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

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

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

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

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

Now I am going through my day looking like this: 

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

Not pictured: 

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

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

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

A few years ago, I did this: 

Dark road + running off large shoulder=major sprain 

And ended up for several months like this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cruelest Month, or, Damn You, Germs

APRIL is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
 Memory and desire, stirring
 Dull roots with spring rain. 

Winter kept us warm, covering 

 Earth in forgetful snow, feeding 

A little life with dried tubers. 

~T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land" 

April is a cruel month for teachers.

Why?

It's the long stretch between spring break and graduation. It's that annual malady, when the few remaining seniors who haven't succumbed to Senioritis develop a serious case of it. Sometimes, other classes of students get a good case of Senioritis, as well.  For those of us on the island, it's April showers, which bring hordes of April buzzing, biting bugs.
It's the other sort of April bug. April means spring break here, celebrated by dozens of island inhabitants leading a mass exodus off our isolated community. Then they migrate back, bringing all sorts of mean and nasty illnesses, infections, infestations. This April is a cold that won't go away, and it's one of the most vile, vicious stomach bugs we've ever encountered.

Kid 2 is down for the count. In a paradoxical twist of fate, the smallest person in the house seems to be able to produce the most barf.

I'll be honest; one of my first thoughts when we moved here and I saw how very isolated we are, and how very limited our medical care is here, was what if someone brings an extremely contagious disease on island?  We carry extra insurance to be medi-vaced off island in case of an emergency, but it's really scary to realize the potential for a catastrophic event.

Forget the Zika virus or the Chikamauga virus; I'm talking more common things, like the flu or stomach viruses or tough strains of the cold. Or then again, maybe even something strange and rare and without a known cure. After all, we have people flying on island every week from all over the world. To live here, you must pass a physical screening. But what if they miss something? What if the US doctor doing the screening doesn't know what you contracted in Asia, Europe, Africa, or the Middle East?

I also would love to have faith that people exposed to such diseases off island and then feel the symptoms would be a dear love and decide to forgo the flight back, especially when they will also be exposing everyone on the Rotator or IBC flight. They should think of it as a self-imposed quarantine for the good of our little community. Plus a quarantine in the real world (the States) is much better than here, where you have limited, if any, access to basic medication to get well.

Good luck finding that Pedialyte when you get a stomach flu, or any type of cold medication for the majority of the year.

I do believe those people who do come back on island knowing they are bringing a contagious disease are the same people who load their sick kids down with Tylenol to avoid taking off a sick day. All of us in education have seen this, and yes, we do judge you when you bring your knowingly sick child to infect the rest of the class. Shame on you, especially in such a small community, where a class of only 12 kids total becomes a class of 3 or 4 if the contagious germs are spread just right.

So here's looking forward to May with its flowers and celebrations. Kid 2 is turning 18, and many of my friends' children are graduating high school or college. (Our kid's ceremony is in June). Here's to summer vacations and well-rested, lazy afternoons for my many overworked teacher friends and family members who are lucky enough to get it earlier than later. Here's to your kids running wild and emulating the GTMO feral child life.

Here's to good health. Here's to May, with a forward, wishful glance to June, and good riddance to April.

Lady Bits and the MJ Special; or, Surgery, GTMO Style

I wrote the first half of this post over 3 weeks ago, after my first experience with surgery in Cuba. I then chickened out at posting it because, well, living in a fishbowl where everyone knows your business is difficult for me, a somewhat private person. 
But thanks to social media and that whole fishbowl thing, most people know about the second, much more serious surgery, and because I've had 1001 questions,  I decided to post it anyway. 
For those of you who haven't kept up with the last few blog posts, here's a quick breakdown of my woes and recovery. 

So here it is, a tale of my recent medical issues, in 2 parts:

Part 1 from Dec. 11:

I will just cut to the chase. But beforehand---a warning that if you are overly-sensitive reading about women's reproductive organs and the like, you can skip out now and catch another post, another day.

Okay. Still here? Good.

I have something to add to my list of GTMO firsts---this Wednesday, I had surgery.

I have been anemic for a while---if you haven't had anemia, it's a horrible feeling of total exhaustion, and sometimes I also get to the point of shaking uncontrollably. Most recently, I started passing out because my iron levels are so low.

