New Year; or, Changes to Come

Hello, 2017!

source: https://www.instagram.com/p/-OdTxIsw46/?taken-by=the_real_iman

Tomorrow is the first day back to work in 2017 but I won't be there. Why not? Because I am spending a week in exotic Jacksonville, FL, waiting for my oldest son to go to college.

Because of the ridiculousness that is travel on/off GTMO, we have to come here for a solid week and stay in a hotel because he is traveling to college on a Thursday. The flights are Fridays and every-other Tuesday. If he were flying to college on a Saturday, we could just fly in on Friday and set him on his merry way the next day. However, we will still be waiting here an entire week for the return flight. And if Space A/UEML flights were guaranteed (that's technically what the "rotator" government flights are called), we would have just come on Tuesday of this week. But nooooo, things are complicated, nothing is ever guaranteed when it comes to the government, even a flight with orders, so we ended up staying a week because of the completely and utterly inconvenient flight schedule.

So what do you do for a week in a hotel? 

You catch up. My parents came to visit. I'm lucky that they are a (long) day's drive away and were able to visit a few days. We did a little eating out (choices! so many choices!). We did a little shopping. Some of it is for our son who will be moving to a country that has actual seasons, and after living in GTMO 4+ years, he needed a few colder winter clothes. The high is 49º the day he lands in Spain. The high the day we return to GTMO is 89º. 

This trip has also been a time to think ahead of the future. We met with my cousin and talked a lot about the future of the country post-election. My father gave his best fatherly advice to our son about succeeding in college, which he also gave me---and when I actually followed it, it worked. (The secret: do your homework the day you get the assignment, and read your notes EVERY DAY. Then you will barely have to study for big tests. Try it; it really works). 

We've talked about classes and possible jobs in Spain. We've talked a little about our youngest and his new role for the first time ever as the only kid at home. We are forward focused, and this also includes work. 

This year will be a year of change for me. I don't know if that means I will be doing a new job at my same location, or doing the same job at a different location, or doing a different job at a different location, but I am determined that next school year WILL be a different type of school year. On one hand, you can't make a year change for the better by sheer force of will; on the other, I am tired of waiting for change, because every additional year I am here, I feel more and more like I'm being run completely over. I have tried working the transfer system, and I am getting nowhere. There is being flexible, and there is learning a completely new curriculum you are told you are teaching the first day of school. There is offering everything you can for kids in a small school, and there is taking hundreds of hours away from your own children at home. There is carrying your weight, and there is being crushed to death.

Changing with the times is one thing; Quixotic or last-minute change is another. Sometimes in a large organization (like, say, a school system run by the federal government), it's the later, not the former. Year five of an indefinite sentence, and I find myself feeling more inefficient and, frankly, unhappy as ever.

I will make things change. They WILL change. Even if I am stuck here for (god forbid) a sixth year, it WILL be a different year in 2017-2018. 

I am not quitting my job; however, if I am still here in GTMO next year, I am going to make it a different job. 

If you are reading this and thinking, how?, I don't have all the answers myself. After all, it's just January and I have until August to figure that out. 

But I do know this with upmost certainty---next year will be more efficient, I will doing something I want to do, and if it kills me, I will be happy. I refuse to be stuck; I am moving forward. There will be a method to the madness that is working in a small, isolated, limited resource school.  I am doing formal research and asking other teachers who work in similar locations how to do it all. And with the little I've done towards change so far, I do feel like my voice is being heard, even if things can't change immediately.

The inimitable Will Rogers said, "Even if you are on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there." I am tired of feeling like I am being run over. I think I am on the right track, but I am no longer waiting for changes to come to me. I am working on making change happen.

Anyone feel like joining my one-woman, sort of cheesy, albeit really sincere revolution, the more the merrier---please come along. Bring your ideas and free yourself from the confines of beating your head on the wall because you've been doing things the same way every. single. year. And you know where to find me---it's not like I'm going anywhere any time soon. 😜

Definitely maybes; or, Dang, I'm forty seven?

