Journeys and Destinations; or, Wanderlust

Exciting, exciting news in GTMO.

Okay, it's GTMO-exciting, not real-life exciting. (It's the little things, y'all, that make the mundane an adventure in itself).

The Map of Lost Mail earned yet 2 more pins! Whoo-hoo! In case you have been following the oh-so-exciting movement of our mail through the worldwide APO/FPO/DPO system, we now have mail that was missent to an APO in Alconbury, England and an FPO in London, England. Mail detouring through England is exciting, as we haven't been there (yet). If I were a superstitious sort, I would see this as a sign. Well, I am not too superstitious, but I do see it as this: our mail system is not great. And if I ever run out of things to write about, I can have a blog where I explore online each of the amazing places my mail has seen without me.

The country count now is eight: Oman, Spain, Italy, Egypt, Qatar, Germany, Kuwait, England. As I always say, my mail is better traveled than I am.

We also got our international driver's permits in the mail recently (yay!). Also: a nice package from our Germany friends chock full of travel info including brochures and maps. It's so exciting! We're chipping away slowly but steadily at the pre-vacation to-do list. We leave Cuba for the US this weekend, and after a few brief days in New England we will spend about a month exploring Germany, Macedonia, and who knows where else. 

As one journey ends---high school education, living at home---another begins for our son. As I've been busy reading and researching about our summer destinations, I'm aware, too, of how our journey parallels our son's. 

His literal journey starts in July, as he'll backpack around Europe for a few months; high school graduation marked one of those milestones for his journey beginning adulthood. We can pack and prepare for a vacation, but how do you prepare yourself for the other journeys and detours of life? I don't know if high school so much prepared me for the real world, but it was a place to learn about dealing with other people (sometimes the difficult sort), and it was where I learned that I didn't want to be in one place forever. I think high school is about learning what you want in life as much as learning about what you don't want in life. 

If I could describe my high school self in one word, it would be "restless." I was ready to move, to get started with college. I loved New Orleans and dreamed of living there (or any other city). I am thankful that I had 12 years of school in one place, but my experience taught me that I am not one to set permanent roots. I love the peripatetic lifestyle and I am always looking forward to the next big adventure.  

I also found my love of travel in high school. I went to Mexico City (and Teotihuacan), Villahermosa (and Palenque), and Cancun with a group of students when I was 16. It was an amazing adventure and my first time out of the country. That was it---I was hooked. I still get that excited feeling every time I walk out of the airport and on to somewhere new. It's the smells that tell you that you are somewhere "foreign" long before you even take in the sights. It's the beautiful music of accents, including those I'll never master. Traffic, birds, even the wind blowing through the trees can be exotic sounds in a new place. I am excited about the prospects of going to more places this summer that I've never experienced and learning more about the world. I hope to continue fostering my children's love of travel during this trip, and I am excited about our oldest breaking out on his own. 

As he is taking his journey through Europe (and towards college), I hope he comes to some realizations on his own. My biggest realization through living abroad and traveling all over the world is that as a female, I am lucky to have been raised in the United States. I will never take that for granted. I also find that adventure bodes well with me, but all adventures have an end, and at the end of a long trip, I love coming home to my own bed. Sometimes that's the bed in my temporary home in Cuba; other times, it's the bed in my childhood home in Mississippi. Either way, it's getting back to where I can reflect (and plan the next trip) that inspires me to take more journeys. 

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

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). 

The (Not) Love Letters; or, Going Postal in GTMO

I'm an old-fashioned sort of girl who loves getting notes and letters. I haven't saved too many mementos from 22 years of marriage (and 11 moves), but I do have the few love letters I got along the way (from the husband, in case you are wondering).

Naturally, I love getting any sort of letter in the mail. Postcards will do, too.

Remember sending real letters? I used to love picking out the right stamp for letters to bunkmates at camp (usually written to once or twice, and then forgotten forever), friends who went off to college while I was still in high school, or cousins who lived several hours away.

Now we just do email and no more letters.

Unless you are in GTMO, that is.

In the last six months, I've gotten a lot of letters from the postal service.

I will call them my GTMO NOT love letters.

Much of the time, there's not a whole lotta love for the postal service in my casa.

Reason one is exhibit A:

A package covered in what appears to be (or smells to be) chili sauce.

I'm not 100% sure because the package contains no condiments, only Valentine's Day candy (that thankfully was not destroyed).