Because I have been cursed by an overactive cycle, I was a great candidate for a Novasure procedure, which gets rid of the pesky endometrium and thus no more hemorrhaging. Bonus---Novasure can be done here,  so I was like, sign me up yesterday. I. AM. SO. THERE.

Going into the hospital is always a strange experience (especially when there is anesthesia and narcotics involved), and I did learn and experience the following during Wednesday's trip:

1) I have big veins. Huge veins. Amazing, healthy veins.
I heard all the above, at least twice.
Need blood? I'm the type 0+ girl with big veins and I will happily oblige.

2) the "Michael Jackson Special" (Propofol) is awesome---"like 5 margaritas without the hangover," as one staff member put it. I was mucho loopy afterwards, but what great sleep. . .

3) Those minutes before going completely under are so strange. I've have three surgeries before, and in the past, I've had OR staff tell me to count backwards or think happy thoughts. This time, it was, "Think of a beautiful tropical island you want to visit and go there in your dreams" and my last words before going under were, "Anywhere but GTMO."

Thank God those weren't my last words.

4) I woke up in recovery with the lyrics to a Social Distortion song in my head ("I was Wrong"). Were they listening to Social D in the operating room? Is this some message from my subconscious??? Was I wrong about "Anywhere but GTMO?"

5) I knew when I came to in recovery that my surgery was not successful. When the doctor came in with photographs of my uterus, I saw the problem---a huge fibroid tumor taking up over half of it. You can't have the procedure if you have any tumors or polyps. Sadness, sadness---I will have to go with the next plan, which is---

6) I now need a hysterectomy. :(   My husband saw that I was on the verge of tears when I told him. I have few long-range goals in life: healthy, happy children, ability to travel when I'm retired, and the knowledge I will die with all my teeth and organs.

Having some of my lady-bits removed does not make me happy. I don't know why; it's been such a pain (literally) for several years now. But I love being a woman, and I am going to miss my lady bits.

Look at your fist (if you are a dude, look at a lady's fist---it's somewhat smaller than yours) and image that's the size of your uterus. I had 2 children that were almost 9 and 9/12 lbs, both measuring over 20 inches long, and now it's back to its original size. It's amazing thing, the human body, and the uterus is the most incredible of all organs, in my opinion.

When he saw my disappointment, my husband said, "Oh, sweetie, it's okay!!! It housed 2 awesome children and did a great job. It's okay, you can live without it."

True, true.

So I am resolved to take care of the situation, although I'm going to miss my uterus.

I need this awesome pillow from Iheartguts.com.

The staff here was fantastic---professional, courteous, and took the time to answer all questions and explain everything multiple times. The staff took good care of me, and I have full confidence in them when it's time to come back for surgery part 2.0.

My issues, part 2 (Jan 1):

So I did it! I went through with major surgery this past Monday in a small hospital. Just the idea of having it done here freaks out a lot of my GTMO friends, but seriously, y'all---I grew up in a small town with a small hospital that had similar services as here. As long as you have experienced, smart people treating you, it doesn't matter if it's a big city hospital or a little island one.

For me, the best decision was to stay here instead of traveling to the US and having to stay in a hotel for recovery. I can't imagine flying soon after the procedure, either.

No MJ special this time---a LAVH is a lot more tedious a procedure, and it took several hours from the beginning of surgery to me being able to go back to my hospital room. I ended up spending 2 nights because I was really weak and had some low blood pressure issues.

And no, I still don't have a complete set of  #@%*! lesson plans for five preps of classes for next week, so that's constantly in the back of my mind. I hate feeling guilty for being sick. It's the curse of being a teacher; you fall victim to the attitude that you aren't doing your job well unless you feel like a martyr.

I like to plan and plan and overplan for my job, so having about a week to prepare for major surgery threw me for a loop (especially when Christmas fell right smack in the middle of that week).

I am feeling better since coming out of surgery (I'll spare the details---let's just say it was really, really rough for several hours) and now my pain level is manageable. I'm working on getting my iron levels back up so I feel like a regular human again instead of an exhausted one.

