, simplify, simplify." 

I have moments where I get really frustrated or depressed or angry about small things that seem to pile up. It's hard living in an isolated place. It's difficult living so far away from family. It's crazy not having some basic services in the 21st century (we are spoiled Americans, after all). I have good and bad days, and like so many people here, I have a love/hate relationship with this place. Some days are in the middle, but more often than not, it's on one of the extremes. 

The past couple of weeks has reminded me that living without doesn't mean that your life isn't rich. Sometimes small surprises, big-hearted friends, and a simple life is all you need. 

The Here and Now; or, Excitement, Irony, Tradition, Anticipation

First, some EXCITEMENT:
After several months, the Map of Lost Mail has another pin!
I still can't figure out why the mail sorting facility in Chicago thinks that 09593 is 09128, but it does make for an exciting trip for our mail (even while we are stuck here).

(Humor me, please. It's the little things that make me excited. . . )

And just like that, here's another pin for the Map of Lost Mail:

Mail travels in the past include Muscat, Oman; Madrid, Spain; Livorno, Italy; Sharm El-Sheik, Egypt;
Abu Nakhlah, Qatar; Sigonella, Sicily, Italy. 

And now we've added Stuttgart, Germany. My mail's been to three continents (Africa, Asia, and Europe), including two (Africa and Asia) I haven't been to---yet. 

At one point the envelope was soaking wet, as every bit of ink on it is smeared. It's a miracle it made it here at all. 

So that's the excitement. 

Here's the IRONY. 

I was shooting off my big mouth and venting about the overabundance of expensive items at our NEX (I'm a notorious tightwad, just ask my family) and mentioned a specific sort of purse last post. 

Unbeknownst to me, my hubby had made a kind gesture and picked me up a much-needed purse for Christmas. Want to guess what brand of purse? 

I love my new purse! Honest, I do! 

Of course, the hubby had bought it before my rant and he almost took it back---but thankfully didn't. I really do like it. 

TRADITION: 

Christmas is always a low-key affair. I've been feeling a little under the weather, so we didn't go to the beach for Christmas this year. We did, however, celebrate with lobster, our GTMO tradition. It was delicious and I have to say, fresh, Bay-caught lobster on the grill is a perfect way to spend a relaxing, low-key holiday. 

Local caught lobster---YUM

The last thing is ANTICIPATION.

I have to take some time off work (again---hopefully the last time this year) to take care of some medical issues. Unfortunately, that means I got to spend 6 hours today making lesson plans for the time I will miss when school returns (and I didn't come close to finishing). I just spent 6 frustrating hours trying to write lesson plans in a room with no air conditioning (it was HOT), 6 hours trying to get the internet and my CD burner and the Xerox machine and everything else to work, and finally gave up and decided to come home. This means more time with our notorious GTMO internet, which actually works much worse at home than at work.
Estimated time to upload a 3.1 MG file and convert it to a format I can use with my MacBook: 4 hours.
Estimated time to then download that file back to my computer: 3 hours.
SEVEN hours to do something that would literally take less than 5 minutes in the U.S.

I am in technology hell. With the lack of materials here (and no colleagues teaching the same five classes I teach to help out), I have no Plan B.

It's these frustrations that, quite frankly, have me hate living here. I cursed so much at work today (I was alone, thankfully) that I could make a sailor blush. Or a couple of thousand (I am, after all, living on a naval base). Living here is difficult at times and GTMO is truly a love-hate relationship for me most days. I love the students, I love my colleagues, I love my friends here, and I love the weather (most days),  but I don't love constantly beating my head against the wall with 1990s technology in a 2010s job, or the feeling of being professionally isolated.

So that leads to anticipation #2---hopefully an announcement in January of a transfer round that will give us some solid, non-rumor mill information. Hopefully I will have good news in a few weeks.

Send some good vibes this way if you can---I'm going in for surgery (again) tomorrow. Hopefully this will be the very last of it and I will finally feel well again. (And maybe a little less cantankerous and a little more Mary-Sunshine---you want to read more about the ocean and island life, and not how I may have actually punched a computer today, right?).

Muchas Gracias; or, Giving Thanks

Today's weather in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: 83º and cloudy

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone, and in the season of giving and thanking, I am thankful for many little things here in Gitmo.

There are the obvious things: friends, family, health.