Exhibit B: I did get a nice note taped to the outside of the stinky, plastic bag covered package about just how much the post office cares, which did seem to soften the blow. But I'm not going to lie; if the candy had been ruined, I would have been irate.

I love Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap---you know the stuff that comes in the bottle with LOTS! of EXPLANATION! MARKS!!! and strange messages about love, soap, and Rudyard Kipling (please tell me you know what I'm talking about). My kids love Dr. Bronner's and I love it, and instead of buying it the few weeks I'm in the States a year and hoarding it all year long, I try to order it online.  I also love Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day Lavender Laundry soap---it's the only thing that gets the kids' nasty soccer clothes smelling great again.

So a couple of weeks ago, I got another plastic-covered package. Instead of a package covered in chili sauce, I got a package that was actually dripping. We're talking serious haz-mat time here. Goodbye to my much anticipated package of Dr. Bronner and Mrs. Meyer products and hello to filling out forms for refunds. This is the third time we've received an exploded and dripping package in 3 years (albeit a good smelling one this time around).

I'm not sure if there was a note inside of that package because I just chunked it in the garbage. I didn't even bother to open it up.

Exploded packages and notes from the P.O., such is my exciting life.

Also, I've recently received a mystery note.
Exhibit C:

The "damage" happened, according to the Chicago International Military Center, because of their "highly sophisticated mechanized and automated equipment utilized to expedite delivery." I should point out that the package was actually in better condition that 99% of what we get here; the only "damage" was it had been opened and some of the contents had been pilfered. 
Um, whatever. 

This letter was inside my package. It's like opening your suitcase a few days after a trip to find that weird piece of paper in the middle of your mass of twisted, dirty clothes from the TSA that says that they have randomly inspected your suitcase.  (Am I the only person who gets those, too?)

What was missing? Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day hand soap. I kid you not. It's like I'm doomed to get anything from Mrs. Meyer sent here. :(

I seem to have bad luck with mail here, as attested by my Map of Lost Mail. In fact, as I am typing this, there is a package from Banana Republic that is floating around aimlessly in the FPO system. My clothes ordered in May that should have gone to FPO 09593 somehow were sent to APO 09053---Garmisch, Germany. Another pin for the Map of Lost Mail! (That is, if the package ever actually shows up).

Again, my mail is better traveled than I am. And it is still not here. I'm watching it go 'round and round. The most amazing part of this to me is that a package can leave Columbus, OH, on a Wednesday and end up in Germany on the following Monday, but it takes a minimum of 2 weeks to get anything to GTMO from the states.

Anywho, I do have one question: How damn difficult is it to read a zip code? I still don't understand why so much of our mail ends up in Europe (and why we were stuck here). 

I don't think it's that we have lousy mail service here in GTMO (or in the FPO system) as much as it is we rely on mail WAY more than the rest of the developed world.  In a place that is isolated and with very limited services and products, we really do depend on the mail (dammit!) to get the things we need.

Weird notes, exploded packages, and misdirected/lost mail happens all the time, I'm sure, but the chance of it happening to the average person in the US is slim, because most Americans (unless you are a QVC addict or a hermit, or maybe---bonus!---both) don't get the majority of their clothes, a large percentage of their toiletries, and several food items delivered on a near-weekly basis via mail. Instead, people use UPS or Fed-Ex if they are actually getting something important delivered (we have neither option here) and get it in a day instead of 3-4 weeks. Or they go to a real store to buy said items. Both of those options seem so exotic and exiting once you've spent a few years in GTMO. . .

And Now, More Happiness; or, Changes in Attitude, Changes in Latitude

Things that make me happy:


1. The Map of Lost Mail got yet ANOTHER pin!!

It seems like just yesterday that my mail was going to Muscat, Oman. Now we have a new location: Wiesbaden, Germany. This is the second time my mail has been to Germany in less than a month. 

The package? My husband's Christmas present. The Christmas present I ordered online in November. As I have said before, my mail is better traveled than I am. 

2. The same day we got the wayward Christmas package in the mail, I got a very special package for me (and it wasn't even my birthday). Who knew that my oldest a) reads this blog and b) has as bizarre a sense of humor as I have? I got my pillow! If you've been keeping up, you know which one. And it's even more amazing than the picture online.