I'm also appreciative of the angels all around---my neighbors, friends, and colleagues who have brought my family meals and/or offered to help in myriad ways, and all the friends and family who have messaged my husband and me to see how things are going. You are very appreciated. <3

I never thought 2014 would be the year that I (literally) left a little part of myself in Cuba. . .

With that thought, I'm looking forward to a more healthy 2015. Here's to new beginnings, better health, and all around happiness!

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?).

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

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

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

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

Things we need for relocation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buddhist Fortune; or, Wealth and Health

Ten years ago this month, my sister and I met in NYC for my 35th birthday. It was fun, with trips to museums and theatres, shopping and eating, and the kind of sister-time you enjoy once you are adults and really like each other. I loved New York City in winter and with the very cold weather (it was -10º a couple of days), found myself huddled up next to total strangers, waiting for the newly refurbished MoMA to open. So much for New Yorkers being completely standoffish. . .

A few places stood out over others. One was the Bethesda Fountain in Central Park, important to the Mike Nichols' film version of Tony Kushner's Angels in America, the beautiful and powerful play about the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s. I love the final scene where the characters speak of the symbolism of this angel, and to see her in real life was, well, a happy and moving experience.

The second place with a big emotional impact was the former site of the World Trade Center. It was, of course, heart-wrenching. What I did find surrounding that gigantic scar were little glimpses of hope. Only a block or so away, we found a little surprise, a tiny Buddhist temple. Inside from the cold we encountered hundreds of little shrines for those who perished during 9/11, covering every surface in the space. We both gave a donation and got a "fortune." 

Mine said: "Probability of Success: Excellent.  Ne'er worry about your wealth, But take good care of your health. In time you will be matured, And have your future secured." 

When I found the tiny scroll hidden away in a jewelry box, I honestly had no recollection of what my "fortune" said. The tiny shrines with faces of 9/11 victims always have been what I remembered about that place. Today it was the words that affected me. 

I am not very superstitious and not a big believer in fortunes or horoscopes. But to look at it as a solid piece of advice, it really is something that today means more to me than 10 years ago. 

In ten years, our monetary wealth has changed and been at times on various ends of two extremes. With moving here, we have given up many of our material possessions, and every day I wake up with the goal of downsizing just a little bit more. We still have so much "stuff," so much more than we need to live a comfortable life, but I feel that in ten years, I have learned to care less about the things that surround me (and concern myself more with the people who surround me). 

I do worry less about our economic situation today than 10 years ago, when we were considering having another child (we would have #2 a little less than a year after that NYC trip). As we are aging, health is, of course, a great concern. 

There are innumerable reasons that we moved here, and honestly, we can look back 2+ years later and figure out that subconsciously, there were probably more reasons than we realized at the time. Since August, I have taken on a new role at school (not necessarily my choice), and with that has come a lot more stress, many more hours away from my family, and much less free time to do stress-relieving activities such as exercising and art. To get away from a life like that was probably the number one reason I considered moving here, yet I am finding myself back in the 60 hour work week grind. It's frustrating as hell, and I find it affects my health, as well. 

I have decided to work on what I can control. I can't control that I work in a death-by-meeting setting (thus the need to spend 8-10 hours at work on the weekends), but I can work on improving my health. I am trying to eat better, and I am making a vow to not work 10 hour days, three or four days in a row, ever again. I haven't been to an exercise class since I sprained my ankle in April, and I need to gradually get back into a more active life. (I've tried easing back into running again twice, but I think I am out of running indefinitely). I am taking care of some health issues that have nagged me since I moved here. If that means I have to take time off of work, so be it---I can only be more productive and happier once I am healthier. 

So the tiny little scroll that served as a souvenir to a very moving, very rewarding birthday trip now serves as a reminder that I need to stop, slow down, and take better care of myself. 

After all, what good is wealth if your health is so poor, you can't enjoy it? 

In Bloom; or, Blame it on the Moon

Ah, spring.

It's that time for life, renewal, and birth. Spring cleaning. Nature walks. Afternoon showers, new flowers.

The revival of old allergens.

Despite not really having  discernible seasons here---remember: every day is Groundhog day in GTMO!---I have managed to find myself in the midst of a Zyrtec haze, thanks to SOMETHING out there that's blooming.