I am thankful that in such a relatively small time frame, we've met people here who I know we will keep in touch with for years to come.

There are stresses of living somewhere so isolated and limited in resources and entertainment, but recently I realized that overall, there is a core set of really amazing people who live here. I'm sure that exists in every community, but being in this small place, you can't help but notice how many people stand out.

Heard everywhere lately: "How is your family?" "How is your home?" When was the last time you went up to a total stranger and asked him or her one of those questions?

For Gitmo, however, it's been the norm the last few weeks since the catastrophic typhoon killed over 5000 (and counting) in the Philippines.

There are over 1500 foreign national Filipinos working at Gitmo---most are male, with contracts stipulating they cannot return home until they have been here at least 2 years, and most with a wife and child(ren) back home.

This entire base has been profoundly affected by the welfare of a group of people who we depend on for so much. They are hard working, friendly, and if you haven't lived somewhere where you have lumpia and pancit at every single social function, I really feel sorry for you.

Like most of our neighbors, I have found myself asking the Filipinos who bag my groceries, both school secretaries, the ladies and men who work at various MWR locations, the Bremcor construction workers who come into the schools almost every day, and the people standing next to me in line at the grocery store about how their lives have been affected by the recent tragedy.

I am thankful that I live amongst people who care for people who aren't quite strangers, but for the most part, not friends, either. Various groups and individuals have worked to get money wired to family members back home. They are still making sure that their families are taken care of for the upcoming holidays. There has been an outpouring of love and support for the Filipinos here, because they are a major part of our community, and we are thankful that they are here to make this place run a little more efficiently.

I am thankful for soccer.

Oh, how I love soccer. I love watching it on television or in person, I love playing it, I love watching my kids as they are getting better and better every game.

The women's league finally winded down a couple of weeks ago, and I really do miss it. Our league consisted of all sorts of women---Jamaican foreign nationals; people associated with NCIS, JTF, the Red Cross; civilian contractors; members of the Army, Marines, and Navy; military spouses; several moms. We had engineers and mechanics, MWR employees and women deployed without their families, and I am so happy to say I was the ONLY school employee in the entire league, because, like most teachers, I really tire of talking about anything work related l when I am away from school.

The season is winding down for the kids, as well.  I am thankful that Boy 1 is laughing and enjoying himself (and he's really good) with a sport he hasn't played since he was 8 years old. I'm am thankful that Boy 2 has ways to run off some of that 8 year old energy that his mama can't keep up with.

I am also thankful for the following:

• my kids' teachers: I am so thankful for smart, caring teachers for both of our sons. When my oldest had a difficult time adjusting when we first got here, they didn't give up---they went beyond any teachers he has ever had in order to make sure his academic and emotional needs were met. This is not an easy place to teach---most high school teachers have 5 preps and most of the time, they are the only person who teaches a specific class---but they manage to not only leave that stress at home, but make sure my son transitioned to life on this crazy rock. 

• the author John Green: Thanks to him, my oldest has found his love of reading again. Now, if he could just hurry up and publish another book. . . 

• friends and family who say, "Tell me what you want, and I will send it"---and they MEAN IT:  I have received several wonderful care packages while living here, with everything from Halloween decorations to Zero bars to borracho beans to bacon. 

• work people: I have coworkers who, despite some changes that have brought on many anxieties, still find ways for us to laugh and not take ourselves too seriously. And I am grateful for every one of them.

• BEACHES: I have never lived anywhere where you can go to the beach every single day of the year. Whether it's diving or hunting for sea glass, the sound of the waves and the smell of salt air can make the most jaded person love life a little more.

Yes, that is Boy 1 in action.

• slow traffic and only two main roads: This is the perfect way for a 15 1/2 year old to learn to drive a car. Not so sure how he'll fare---or the rest of us, for that matter---when we are back in the states next summer and the land of crazy Texas drivers. 