So I just turned forty-seven years old this week.

Crazy how time just creeps up on you, and next thing you know, you are looking towards 50. Seriously, how did it go by so fast?

And sometimes I try to remember something significant from every single year of my life---and the scary fact is, sometimes I can't come up with anything. Does this just happen to me?

I am blessed with an amazing memory and I have vivid memories from very, very early in my life. My sister and cousins always marvel at what I can remember from when I was a toddler. I can describe my grandparents' house in Crystal Springs that they moved from when I was three. I probably only visited it a handful of times, but I have specific memories. (And there are no pictures from the interior, so it's all from somewhere in my brain).

I know the perfume my preschool teacher wore (Yves San Laurent's Vie Gauche). I remember the first time I saw a cow (and someone---maybe my Granny---was holding me). I remember snippets of my early years in Mississippi---how my first grade classroom smelled (like that sawdust stuff they put on vomit) and the series of boxes Mrs. Fortenberry kept which held objects for every letter of the alphabet. N was for Nest, and there were tiny robin's eggs in the nest. Were they real? I don't know.

I remember my kid's first words (G---"daddy", H---"brother"), but I don't remember when they sat up or started walking. I wasn't great at keeping records, either, so hopefully it's not a developmental thing they'll ever be asked again. I remember lots of lots of faces, but I don't remember the names of several former students. I've taught well over a thousand kids, after all. But if one friends me on facebook, I can tell you at least 2-3 things about them---what sort of music they liked, if they liked poetry, if they were artists, if they were kind to the kids most kids aren't kind to, or if they were awkward looking but I knew they would end up being beautiful and handsome and all their former classmates would wish they had paid them more attention in high school (all teachers can tell you which kids have "peaked" in h school and which ones are going to blossom when they become young adults).

So why can't I remember where I put my purse or my keys? Or remember to pick things up at the grocery store, even when I have a list in front of me? I guess the mundane goes into another part of my memory, and it's something I struggle with every day.

I do remember this: the fear, apprehension, and excitement of moving here alone. I'll never forget seeing the runway and thinking, "this place looks like a desert." Or the absolutely ugly, hideous, rusted out and termite eaten buildings you pass right when you leave Ferry landing and start your way up Sherman to the housing area. It's really not a great way to start life on base; the ugliest and most worn-down part of the base is also the very first impression you get when you arrive. I remember the shock of finding out the prisoners were only a few miles from my house---I thought they'd be on a remote area of the base. I looked at the barren yard and thought, I can do something with this.  And in the 11 days between the time I arrived and my children got here,  I worried about what I had done to them. Is this the best place for them? My oldest gave up a lot of opportunities and experiences of living in a metropolitan area and attending a 5A school. I still have some guilt over that, even though I think some of the good---and bad---of living here has prepared him for the real world.

my first week in GTMO---this view still makes me pause and love life here

To put it bluntly, disappointment is something you deal with when you live here. This is especially true if you are coming from the civilian world and have not had to deal with the maddening life of bureaucratic hell. You go through 10 levels to get one answer, and there is a chain of command that has to be followed. People get back to you when it's convenient to them, not when you necessarily need an answer. It's taught me patience (and how to bite my tongue). Isolation is something else you deal with here. Sometimes this is a good thing; I love the safety as a female of being able to run alone at night, or for my child to be able to wander around the neighborhood with the relative safety I had as a kid growing up in small town Mississippi in the 1970s. But when you have a hurricane headed your way and can't evacuate, that isolation is terrifying. As a teacher, you deal with very small classes. I've had classes as small as four students. This is wonderful because all kids learn at his or her own pace, and you can truly individualize instruction. It's also horrible when half the kids don't do their homework and you are stuck in limbo, deciding if you want to drive on and leave half the class behind, or punish those who did their work by letting the slackers catch up. This is one of my biggest disappointments as a teacher---you can't instill a sense of responsibility in students, no matter if they know they are holding the rest of the class back. It's frustrating and selfish on their part, but it's also part of working with teens.