I do think the animals and plants know that, despite being 85 degrees almost every day the last 6 or so months, it's time to do those things that birds and bees and flowers and trees like to do.

Like make me sneeze.

"In Bloom," one of my favorite Nirvana songs, has a line that pretty much sums up how I feel about the season right now: "Nature is a whore."

So I'm taking my prescription eyedrops and prescription nose spray, my prescription and over-the-counter antihistamines, my inhaler, and using my neti pot.

This past week my youngest came into the bedroom, took one look at me, and said, "OH MY GOD. WHAT is on your face???" I was fearing a scorpion or tarantula or big zit, but no, it was just an obnoxious nose strip. I really don't want to wake the neighbors with the cacophony of my allergy-induced snoring.

Also (although my husband probably isn't complaining): I have been really hoarse and for a few days recently and could barely talk. This is great until you realize that I have to talk to kids ALL DAY LONG.

Conversations with the elementary kids went something like this:

Me (sounding like Barry White with a frog in his throat): Okay, kids, it's story time!! 
Cute kid 1 (wide eyes): Your voice! Your voice! You are talking different! 
Gaggle of cute kids: It's different! It's different!
Cute kid 2 (even wider eyes) Is there something wrong with your voice???
Me (croaking): I'm just a little hoarse. 
Cute kid 3 (REALLY big eyes): You're a HORSE? 
Me (voice cracking now): Nope, I AM hoarse. My voice is almost gone. I'm hoarse. You know, I can't talk. 
Cute kid 3: Then why are you talking?? 
Me: *sigh*

Repeat that 2-3 times a day, and you have my past week.

Not only was I hoarse, but there was the Blood Moon this week.

I am not even sure what the heck the Blood Moon is, and I wasn't energetic enough to get up at 2 am to view it here, but I'm blaming the kids rather rambunctious behavior and crazy questions this past week on the Blood Moon.

Coming off from Spring Break didn't help things, either.

Kids quickly forget routines, even if it's only been a week, so I was croaking, "Criss-cross, Applesauce!" "Hands in your laps!" "Don't poke your friends!"  "One-two-three, eyes on me!" more than usual, and realized, dios mio, sometime in the last year I've transitioned from a high school librarian to an elementary librarian. I've always been a secondary librarian until last year, but I am finally feeling like I am equally elementary and secondary.  Watching the kids mesmerized and giggling over Tumblebooks (a cute online program that reads books aloud, while projecting pictures on the whiteboard), I was very thankful that for once, technology worked as it should. Hearing "One more, one more! We have time for one more! Just read that story again!" made me a happy, croaky, sneezy, sniffling mess.

And this afternoon---I haven't sneezed, not once. Bring Monday on!

Last week's greatest hits with the PK-2nd grade crowd

Taking the Road Less Traveled; or, Hotel California, Part Deux

El tiempo hoy en Bahía de Guantánamo, Cuba: 85º y está un poquito nublado.

One of my friends calls this place Hotel California (as in, "you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave").

And you know the opening lyrics. Here's my version, which really go well with a little bit of recent excitement in my life:

On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of [banana rat poo]
Rising up in the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light (the stars!)
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim. . .
And then I busted by butt.

About half the time I run, I run alone. As a female, it took me a while to feel completely safe running at night alone here, because we ladies have a fear ingrained against taking stupid risks. And running alone at night is a stupid risk I rarely took until I moved here. I still use common sense---reflective gear, well traveled routes, and honestly, we are in such an isolated place where everyone here has had a background check, I feel comfortable as a female running alone at night (and unlike anywhere else I've lived, I don't freak out a little when a man I don't know is running towards me in the dark). This past week, I was so incredibly bored with the same route I've run for 15 months or so, I took a turn into a neighborhood I usually don't run in. It was, literally, the road less traveled. This is supposed to be a good thing, right?

There is a long stretch in this neighborhood that is very dark---no street lights---and although the moon is super bright here, as are the stars (no light pollution), it was really too dark for me to be running this particular stretch at night without a light.

But I did anyway.