And finally, Friday really stood out as a truly Gitmo (early) Thanksgiving. We had a mini Thanksgiving celebration at the Youth Center for parents and kids in the after school program, and there was good food: fried chicken, pancit, callaloo, and festivals. If you don't know what pancit is, make friends with a Filipino and beg them to take you home to their mama. Pancit is at almost every catered and potluck event here. Callaloo is a wonderful salad from Jamaica made from the amaranth plant, and festivals are pieces of fried bread, much like beignets. Good stuff all around. I sat there at the end of a short (but somewhat stressful) work week and thought, this is crazy. I'm in Cuba, surrounded by Jamaican ladies serving Jamaican and Filipino food, and I got invited to celebrate Thanksgiving by two Russian ladies who have decided to celebrate the most American of holidays with their families here.  We chose to stay at home, just the four of us, and eschewed all tradition for pulled pork sandwiches and potato salad (why not?). We didn't stand in line at 6 am for Black Friday sales or put up a Christmas tree, but we did manage to have a very relaxing weekend at home and at the beach, soaking up the sun and counting our blessings for the things we have here in Gitmo. 

Diversions and Celebrations; or, Where I Went and What I Ate (and drank)

Before I talk about the freakish spike in my social life the last few weeks, I must address one issue: CHEESE.

I've moaned and bitched and cried about the lack of cheese here (I refuse to count Kraft Singles as cheese, sorry folks).

Guess what I found for the second time in a year at our commissary?

Cheese, Grommit!!

Beautiful blocks of Havarti, Gouda, and pepper jack cheese. I am a happy, cheese eating fool. There will probably be a purchase of Metamucil in my future, but I DON'T CARE! I can eat an entire block of Gouda if I want BECAUSE I CAN!!!!

(Yes, I am shouting. Cheese makes me that excited).

Cheese at the commissary was just a prequel to the crazy week that was last week.

Some highlights:

Moonlight cruise on the Bay

The marina rents out pontoon boats that are perfect for Bay cruising. Two boats full of some of my favorite Gitmo folks went out for fun, food, and drinks one evening right before sunset. My favorite part was stopping in the middle of the Bay to pass wine and food between the boats. We shared a lot of laughs, and it was a great way to start a new school year.

Dinner: baked Brie (yes! I found Brie at the end of summer and hoarded it for such an occasion!) and some tasty Moscato


Cupcake Wars competition

Until I saw advertisements for a contest and other cupcake-related events, I had never heard of the television show "Cupcake Wars" or its host.

Earlier in the day, "Miss Holly" had spent time in every classroom at the elementary school, talking to kids about how she makes cupcakes, showing them her tools of the trade, and giving them each a cupcake to sample. In fact, her team flew 18,000 cupcakes (!!!) to the island for virtually anyone who wanted one to sample. She was very gracious and related really well to the kids, and in turn they LOVED her---H raved about how sweet she was and how much he enjoyed her visit---so I was more than happy to come out and join an event where she judged cupcakes. One of my creative colleagues coordinated a cupcake team for the competition (the Sampson Pirates), and we even had our own mascot show up to cheer us on (the school mascot, a pirate, naturally) .

We had 30 minutes to create a scene from a stack of cupcakes, bags of various colors of icing, and piles of decorative candies, and a huge baking pan.  Our final product was really cute---it was a beach scene from GTMO, of course, complete with a huge, killer iguana. The judges must have been impressed---or maybe suffering delusions from sugar narcosis?---but either way, we won second prize, and I chose a signed cookbook as my prize.

Dinner: a Corona and way, way too many cupcakes


Surprise Birthday Party/Bay Boat cruise, part deux

A surprise birthday party, a spooky, abandoned fort, some John Denver and Lady Gaga. What else do you want?

A group of us took a boat out to celebrate the surprise birthday party of a lady who really epitomizes what I think of as Gitmo living. She hikes, she gardens, she does pottery, she runs, she snorkels, she kayaks. She participates in races, she does painting classes, and she is always up for an adventure. I am perplexed by people who never leave their houses and hate living here---even if you hate the heat, you can do enough indoor activities to keep you relatively entertained. I like hanging out with folks who accept that life isn't perfect here, but are willing to do as much as they can with what we've got.

A large group of us drove around the Bay, sharing laughs and mimosas and really good cupcakes (again!) and appetizers, before we headed to Fort Conde, an abandoned fort from the early 1900s that seems to grow right out of the jungle and is covered with graffiti. I felt like I was walking into a scene from the show Lost. The area around the fort has been cleared, but it's not the easiest place to find or hike to. I'm glad our hostesses knew where they were going and how to get there---which is only by boat. The old fort was creepy and mysterious all at the same time. The bats hanging around added to the ambiance, and I found a hutia skull on top of a concrete wall:

It is, so far, my favorite souvenir from my time here. We also went snorkeling near Glass Beach and I saw the absolutely largest sea turtle I've ever seen. I thought a coral reef was moving, when I looked again and realized it was a turtle hovering over the top and then swimming away. Overall, I had a great day of exploring unknown places and meeting new people.