3.  A couple of times in the last week I've been reminded about the blessings of living here. STILL no Diet Coke, but I did smile a couple of days ago and had 3 guys clambering to open the door for me. (Funny, since it was an automatic door). My students have been so sweet and have worked really hard since I got back to work. I stopped twice in 2 days for iguanas crossing the road. Recently, Cuban radio was playing an entire cheesy album of Air Supply (and I sang along---loudly and badly). Y'all know how it is---it's the little things that make your day that much better.

4. My youngest has said more than once this week, "Mom, you need to get surgery more often. That food was GOOD!" Should I be offended? Of course not. I totally agree. That food WAS good, and so very appreciated.

5. The best news of all for last---there is definitely a transfer round this year, and I definitely qualify. The sky's the limit (although who knows, when it comes down to it, what will be available). The kids both want to make their wish lists to make sure that we all in agreement as to locations. We don't have total control of the situation, but it's the first time in three years that we feel we have a little control over what comes next.  H made his list of stipulations on the location list. He's a real list-maker, that kid.

It doesn't say, "No unicorns." I mean, who wouldn't want to live with unicorns, right?? 

Instead, it says, "No uniforms." That leaves all locations. Why is my little guy worried about uniforms? I asked and he said, "I don't like wearing pacific clothes unless I have to." I'm not quite sure what "pacific clothes" are, or specific clothes, for that matter. But he doesn't want to wear them, and thankfully, no DoDDS schools require them. 

Also: "seasons." That narrows it down a bit. It's been fun in the land of eternal summer, but we are all a little ready for some change. "Good internet." Compared to here, that's the rest of the free world. "Toys." Again, most places have more than here. He doesn't just want toys; he wants different toys. Or more than 3-4 choices of toys. He would also like to live somewhere with real castles and "a real dungeon." 

Oh, to be nine again. At his age, there wasn't a possibility of life's next great adventure involving toys, castles, dungeons, and maybe a little snow. (That would be my husband's childhood in Belgium and Germany). I had a wonderful, stable, loving family and home, but he is going to have a much different childhood than I did (or even as his older brother). We are both lucky---and I don't think he has any concept yet of just how lucky he is. 

He also mentioned living in a house bigger than this one. We are crammed into a very small house (less than half the size of our last house, but with 2/3 of our furniture). We have supposedly been on a list for a while to move to a larger house, but who knows. . . it's an all-around disagreeable procedure to deal with the whole moving thing (and list thing), so I'm glad we stuck it out here. Free is free. It's nice to have a free house with free utilities, and we have great neighbors. Also, living in a small space makes you more ruthless when it comes to deciding what stays and what goes. 

Hopefully in 3 months from now, we will have a definitive answer as to where we are going (and then the real ruthless sorting and throwing out will begin). In the meanwhile---having a tentative end date helps me mentally prepare for the end of the school year. I can then look at this place with new eyes---and instead of "firsts," it will be "lasts." 

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?).

Pineapple Problems; or, Where's My *%&! Mail?

It's amazing how sometimes a seemingly small problem can become SO LARGE, and so fast.

Case in point:
MAIL

I've posted about the Map of Lost Mail. (Here's a refresher):

Our mail has seen Oman, Italy, Sicily, Spain, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia

Our mail does some great traveling, even while we are living life here in our 45 square mile exclusive gated community.

Mail service seems to have become even more inefficient since we got here. When you only have one small store for everything, you find yourself buying strange and bizarre combinations of products online. Salad dressing and laundry soap? Why not. Moisturizer and socks? Sure. Colored pipe cleaners and 1980s movies? Yes!!

We have a few of those things here, of course. But we don't have the things I want, so online shopping it is.

For the first year or so, mail was routed to a sorting facility in New York and then found its way to our FPO (Fleet Post Office). We cannot get our mail from the post office.

Did you catch that? You cannot pick up your own mail. I know people here don't bat at eye at this, but to me, it's ridiculous. It's OUR mail, but we cannot pick up mail from the US Post Office. Only specific people who have been through training can pick up the mail. The mail then goes to my work and finds its way to our mailbox.

By the way, I don't think most other military bases work this way (at least not the ones where my husband was stationed). As usual, GTMO wins the lottery for the weird and bizarre.

Sometime in the last year our mail started going through Chicago, and that's when the issues seemed to start.

It now takes a month to get a package that used to take 2 weeks. Christmas and birthday presents bought a month in advance didn't make it this year. Also, we waited two months for a part for our Jeep so it would pass inspection, just to find out that somewhere between GTMO and Chicago and who knows where (Oman? Saudi Arabia? Spain?), the part got sent back.