I did think, "Wouldn't it be awful if a banana rat ran in front of me" (it has happened---more than once---and I almost tripped on it). What I didn't think was, "Wouldn't it be awful if a car came down the road, and I ran to the shoulder, but there really wasn't a shoulder."

There was no shoulder.

There was a 2 foot drop off.

Skinned, bruised, and bloody, I limped the short distance (1 mile or so) home, and my oldest was in awe over the blood covering my leg and my blood-soaked sock from my skinned up knee. Then I look down at my other leg and realized that I had a huge bulge on the side of my ankle. And I realized what I thought was dirt was just chunks of dead flesh peeling off my knee.

Yuck.

The ER trip was fine---I've had to go before, and as always, the staff is very efficient and friendly. They got me cleaned up and told me I couldn't get stitches (not enough skin) and the Xrays showed no break, just a sprain. They sent me home with crutches and medicine and directions on how to take care of my injuries, and followed up with a phone call the next day to see how I am doing.

Back up a few days before "the incident." I got a Fit Bit. No, I'm not going to be one of those people who gives you a blow by blow of how many steps or miles or calories or sets of stairs I go through in a day. I will just say this---if you think librarians live sedentary lives, you need to hang out with one for a day. Especially one who doesn't have an assistant (and has to split time between two campuses---a ridiculous expectation, but it is what it is). I love when people say, "Oh! You are a librarian! You must love your job! You get to sit and read all day!" and I want to ask, "Um, when was the last time you were actually in a library?" I don't know any librarians who get to actually read on the job, even those librarians with only one library to maintain and an assistant or two. I hit my 10K step goal before I get home every day. Living in a 2 storey house (yes, that's how you spell "storey"), I go up and down the steps a minimum of 20 times a day (I have proof now!). I am hoping it's building my legs and glutes and not blowing out my knees.

Having a Fit Bit just proves what I've suspected all alone---I am fidgety and hate to stay still. I remember when a study came out a few years back that said fidgety people are much, much, much more apt to be lean and less to be obese than people who don't fidget. So there! I don't feel bad about my inability to stay still; I am wired to burn calories all day long, so please don't make me stop.

And now. . . I am in pain. But the worst part? I have to be still. I can't run up and down the stairs 20 times in a day. I missed the Dr. Seuss Fun Run. I can't move around the house cooking, doing a load of laundry, picking up the den, and catching up on email all at the same time, like I do every evening when I come home (and if it's M-W-F, watering the yard, too). I am not a  television viewer. I watch 2-3 shows a year, and having to stay in bed, foot elevated, looking at t.v. is killing me. THIS IS BORING. I can't concentrate enough to read (it's the pain). I tried getting out this weekend for a while, ran a few errands and went to the Mardi Gras parade, and then spent a fun evening with our fun neighbors (even if one of them made fun of my new, singular "cankle").

But now, I am sort of  hurting and know tomorrow will be even worse (I seem to hurt more every morning instead of less). And I am really wishing I were the sitting and watching type, not the fidgeting and moving around type. I have no idea how I'm going to do my job that has me doing 10K+ steps a day when I can barely do ten. I won't be able to run or exercise for weeks, and I'm stuck in a stupid boot (and stupid crutches---I need a remedial crash course on using them, because I am evidently too stupid to use stupid crutches).

Did I mention I'm cranky??

(I am cranky).

So taking the road less traveled sometimes isn't the best plan. From now on I'm use my instincts more, take stupid risks less. I still can't believe I literally plunged into the dark unknown.

My pity party is coming to a close, and now I'm thinking of the first place I'll run and the first day I'll be back to well over 10K steps once I have healed my ankle and my knee. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I really, REALLY miss running, and that same old stretch of Sherman doesn't seem quite so boring now that I can't get out there and run on it.

International friends; or, That time a Russian lady poured Vodka in my ear

Today's weather in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: high of 85º and partly cloudy. 

For such a small place with a small population, the vast diversity of people here blows my mind.

Case in point: we went to a party a while back to celebrate the visit of an unaccompanied serviceman's wife. The couple is from Puerto Rico. To celebrate his wife's arrival, he prepared grilled bacon wrapped asparagus (my favorite), steak, and fresh ceviche on a bed of fried plantains.