We ended the day with tans, full bellies of sushi, cupcakes, and mimosas, and jammed out to a little Lady Gaga AND John Denver. I know a seriously eclectic and fun group of folks here. 

Brunch: included mimosas and sushi

The husband and I also went to a goodbye party for a few folks, including a great guy he knows from diving and I know from work. Goodbyes are a constant here. Sometimes you are sad to see the good guys leave. 

The party was catered by a Thai chef and included one of my new favorite dishes, Laab (or Larb, depending on whom you ask). There was also some Pad Thai and Filipino Lumpia and Pancit---no big party goes without some Lumpia and Pancit here at Gitmo. 

We also hung out with friends until way past our bedtimes, said goodbye to a neighbor, and enjoyed time at the movies (cheap popcorn and hotdogs). It's been a hectic last two weeks, and I'm kind of glad to see it slowing down a little. I don't mind having only a few events over a month instead of over a week. It seems like we do more in a week here than we used to in an entire month (or two or three or six months). 

Time to do some gardening and laundry---I really don't mind chilling out around the house on Saturdays, because I know there are always things to do right around the corner, if I so choose to do them. 

The Chicken Conundrum; or, A Fowl Situation

             Presenting: the tempting guinea fowl. I'm too busy dodging these guys in traffic to actually take their photos. 
                  Photo source: Ellis, Tim. Guinea Fowl. 2013. Photograph. Flickr Commons. 4 Aug. 2013. Web. 27 Aug. 2013. 

I found myself tonight googling, "how to catch wild guineas" and "how to cook wild guineas." **

Before you think I have lost my mind, things to consider:

1) We can't buy fresh poultry here. All chickens are frozen. And expensive.

2) It takes forever for a chicken that's been in the deep freezer for an indeterminable amount of time to defrost. I'm lazy and too unorganized to set it in the fridge 4 days before I want to cook it.

3) They seem, well, stupid. You know the phrase "bird brain?" There has to be a reason. These guys run in front of my car all the time. We call them the Kamikaze Birds.

4) Look up the cost of free-range guinea fowl, and then consider that I pass dozens every day. For free.

5) I really don't like chicken (really!), but I do love pheasant, and guineas supposedly taste a lot like pheasants.

I just have to figure out how to catch one and kill it (with my bare hands---no guns allowed here!). And then clean it and cook it.

Easy, right?!?!?

I go through phases where I get really down about the grocery situation here. I could write pages about what we don't have, but I won't, because you probably don't want to hear it.

Just know, I'd appreciate if everyone reading this would buy a fresh block of cheese and cut some cheese for me (I couldn't resist). It can be ANY cheese that's not processed. I miss real cheese.

I also miss real milk. I'd rather drink almond milk than that super-homogenized stuff.

I was talking with a few ladies who have been here for quite a while, and they all said that they have gained, on average, 10 lbs a year that they've lived here. Scary, right?

And they are both active---they dive and kayak and hike and spend a lot of time outdoors.

But when your produce rots the day after you bring it home---nothing like paying $7 for strawberries, and then finding them rotten on your counter the next morning---you start to buy more processed products. Living off processed products tends to make most people gain weight.

The food situation is my one biggest complaint about living here. I understand everything has to be barged or flown in, but I didn't realize everything would be so much more expensive than in the States, considering most of it is really not fresh at all by the time it gets here.

I'm going to try my hand at growing peppers, and I do have lots of basil and oregano that are growing like gangbusters. My neighbor grew lettuce and tomatoes last spring. It's very arid here---think desert climate---and it's not as humid as, say, Mississippi, but the sun is much more intense here. Now that our water restrictions have been somewhat lifted,  I think I can make a go at it and perhaps grow a few things.

For two years that we lived in Texas, I had a plot at a community garden and LOVED finding fresh squash or tomatoes or peppers growing. Even when I lost the war with squash bugs, I found it very rewarding.