(The part is a windshield wiper motor. Unfortunately the 10 or so day-long GTMO rainy season of sorts hit this past week).

I find myself getting really upset and aggravated over the mail situation. It's hard to explain how this feels to someone who lives where you can go out to an auto store, craft store, grocery store, or even a quick shop on the corner for almost anything you want/need, or can order something online and have it at the door in a few days. I was hoping that living here would help foster patience. Instead of "Less is More" as my mantra, I find myself saying over and over again, "You Get What You Get and You Don't Pitch a Fit." And then of course, me being me, I pitch a fit.

The mail has never been very reliable here, but instead of finding myself accepting it, I am finding myself getting more and more agitated.

Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? Yes and no.

It's a snowball effect, these GTMO problems. It starts with not getting a toiletry you wanted but could live without, and then you find yourself mad that you can't get your contact lens or glasses prescriptions filled here. Gas is expensive. You can't buy books here. The car is out of alignment and there is no machine on base (or at least one that works) to align a car here. It takes 45 minutes to an hour to order anything online, because there's this little internet issue. . .

I've been watering some mystery plants outside the secondary campus every other day with the water collected in the four dehumidifiers that suck gallons of water out of the air every day. When I got here, two large pots of plants were on the verge of death. Now I find this:









Not only is there a beautiful lily, but a pineapple! The kind you can eat!

It is considerably larger than the cute little ornamental pineapples that are growing all over my yard.

While watering all the various pineapples, it hit me this week: pineapples are like my GTMO problems. The school pineapple has been slowly growing, getting larger and larger every week, and is still nowhere near being ready to cut down. I need to look at my GTMO problems more like the ornamental ones----they are more abundant and seem to spring up overnight in weird places. In fact, they are everywhere. However, they are also manageable---I can either ignore then and let them die, or if I pay lots of attention to them, they multiply like rabbits.

(Make that banana rats).

What I Am is What I Am; or, Diphthongs > Homophones

Today's weather in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: 86º ("feels like 91"). Just like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. Every day is Groundhog day in GTMO.

Unlike in the States, where you can do self-checkout and use the automated mail machines to buy your postage for the majority of your packages, here you HAVE to do the customs forms for every thing you mail larger than an envelope, which means you have to have a clerk take your package.  Afterwards, the mail goes out 1-2 times a week, depending on the rotator schedule, and then it finds its merry way to its intended recipients. Sometimes it ends up in exotic locations before it gets here, but it always seems to find its way out of here with no problems.

Our tiny post office doesn't have an area where you can pick up boxes and forms ahead of time if it is closed---everything is within one small room, and it's not open very many hours in the week (and never on the weekends). So post office visits are always an event for me, usually requiring me to take off a half hour to hour of work.

A few months ago I ordered a DNA kit. This is not only for genealogical research, but to see if I am prone to a large list of genetic diseases. If you could find out if you had the gene for breast cancer, would you take a test? How about Alzheimer's? Especially if at least one person close to you has had each?

At first I was excited. But then, not so much. Do you see why I suddenly had second thoughts and let the kit sit in a drawer for several weeks?

But then the FDA decided that DNA companies cannot do what it called "health testing" anymore, and suddenly I realized that I may have waited too late. No problem---I got an email saying that because I bought my kit before the ruling, I would be eligible for the genetic component---but now there was a quick turn-around because there was a short deadline.

And this, folks, is how I ended up at the GTMO post office with my saliva in a box.

You don't think anything of mailing a vial of spit to a lab until you realize---oh my god, I have to fill out that crazy customs form. And I didn't even think about it until the guy called me to the counter.

He said, "What's in the box?" I was like, "Ummmmm, well, it's DNA."

*blank look on his face*

"It's a DNA kit. You know, I'm mailing a lab my DNA."

I don't know if you can technically mail your bodily fluids internationally, and especially from somewhere like this place, where every piece of mail is scrutinized more than most because we have the (dis)pleasure of housing "that place" a few miles from my casa. This is why I said "DNA" instead of "saliva."

The guy suddenly got really quiet, told me my forms were in order, and gave me a sympathetic smile.

I got to my car and then it hit me. Oh. My. Gobble.

This guy probably thinks I'm sending off a paternity test, Jerry Springer style.

I laughed hysterically all the way back to work. No, I don't need to find out who my mama's babydaddy is---all you have to do is look at my dad and see that he has marked me for life.