Yes, here in Gitmo. And it was amazing. To top things off, there were people from South Africa and England celebrating, too. It's like music, hearing so many accents at one time in one place.

And that's how it is at school events or aisles of the grocery store, with people originally from places such as India, Korea, Jamaica, Jordan, Japan, the Philippines, New Zealand, and Australia. What we lack in real life Cubans in Gitmo, we make up for in the assortment of residents on base.

I have gotten to know a few ladies from Russia, as well. One of them is a whirling dervish of energy. She is very animated when she talks, and as a former teacher in her country, very smart (and quite sarcastic at times). What's not to love about that?

Our kids attend school and played soccer together. One day I was watching a game, and suddenly, I hear someone with a very thick Russian accent saying loudly, "YOU! YOU PLAY SOCCER!"

Me: "Um, yeah, well I used to play outdoors, and before I got here, I played in an indoor league, and. . . "

Lady: "THIS IS NOT A QUESTION! YOU PLAY SOCCER! TUESDAY NIGHTS! WE NEED SUBS!"

And this, folks, is how in 30 seconds I went from having every Tuesday and Thursday night free to playing in a rec league that I absolutely loved. That whirling dervish of a lady is very, very convincing.

I have felt out of sorts, to say the least, while dealing with an ear infection in one ear (and completely off balance, to boot). I was bundled up in bed watching Dr. Zhivago yesterday morning, and despite having seen it in its overdrawn, too-long, but lusciously shot glory at least 5 other times, my heart breaks EVERY TIME that (*spoiler alert*) I realize that Yuri and Lara are never going to connect again, and he is never going to find out about his daughter.

I was ruminating on White Russians and Bolsheviks and the fate of the star-crossed lovers when the phone rang. It was my husband.

After a few questions ("How are you feeling? Have you taken your medicine") and asking if our son would like a playdate, I found myself speaking to someone with a Russian accent.

Talk about surreal---I went from watching Dr. Zhivago about Russia to talking to a real-life Russian in just a few minutes time.

My soccer friend had stopped by my husband's work, and upon hearing about my maladies, she took it upon herself to take my youngest off my hands to give me some time to rest. Once and again, I am blown away by people's generosity here, and her offer was flattering and one I ultimately could not resist. Her last words on the phone were, "I am coming by to get him. Get some vodka ready."

Huh? I do have an ear infection, so maybe I'm not hearing correctly.

But no. This is how I came to finding myself an hour later reclining on the couch with someone carefully pouring vodka in my ear. Russians take vodka seriously and look at it much like some Americans view rubbing alcohol (or Windex and duct tape). It's a cure-all. And what could it hurt?

Many, many years ago, I spent a weekend with my great-grandmother's sister Myrtle, my great-great aunt who was a bundle of energy in her own right. I couldn't have been older than 10. I had the beginnings of bronchitis, and she mixed up a concoction in a mason jar, insisted that I drink it, and I was CURED in the morning.

The medicine? Honey, peppermint, lemon, and whisky. To this day I don't like whisky, but if you throw some honey, peppermint, and lemon in it, I could drink it all day (or until I pass out).

I'm not adverse to trying some home remedies and you know what? My ear quit crackling and popping for the rest of the day, and I was able to hear a little better. I woke up stone deaf in that ear again this morning, so I'm going to try it again.

And I may take a shot or two, as well, just to see how that comes out.  It's past 5 o'clock in Russia, so why not?

Harder Better Faster Stronger; or, Once again, with feeling

Today's weather in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: high of 88º and partly cloudy. 

Year two here means experiencing the same things over and over again. However, this year's going to be harder, better, faster, stronger (with all apologies to Daft Punk).

First (better, stronger): diving

I have managed to finally log over 50 lifetime dives now, and I only have two more dives to get my advanced open water certification. I've been taking classes to finish that cert so I can go to a wider range of dive sites on island.

Twenty one years after my first dive, I finally faced my fears and experienced a night dive last weekend. It wasn't nearly as terrifying as I thought. (I blame reading too many Peter Benchley novels in my early teens for my irrational fear of night diving).