But then. . . isn't this life every where? Maybe your disappointments and frustrations are different, but at 47, if you haven't really encountered any of them, you just aren't living life.

Forty seven is my year of definite-maybes. I may be able to transfer. I may find ways to let the bureaucracy not drive me crazy. I may find more things and people to love here. I definitely will miss my oldest as he goes to college, and maybe (hopefully definitely) he will thrive. I am looking at the possibility of six years here, something I definitely never dreamt possible, but I am maybe looking at new adventures and a new location starting next summer.

Silver Linings and Happiness; or, Transfers 2016

Time heals all wounds. Or something like that.

I've been trying to find silver linings lately, and it's been hard. Really difficult. I found out that---again---there is no transfer for us out of GTMO. I'm not alone, which I guess gives me some solace. At least it's not me, right? But I never thought I'd be here 5 years, and I never planned on homesteading here, so living life in limbo is rather exhausting. Other times it's depressing.

And sometimes, it's comforting, too. The thought of leaving and going to somewhere else is a little scary, as are all big moves. At first, I didn't like that I'm getting too comfortable, because I was only planning on being here a few years. But then I did find things to love.

Some are people---many who have left, but others who are our surrogate family here. We've spent many holidays, including some we don't celebrate ourselves---Hanukkah, Orthodox Easter, Orthodox Christmas---with our GTMO friends. Every weekend it seems like it's another birthday or going away or "just because" party. Some weekends there are multiple. I am never short of people who can give me a ride when the oldest is using my car or can pick up or drop off the youngest at his activities when I'm having difficulties juggling work, life, and motherhood.

I love not spending money. I am a tightwad and love having money in my savings account. No shopping choices means you pay too much for what you can get, true, but you also do without what you really want here sometimes. That sounds negative, but it basically means you learn to only buy what you really need,  so the occasional splurge on an overpriced item you want at the NEX feels like a real treat.  I get excited over a new brand of coffee or toothpaste, a produce item we've never bought here, or my latest extravagance, Pellegrino flavored water. If you are thinking, "wow, that's sort of sad," this life obviously is not for you. The payoff is I can plan to travel in the summer with the money I've saved (and put a kid through college, too) because I am more aware of every single dollar I spend here.

So that's a silver lining---I can still find happiness with the people I've met here and with the money I've saved here. Those are the 2 best things about here, in my opinion.

I've pouted and cried and thrown temper tantrums about the transfer, and I am completely over it now. Seriously. It is what it is, and I do feel better for venting and screaming and letting out my anger and frustration.

My happiness has been in small things, too. Those are the small silver linings of living in such a weird place.

For instance:

Haitian radio. I love trying to understand French---the first language I fell in love with (as a small child, as my mom read me Babar stories in French and told and re-told the story about my parents' first trip to Paris and Versailles). I can sing "Sur le pont D'Avinon" with the best of them, thanks to Mom. Quite accidentally I found that most days, I can get Haitian radio within a 3-4 mile radius from home.

Gardening. This includes digging up palm trees on the side of the cliff behind my house and finding a really old Cuban bottle. It's probably from the 1930s. I also found some old bricks, and closer to the water, tons of urchin shells and a conch. I love finding weird Cuban and ocean treasures.

Cuban radio. This week's random American treat: Boston's "Don't Look Back." I was doing some serious jamming whilst driving at a breakneck 25 mph on Sherman Ave.

Home decor. Or Rodney decor. The Only Squirrel in Cuba got bunny ears for Easter. Sadly, no bonnets for squirrels here or online, so we had to improvise.

Painting. One of my favorite pictures from the Yucatan, where we spent a couple of weeks last summer, is now one of my favorite paintings. Also Boy 2 has found out that he loves painting (and he's good at it, too). We enjoy sitting side by side in silence, creating, even if it's for our eyes only.