When I got an email saying, "Your results are in!" I was excited and very nervous.

The genetic news was exciting and a relief (no "bad" genes).

And interesting news: I knew I was mostly Western European from genealogical research I'd done on my own and with my husband's grandma, but this test broke it down to some specifics. There is also a database and people have contacted me because genetically, we are 2nd or 3rd cousins. People with exotic, foreign sounding last names. I haven't contacted any of them yet, but I am going to finally do it once I can really sit down and digest the info. Incidentally, this isn't easy when it takes each webpage five minutes to load.

The best part? Our youngest wants to look at "our DNA" every night. Here's a recent conversation:

Kid 2: Daddy, guess what? I am so excited I get to see my genes!
Hubby: Um, what?
Kid 2: My genes, dad, my genes. G-E-N-E-S genes, not blue jeans. It's a homophone.
Hubby: Um. . . okay. . .
Kid 2: If you think homophones are exciting, I should tell you about diphthongs.

Kid 2 is 8 years old, by the way. Good genes (not jeans) aside, his teacher is amazing and he has grown intellectually by leaps and bounds since we landed on this rock.

He wants me to go back over the results with him and he's loving looking at the map of ancestors. We are British/Scottish, French, German, Scandinavian, Northern African, and Western African. My mother's genome group is rare and carried primarily by Native Americans. (Because I only have X chromosomes, I can't find out my father's genome group unless he takes this test).

I am not, incidentally, Asian. Not even 0.01%. I can't believe after flinching my entire life when dozens and dozens of well-meaning but really, really culturally sheltered/ignorant people have asked me the racist question, "Are you a Chink?" (it's a racial epithet, people, and never, ever acceptable) that I am not even remotely Asian. However, I am still  fake Asian (it's a GTMO thing---so I can feel like part of the amazing group of women I've met here who are part or all Korean, Japanese, Filipina, or Chamorro, they tell people that I am Chinese).

And now, when someone asks that question I hate, "Where are you from?" I still don't have an answer. . . but I can with some authority tell you where my ancestors came from, and I guess that's a start.

Dives, Goals, and Map Pins; or, A Trifecta of GTMO Firsts

Today's weather in GTMO: high of 85º, partly cloudy, but mostly sunny

Some more GTMO firsts: 

I got to dive two new places this weekend as part of my final two classes for my Advanced Open Water certification. It only took 4 months from beginning to end to get the certification, thanks to sickness (ear infection), bad weather and poor diving conditions, and crazy weekend conflicts. 

The whole point of getting an advanced certification here is it opens up several dive locations that are restricted by the base to divers with a basic open certification. It was actually good to get a refresher on some skills---it was 21 years ago I got my original dive certification, and around 10 years ago that I took a refresher class (complete with a dive in Lake Travis, Austin----DIS-GUS-TING). 

I loved both dives. I did my deep dive (89') at The Slot. From the top is the best views of GTMO, in my opinion (the lighthouse and mountains in the background). You go down some steep stairs and through a little channel, then hang onto a rope for dear life as the current rips you towards an open space. Once there, we went to a wall that is very deep (hundreds---maybe thousands?---of feet deep in spots) and goes all the way to Honduras. It's kind of cool to think that it's part of the same wall that I dove on my honeymoon almost 21 years ago. 

Cable Beach was the first place we swam when we moved here, and I really loved the bright coral and fish during my first dive there. It was shallow---only 30' for most of the dive---and the visibility was much better. I finished my Navigation class there. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I was much more nervous doing the compass work than doing the night dive. I am geographically impaired. I really, honestly have a hard time using a compass. Seriously---what sort of dummy can't figure out a compass? 

That would be me. . . 

And another first. I'm playing soccer, but instead of women's league, it's more like skills practice and pick-up games. Tonight I played co-ed---first time doing that since I was pregnant with boy #2 way back in 2005. Not only did my team win our fun game, but I scored a goal. Gooooool! Yes, I'm bragging. I'm the oldest (or next to oldest) person at every game, so I can brag a little. 

Lastly, the Map of Lost Mail has another pin to add, and the first of 2014. 

We are STILL getting a trickling in of Christmas presents. We got this very sad looking box last week: 

I'm not sure why it was rewrapped and resealed. Was it falling apart? Did someone get curious and decided to open it and take a peek? 

What I didn't realize until I started opening it was the sticker from yet another exciting destination for my Map of Lost Mail. Can you spot it? 