We saw: a huge urchin stretching out from its exoskeleton to feed; a parrotfish sleeping in its nighttime cocoon; a freaky arrow crab; a baby lobster; my first Gitmo starfish sighting; half-burrowed, sleeping rays; and a graceful, fluid octopus that was clinging to the bottom of a colorful coral ledge.  Puffer fish don't puff out in their sleep, and their spines don't show---so when we came down on a sleeping puffer, it was amazing to come nose-to-nose with the little guy, hovering like a hummingbird, suspended completely still while we got much closer than we can during the day.

I also went on a wreck dive (okay, it's a "wreck" dive, as it was a barge intentionally sunk for an artificial reef). Lots of damsels and wrasses and two of the biggest angelfish I've even seen were gliding in and out of colorful sponges and corals and through crevices in the old barge. It was so nice to see something different from the same places we've been before. We definitely will be back there (and hopefully with a camera next time).

All dives were at Girl Scout Beach, which I love because it's great for finding sea glass, has more sand for laying out and reading a book in the sun than most other beaches, and it's relatively easy to get to.

I don't love the steps that go from the bottom of Girl Scout to the area where you park. It's especially rough when you are hauling tanks and gear (and going up is always much more difficult than going down). It also doesn't have tables, restrooms, or water, so you are really roughing it.

I'm happy to get more dives in (and more "difficult" speciality ones, at that), and I'm looking forward to a second year of diving, with many more locations available once I finally finish my certification.  I've become a stronger diver because of the classes and I'm making great memories every time I go out with my son or husband.

Second (better, faster): This year's parade was also bigger and better for us, because our youngest got to be on a float. He was so excited when he found out he was going to be in the parade, he exclaimed, "It's my wildest dreams come true!" Um, okay. Then again, I managed to be in the Christmas parade every year I lived in our little town and loved the experience. Granted, I was never a beauty queen doing my beauty queen wave from the back of a convertible (that would be my sister), but I was a band geek and therefore got to march the little route for years. As a little kid, I was always on a float with Brownies or a church group. I do remember one year helping decorate a float made of chicken wire with tissue paper down at the National Guard Armory. No chicken wire and tissue here, but several nautical themed floats that were quite cute:

The experience this year was different for me, too, because instead of getting pelted with candy, I waited for my son at the end of the route (where most floats had run out of candy). Maybe it was a larger parade, or many I just had a better view from a different vantage point, or just maybe I've been here so long that everything is starting to look bigger than normal, but I thought this year's parade was larger, with better floats and more of them.

And third (harder): sickness.

This one isn't good.

This time last year, I ended up with a bad respiratory infection and my first case of asthma in years and years. I guess the December funk has hit again. I finally gave in and went to the doctor today---it's really not a bad experience here, since you are in and out in less than 30 minutes, tops---but I hate being sick because, really, who likes being sick? Plus I am allergic to almost every antibiotic, so getting sick is frustrating, to say the least. I can't just pop a pill like a normal person and be okay in a few days. I have an inner ear infection, so goodbye, diving, until that is over. I'm on a nice cocktail of cold medication and antibiotics and a little something for the pain, so I missed a party at the youngest's school tonight and used a sick day today (or half a day) for the first time since I've been here. To make matters more complicated, there are no albuterol inhalers on the island---the one and only pharmacy is out and may get some next week. Not a good time to be asthmatic! I am even loopier and crabbier than usual (who knew that was possible?), and to me, things like ear infections seem to get harder to deal with the older you are. You know how life is as an adult---you are too busy with kids and work to be sick. Hoping a weekend in bed will cure everything---although I would much rather be hanging out with little kids at a Christmas party, or diving, or last minute shopping, or wrapping the presents that (hopefully) are sitting at school because I wasn't there for mail call today.

Lessons Learned (and other lingo); or, Roots and Vines

Between my background in education and my present location on a military base, I am well versed in jargon. Education changes every few years---let's just repackage and recycle (and sell for big, big bucks) a new trend, and watch everyone learn the lingo: if you are meeting in your professional learning community while engaging in standards based mapping, all while covering constructivism (or is it metacognition?), I feel your pain. Oops, there goes another paradigm shift! You must learn new lingo.