I've tried googling "gardening in Guantánamo Bay," but you can guess where it focuses on---THAT place. As I mention repeatedly, I am NOT living in that place, I am not associated with it, and it has nothing to do with my mission here. (It's a sore subject for most of us living here. There's been a base here since 1898. We are a Navy base, first and foremost. Despite what you hear in the media, there is MUCH more to Gitmo than that place I won't mention).

At one time, barges from Cuba floated onto the base and vendors sold produce to the Americans here. I don't see the embargo lifting, and desperate times call for desperate measures (like killing a wild bird in your front yard).

So now. . . maybe I will figure out how to have a garden here. And just maybe, I'll grab up some of those feral, suicidal guinea fowl that keep jumping in front of my car---not to eat, but to keep in the yard to eat bugs. They eat tons of bugs (and even small rodents). Instant organic gardening!

Maybe the noisy guineas will scare off the smelly banana rats that have plowed through the (ugly) Mother-in-Law's Tongue, (cute) Portulaca, and (once-prolific) Wandering Jew that no longer reside in my front yard flower beds. I've actually considered catching a boa for banana rat control, except that they are shy and are rarely seen here. Oh, and there's that bit about them being really, really scary snakes.

It's never ending when you think about it. You need boas to kill the banana rats. You need guinea fowl to kill small rodents and bugs. The circle of life is alive and well in Cuba---even if it's Americans eating produce with a short shelf life and chicken that's been rock-hard frozen, all the while dreaming about blocks of cheese and fresh fruit and vegetables and poultry.


**Disclaimer: Librarians are people, too. And yes, we occasionally Google, but only responsibly. :)

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. 

A hunk, a chunk, and more; or, Quick cash now!

Much earlier I wrote about a common Gitmo saying---you leave Gitmo either a hunk, a chunk, or a drunk. I heard an even better (and probably truer) version: You leave a hunk, a chunk, a drunk. . . or a monk.

There's a serious shortage of women on this base.

Not that I don't mind hearing "Yes, ma'am!" and having doors opened for me everywhere I go.

I do imagine it's difficult being single here, so MWR does a lot of free or almost-free programming for single and unaccompanied service people---kayak and biking trips, hikes, bingo night (seriously), golfing tournaments, ceramics classes, etc. MWR stands for Morale, Welfare, and Recreation for you non-military folks---and even though at first glance, recreation programs may seem like a no-brainer when it comes to budget cuts in difficult times, they are so crucial for the morale of a small, isolated base with very limited facilities, especially for people away from their families or alone. Despite what this place is lacking as far as places to hang out, MWR does a great job of trying to entertain everyone, even us non-military folks.

Tonight I took advantage of one of the MWR programs and went to a pottery class. It was so much fun---they have a slab roller, extruder, and several wheels. You can buy boxes of clay and store it there. Glazes are cheap and they fire everything for free. Plus it's a great way to spend a couple of hours, whether you are single (and perhaps lonely) or just are looking to learn something new. I foresee a mother/daughter pottery date next week.

I have become part of the coterie of parents who scream out their back doors, "Hey _____, come in! It's dinner time!"  This evening I saw a tree next to the playground undulating in a very unnatural matter---it definitely wasn't the wind---so I went to check it out and realized there was a kid in the top of the tree (thankfully, not my kid) shaking these out:

A bounty of beautiful mangoes.They are green and small, but we'll see what happens once they ripen. 

Our youngest has decided that he wants an iPad, and once he realized his $37 wasn't going to buy one, he's planning and scheming ways to make money. He had all these bundled in his shirt and said, "Mommy, mommy, I have a GREAT IDEA. I can open a store, right in my room, and right in my room I can sell FRUIT." 

Sounds like a TERRIFIC idea, right?!?!?  

The idea of hundreds of sticky, green mangoes in his bedroom really frightens me, so I had to break it to him gently that there will be NO FRUIT SALES in this casa since it's probably illegal and with all the trees on base, the demand for mangoes is as low as the price. 

That stopped him. . . I hope. 

By the way, the oldest informed us (correctly) that mangoes belong to the same family as poison ivy, and the skin contains urushiol, the oil in poison ivy that makes some people break out. You can get contact dermatitis just from touching them, and some people are very allergic to them. I am the only one of the four of us not allergic to poison ivy, so I guess we'll find out in the morning how our fruit gatherer faired, since he managed to get sap from head to toe before his brother gave us the dinner time lecture on the perils of picking mangoes. 