My mail has now been to Catania, Sicily! If you don't know anything about Catania, it is the second largest town in Sicily and sits in the shadows of Mt. Etna. No, I haven't been there---I just looked it up online. It is really gorgeous, if the Internet is to be believed. 

And now, here's my latest version of my mail map: Oman, Italy, Sicily, Spain, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. I haven't been to any of these places and would like to visit most. (I've never talked to anyone about visiting Oman, but if you have been and liked it, convince me to visit so I can say I want to go to all of these places). 

The Latest Version of the Map of Lost Mail

Mail, Shopping, and the Star Spangled Banner; or, You've Been Gitmoed!!

Today's weather at Guantánamo Bay Naval Station, Cuba: partly cloudy and 88 degrees ("feels like 95")

"This is So Gitmo."

"We've been Gitmoed."

Once you've been here a while, you hear these phrases referring to the place we all call home.

It's finding out that the cooler on the weekly food barge broke and there is a shortage of dairy and deli products. Or it's the dairy container full of yogurt and eggs that are all out of date. It's Pizza Hut not having pizza for a week because they ran out of cheese. (Last year, they ran out of dough). People swear this story is true: a few years back, McDonald's ran out of meat and buns, so they sold PB& J sandwiches. It's the Subway Sandwich Artist saying, "Sorry, but we are out of bread. And lettuce. And tomatoes. What would you like on your sandwich?" It's no candy corn for Halloween. What kind of place doesn't sell the National Candy of Halloween?!?!?

It's the movie being cancelled---because it is raining. It is work internet going out every week because of some issue---in Georgia.

It's the stampede of residents going into full-out hoarder mode and buying out the commissary when the barge dumped several containers (only to find out that food wasn't part of the catastrophe). It's paying $18 for a pair of cheater glasses, $45 for a pair of flip flops, or $130 for a pair of running shoes because you have no other shopping option here. It's the fact that, after a year, you don't even look at the prices of things you need---you just throw the items in your cart and brace yourself for a surprise at the checkout.

It's living in base housing, and thus having to take time off work to meet workers when they come to change the lightbulb in your fridge, which also belongs to the base. Seriously. You can't buy them here and you aren't supposed to change them yourself; you have to take off work to have someone CHANGE A LIGHTBULB.

Apocryphal, outrageous, and darkly humorous, stories of being Gitmoed have a life of their own around here, and with reason.

I went to a birthday party a few weeks ago and played on the theme of being Gitmoed. The decorations were from Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, leftover odds and ends from kids' parties (Scooby Doo, anyone?). The balloons included retirement balloons. It was very Gitmo. If you go to the party section of the NEX, it's about two feet wide, two shelves high. You get two choices of invitations. You get two choices of plates. You get what you get, and you don't throw a fit. If you try to get all fancy and order decorations and invitations online that, heaven forbid,  fit together in a thematic fashion, you better hope your mail doesn't get Gitmoed.

My mail has been Gitmoed again, and my Map of Lost Mail has yet another pin:

Abu Nakhlah, Qatar, has been added to places in Oman, Italy, Spain, and Egypt.

Something being So Gitmo isn't necessarily a bad thing, either.

On the day you turn exactly 15 1/2, you qualify for a Gitmo driver's permit. After passing a written test, your permit allows you to drive with an adult in the car, and once you turn 16, you can take the driving test and get a Gitmo driver's license.

Guess who spent 4 hours yesterday riding from one end of this base to another (and again) in Pearl with her 15 1/2 year old Gitmo permit holder son driving??

Nevermind that it's not recognized in the US; your Gitmo permit or license will allow you to have the Gitmoed driving experience.

Driving that is So Gitmo means 25 mph speed limits on the main road (Sherman Ave.), 35 on a small stretch to Cable Beach, and frequent stops for stubborn iguanas, stupid hutias, suicidal guineas, colorful chickens, Gitmo feral kitties or dogs, occasional deer, crazed land crabs, or the elusive and huge Cuban boa. Sometimes you see most or all in one day.

I was exhausted and cranky, making my way home in my super intense 5 minute commute last Friday, when not one but TWO families of guinea fowl, complete with little baby guineas, jumped out in the road. Luckily I saw them ahead of time and they didn't end up as road kill (or dinner). My commute that is So Gitmo has lots of pleasant surprises, and watching little guineas frenetically following their mama made me literally LOL.