At least with the military, an acronym is usually around forever, and the jargon doesn't really change with whichever way the wind blows. If it were FUBAR in 1970, well, it's still FUBAR today. And if you are familiar with OPSEC, that holds true here---thus no names and pictures of my family or several places on the base on my blog.

So this morning, upon realizing that I wanted to write about "lessons learned," I felt the need to jab a pencil in my eyeball. What has happened to me? I used to snicker at the term that is really, really overused in the military, and now I'm using it.

That being said, I've reflected on some lessons of recent times and had an epiphany or two that I'd like to share:

ONE: My youngest is really, REALLY allergic to the skin and sap of mangoes.
One trip to the pediatrician, one trip to the ER, and a frustrating trip to the NEX later, we are going to have to go with homemade remedies since Benadryl and Caladryl are all we have here (and are not getting the job done). I mentioned this before, but the same chemical in poison ivy is in the sap of mangoes.
I'm up for any suggestions. I am very ignorant of what to do since I'm not allergic to anything, dermatologically speaking (but pretty much all antibiotics---I would trade, trust me).

TWO: One trip really can change your life forever.
I went to Cuernavaca, Mexico, for a summer abroad studying at Cemanahuac Language Institute while an undergrad, and I met a group of people who have forever changed my life. Two of the group were BRATS---as in a Military (AF) Brat, and an Aramco Brat. Hearing their stories about traveling and seeing the world at a young age, and seeing the amount of freedom they had---all while living in a close-knit community---is something that I believe led me here today.  From that point on I have had a sense of needing to do more than just settle in one place---especially when there is a huge world out there to explore and see and places where you can do this and raise kids at the same time.
Another of the group was a little older than the rest of us, so I looked to her for advice---and when I found myself going through a difficult time and more or less homeless (by my own doing and choice), she helped me see there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Then there there was my Mexico roommate who said, "My sister is looking for someone to split her rent, let me give her a call." And just like that, a total stranger became my roommate (and friend), and those sisters and their family really took me in. Best thing about their mom? She lived close by and grew up in New Orleans---and like most New Orleans ladies, she can COOK---so it wasn't anything to have the doorbell ring and her show up with a big pan of jambalaya because "I just thought you kids might be hungry."

Although I didn't get a pan of jambalaya at my doorstep, I did get a couple of very nice care packages from the same lady recently. I can't even tell you how flattered and humbled I am that she thought about me,  and she was generous beyond measure. Let's just say that she, also, has changed my life for the better.  I am thankful that she has also remained a part of my life.

One more tidbit from that trip---the AF Brat is now my husband of almost 20 years.  Not too shabby, considering that was the last thing I was looking for when we all became friends.



And like that butterfly causing a hurricane in chaos theory,  one short semester with strangers 23 years ago caused a lifetime of connections and consequences that continue to this very day. You never know what roots and vines are going to spring from one place you all hold dear in your heart.

THREE: I hate the word "staycation." Like all education jargon, some military phrases, and the words "puce," "goiter," "mucus," "gullet," and the phrase "fair and balanced," it should be struck from the English language. Forever.

So instead I'm going to describe my Spring Break as a stay-at-home-vacation. The grandparents came to visit! We were very happy to host our first visitors, my parents, to our tiny little slice of this lovely island. We did pottery. We collected sea glass and sea shells. We gathered seeds (if you think I'm a gatherer, you need to meet my mama). We ate at most of the base restaurants (that would be six of the eight). We went bowling. We drove around and took lots of pictures of the ocean, the kids, the kids in front of the ocean, the kids in the ocean, etc. We visited and chilled out and had a wonderful time. They are travelers and adventurers, so they didn't scoff when I suggested going out at night and looking for hutias as a form of fun family entertainment (actually, it was my mom's idea).

They were also there when our oldest officially became a certified SCUBA diver!!! Yay! We had a wonderful time, and I am eternally grateful for my parents who made the tremendous effort to visit. Two sets of forms, two sets of tickets, the run-around from everyone, a ridiculous expense, and dealing with military bureaucracy and military rules (and jargon) as a civilian are all not easy tasks.

It was a wonderful Spring Break, indeed. And now. . . the downhill slide until summer break. No furloughs this school year, so we are looking at approximately nine weeks until we are on real vacation (not just living-in-paradise-and-working vacation).