Spring Break has officially begun for the kids, so maybe our little schemer can think of another way to get some quick cash while he's out of school. 

Hotel California; or, Firsts, Lasts, and In-Betweens

The past few weeks have been frustrating, with the hurry-up-and-wait mentality of someone (DoD? Congress? DoDEA? I don't even know whom to be frustrated with) about furloughs. We get emails basically saying, brace yourself, letters are coming soon, and then we get another saying, we jumped the gun, it's going to be a few days/another week/another 2 weeks before we know something. 

You know, there is this saying about poop and a pot, and it really applies to this situation. 

And now. . . 

Some more firsts here in Gitmo: 

1) I ran my first chipped 5K! There are hills, and then there are Gitmo hills. Dear lord. We ran from the downtown Lyceum to Girl Scout Beach and back. I realize that this means absolutely nothing to 99% of you, so I'm going to pretend that I have posted a map and you are amazed at the route I have taken. As my husband has reminded me, I really don't want to be the one who gets in trouble for posting a map of this place online, so use your imagination and be impressed.

Texas Hill Country hills ain't got nothing on Cuban hills. There were some VERY steep ones there and back, and all I can say is, when I get back to flat Texas, I will be able to fly. Or at least run five or so miles without passing out. 

2. Some of you ask about my kids, and honestly, I feel that this isn't the place to talk about them. That especially goes for my teenager. If he wanted you all up in his business, he would have his own blog thing. 

But I am in constant awe of him and how he is NOT like I was at that age. This kid left his only home he really remembers of 9 years to come here---a real leap of faith, not that he had much choice. He went from a large group of life-long friends to being one of about 50 highschoolers, and one of only 10 or so students in his grade. Yes, ten. Like 1-0. He's had to take some classes online to get everything he wanted on his schedule (not that easy, especially with The World's Slowest Internet). 

Got a few days? You can download that file---

actual screenshot from our house.

He wanted to continue tennis, so he is one of four kids who play on the team. That means tennis tournament season is him, his three teammates---and lots of lots of grownups. Yes, when you are a teen here and participate in sports, it means you play either individual or group matchups, depending on the sport, with JTF, active duty, civilian, foreign national, DoD adults, and/or their spouses. It's crazy watching your kid play in a match against someone much older and experienced in the game. He made it to the second round before being eliminated, and I'm SO proud of him. There is absolutely, positively NO WAY I could have played adults in a competitive match at his age. First, they would have slaughtered me (and he definitely held his own), and second, I would have chickened out. So kudos to my kid. 

Also, he is thisclose to being SCUBA certified. I was scared to death at 22 of getting certified. I'm so happy he's a much gutsier and braver kid than I ever was. 

But that's the joy of having kids, sometimes----they aren't like you were at their age. Thank God. 

3. Pearl the Blazer has a new companion: 

We hasve looked at Jeeps several times over the years, and now we are living in the best place on earth to have one. The stars aligned and we found the right one at the right time for the right price. People call our stretch of road "Jeep Row." There are at least 10 on our street. 

We haven't named her---or him----yet. Suggestions? Anyone? 

4. I ate these:

Two sea snail shells, a snail foot, and a dime for size comparison

Sea snails, picked from the ocean, grilled in their own juices and eaten right there on the beach. 

And I KNOW some of you eat clams, escargot, or (raw) oysters, so don't even pretend to stick your nose in the air. A mollusk is a mollusk is a mollusk. 

And they weren't that bad. 

5. Today I climbed a tree for the first time since I was 12 or so with our youngest. It was one of the strangely twisted, gargantuan, and beautiful banyans in our neighborhood. You know what? It was fun. I need to get out and climb more trees. I really forgot how much I loved doing that as a kid. 

And lasts. . . or one last. . . 

I try not to take too much of the rumor mill seriously, but when I heard a few months back that our one and only commercial airline was leaving the island, right after my parents had bought tickets from said airline, I panicked a little. They called IBC and were assured that it was not going out of business. 

Well, IBC is leaving the island. Their last day here? The day before my parents were scheduled to fly in. 