It's the gang of feral neighbor kids who don't even knock anymore---they just walk in the front or back door, and use our yard as the cut-through. They open our fridge and help themselves.

They also snap at attention the second the Star Spangled Banner plays every morning (or before every movie) and when Colors are played at sundown. It doesn't matter if kids are mid soccer game, bike race, or climbing the big tree in the park behind our house---they automatically stand stone-still, chests puffed out, arms straight, and facing the nearest flag the second they hear the speakers.

The kids have been Gitmoed. It's charming and a little disconcerting, all at the same time. And so is this place that, for now, we call home.

Rainy Days and Mondays; or, The Map of Lost Mail is here!!

After many months of a drought, and restrictions on all water usage resulting in a yard that is an oh-so-attractive shade of dirt brown (because that's all there is---dirt), I'm happy to see rain the last few days. In fact, it's sort of like our rainy season here (okay, it's actually called hurricane season, but that tends to freak people out).

Pedro the Yard Chicken stopped by to pose in the dirt. 

We do have our "hurricane kit" all ready to go---lots of gallons of water, flashlights and batteries, canned and boxed goods. I have to admit, though, that the most exciting offering for hurricane kits is this product, which I believe is essential to any household facing the uncertainty of the season that is upon us:

It's kind of beautiful, isn't it? 

You don't realize how sunny and beautiful it is living in eternal summer until you have a few rain soaked days thrown in. You also haven't lived until your internet goes out every time it rains. At least we have power this time.

It wasn't all bad today; I did manage to FINALLY get a long-awaited package.

Living on a military base overseas means that your mail is sent to either an APO (Army & Air Force Post Office) or, in the case of the Navy, an FPO (Fleet Post Office). Our mail first goes to a sorting facility---at one time it was in New York, but now it's Chicago---and then goes to our tiny local post office, which doesn't have any actual mail boxes for its customers. When you send mail to me, it goes to the post office, and then someone from work has to pick it up and deliver it to my office mail box. The entire base works this way. The mail is only flown in two days a week now, so mail delivery day is exciting business around here.  Sometimes we get packages, which is for many of us, our connection to life's many necessities you can't find here, and if the sender happens to be my mom, the package is packed with Zero candy bars.

I don't know if you are familiar with Zero bars, but you should be. Hershey describes them as a "unique combination of caramel, peanut and almond nougat covered with delicious white fudge." You may know them as the white candy bar in the ugly silver wrapper. Don't let the ugly wrapper fool you. The Zero bar is, along with purple speckled butterbeans, bacon, and red Skittles, one of life's perfect foods.

A long-awaited package makes even the most dreary, rainy Monday seem a little nicer.

While visiting Mississippi in July, the first thing we did was find some sporting goods stores so we could buy the kids baseball gloves that fit. Our oldest had outgrown his little league glove, which we could have passed down to the youngest, except Boy #1 is a leftie and Boy #2 isn't. So onward we went, hitting several stores in Hattiesburg until we found two nice gloves that will hopefully serve the kids well for softball and baseball season.

Somehow in the frenzy of packing, the gloves got left at my parents, but never fear---my mom went down to the local P.O. a couple of days later and sent them (along with some Zero bars) via Priority Mail to Cuba.

I should also mention that Priority Mail still takes 3-4 weeks to get here from the States. I can't really tell if it's worth paying more to send anything that method, because once the mail hits the sorting facility in Chicago, it can't be traced.

And that can be a problem.

Gloves left Mississippi on July 19. Gloves hit the sorting facility in Chicago on July 21.

Gloves got to Cuba on September 9.

Gloves took a detour along the way

to APO 09833.

Not FPO 09593.

This would be Sharm El Sheik, Egypt.

Oops.

I have started a map to mark all the exotic and interesting places my mail has accidentally traveled while I'm stuck here in Hotel California land ("You can check any time you like, but you can never leave").

It's actually a positive thing that we've had such misfortune, since I managed to spend most of my high school World History classes doodling on my Trapper Keeper and daydreaming about Rick Springfield. Now I have motivation to break out a map and play Where In the World was My Lost Mail. If we've managed to have mail go to Muscat, Oman; Madrid, Spain;  Livorno, Italy; and Sharm El Sheik, Egypt in only 10 months, we'll have many, many more interesting locations for our Map of Lost Mail before we leave Cuba.

And in case you are wondering, Zero bars that have traveled through three countries and are a little melted still taste delicious.

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.