"Disappointed" is a word I use when I forget to catch the latest episode of a show I like, or realize I can't cook something I want because I'm missing one ingredient. I'm really not sure what the word or phrase is I want to use. "Pissed off?" Not really that. . . I am angry, but also disenchanted that they were sold something and guaranteed they could use it when, in fact, it is void and null. And there's that possibility the airline knew it when they sold the tickets to them. It's complicated when there were other stops and hotels and cities along their path here. Cross your fingers this sorts itself out and they can get on what is now one of only SIX flights a month to this place. So it's my last time to take rumors so lightly. 

As my pal Beth says, "You are living in Hotel California. You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave." 

I'm going to submit that as my entry to the (Un)Official Gitmo Tourist Slogan contest (especially since "It's On the Barge" isn't so funny anymore). 

More to love; or, Don't Feed the Iguanas

More things I love about Gitmo, in pictures:

1. I can cut my hair and it doesn't look worse than anyone else's.

It's about what works in the humidity and heat. People here aren't total slobs, but we aren't the land of high maintenance women with big Tex-ass hair, that's for sure.  I'm not even sure if you can buy hairspray at the NEX. 

2. You can't necessarily buy bread, BUT you can get lots of great international food.

Curry ketchup, Bulgogi marinade, Lumpia, and Ritter Sport, just to name a few things. 

Also, many items to cause one to either scratch one's head or giggle: 

It's cock flavored soup---and "spicy!!"

3. No more impulse buying at the checkout.

It's Feb 1, and the Christmas cookie issue is FINALLY here! And just like that, all that money I used to spend on magazines at the checkout is tucked away in my pocketbook (and more money for Jamaican jerk and Red Stripe).  

4. I have hummingbirds that live in a bougainvillea outside my office. A couple of weeks ago, I saw a juvenile being feed by a parent. They just hang out on branches, and when you are least expecting it, they buzz your head.

We also have what we thought was a large aloe plant in the backyard. The husband was grilling, got a small burn, and I decided I would come to the rescue with aloe. 

Except it wasn't aloe. I still don't know what it is, but it smells AWFUL. 

A few weeks ago, it got this tall branches shooting out of the top of it, and then strange looking flowers on it, and then---guess what? The hummingbirds in the backyard love them. So glad for the ugly not-really-an-aloe plant. 

5. Also, this:

A character in my favorite novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude, is associated with butterflies: “It was then that she realized that the yellow butterflies preceded the appearances of Mauricio Babilonia.” I feel like Mauricio myself, except I always see white butterflies (and hopefully won't come to such a tragic end---he is, after all, in a Garcí­a Márquez novel).

They are everywhere---clusters of 5, 10, 15, flying through the bougainvillea, the cacti, in the garden, on the side of the road, and unfortunately, often into my windshield. If you can't see the ones above, it's because they are, also, incredibly difficult to capture with a camera. If there such thing as butterfly season, it must be right now, because they seemingly arrived in the thousands overnight. 

6. You get so used to seeing huge Cuban rock iguanas everywhere, you almost step on them. No small feat, since they are humongous.

"Iggy" is the unofficial mascot of the elementary school, and is often seen in the parking lot, on the playgrounds, or hanging out next to the road. I think it's a female, and she's pretty chill---it just ignores you and eats grass all day long.

Then you have this guy who hangs out at the NEX. I'm sure he probably has a nickname, too (as do the ones who hang out at the bowling alley), and he is pretty much the Chuck Norris of the iguana world. He's big, he's obviously gotten in some scraps because he's lost and regrown a large part of his tail, and he is very brazen in his begging. He is one of the reasons there are "DO NOT FEED THE IGUANAS" signs posted every where.



I'd say those tiles are about 8" across, to give you some perspective. I'd also say this guy hasn't missed many meals. 

If I ever run out of things to write about, I will change this to a blog about the different iguanas of Gitmo and their personalities.

7. The other thing I can always find enough to write about are the Gitmo Specials that abound---if I took a picture of each and described all the various makes and models, including homemade paint jobs, pieced together parts, and questionable brakes on more than a few, I would have at least 2 years worth of material.

I got lucky and got a two-fer with this shot. Notice the red/purple swirled hatchback driving down the road. The combo of crazy paint job and multiple rust spots gives it the appearance, at first glance, of a car that's been set on fire---and somehow survived. And this van. . . hope they don't get a flat.

The Gitmo Special is a perfect symbol of this place---a little old and dated, a little forgotten, a little neglected, but for a few, very well loved.