Friends and celebrations. Birthday parties and mimosas at the Bayview for breakfast, visiting a returning friend and Jamaican food on Rasta Hill (my favorite GTMO eatery), and lots of card games with friends and neighbors.

My dinner is looking at me!!

Writing. I've been in a creative writing group for a few months now, and it's become a highlight of my week. I doubt I share anything I've written here, but I've been really happy with seeing where this crazy brain of mine takes me.

Vacation. That's my focus now---getting off this rock for a much-needed weekend break (it's been almost 9 months and TIME FOR A GETAWAY) and even better, summer vacation. I love this part about my job. It's worth 10 months of stress and worries to get 2 (unpaid) months of summer vacation. We haven't finalized plans yet, but it's going to be a-ma-zing.

Graduation.  It's June 10 and it's coming soon! Boy 2 got into George Mason, UT's CAP program, Texas State, UNT, and UT San Antonio. Yes, I am bragging (since he did the work, I just did the nagging). He still isn't 100% sure on which one he's going to pick, but he is taking a gap semester before taking the plunge.  It's going to include time overseas (in actual overseas countries, not just closed bases overseas). He's still working out those plans. I'm so excited for what his future holds---to be 17 again when the world is wide open. . .

And that's what I'm focusing on---what I can control (or try---the yard will never be completely under my control) and what makes me feel happy.

If You Give a Student GTMO Internet; or, Let the Circle of Hope Spin

9 am, Saturday morning:

If you give an online student GTMO internet, she is going to wait. And wait.

While waiting the 5 minutes to log into the computer, she will get up and make a cup of coffee.

While standing around waiting for the coffee to brew, she will get creamer. She will notice that the fridge needs cleaning, and will throw out 4-5 containers of leftovers. She has good intentions, but nobody ever actually eats the leftovers.

After cleaning the fridge, she will go back to the computer. Success! She will now log into the college Blackboard site. She will wait. And wait. And wait.

While sitting around waiting, she will sip her coffee, go to put the empty cup in the dishwasher, and realize the dishes are clean. She will unpack them and pack the cup along with the leftover containers that were in the sink.

She will notice that the "fresh" fruit she bought yesterday has attracted fruit flies. Those suckers are multiplying like crazy. Where the heck do they come from? Were they IN the fruit when she bought it???

She will take the leftovers and fruit and put them in the garbage. She tires of the buzzing, so walks four houses down to the closest dumpster.

While walking back through the yard, she will notice that plants need watering. She will turn on the hose, and mid-watering, realize she has a cloud of bugs surrounding her. They are now in her nose, ears, and eyes. They are multiplying 10 times faster than the fruit flies. She will go inside to get bug spray to kill the mosquitoes and no-seeums.

While in the laundry room getting the bug spray, she will notice that the laundry needs to be changed. She will put the wash in the dryer and the clean clothes on the couch.

On the way to finish watering the plants, she will check the computer. Nope, the spinning Circle of Hope is still doing its thing. Not yet!

It's the Circle of Hope!! Let it spin!

She will water the plants, come inside, and change her sweat-soaked shirt. Did you know that you can sweat a gallon in less than 10 minutes? If you live in GTMO, of course you know that. She will check the computer again---we have connection! Now she will log into the page for the assignment. She will wait, and wait, and wait, so she decides to fold the clothes on the couch.

While putting up the clean clothes from the couch (okay, just the towels---the rest of the clothes will sit on the couch all day), she will notice that the bathroom mirror needs to be cleaned. She will go get the Windex from under the kitchen sink.

While in the kitchen, she will unpack the second load of now-clean dishes. She will get the Windex and go back to the bathroom.

While cleaning the mirror, she will think about brushing her teeth but then realize, damn, I'm hungry! She forgot to make breakfast and now it's lunchtime. She goes to the kitchen to make a smoothie and checks the internet. Not yet!!

While making a smoothie, she realizes that she is out of yogurt. The grocery store is out of yogurt. Oh well, who needs yogurt in a smoothie?

The smoothie becomes a margarita. She now checks the internet with drink in hand. We have connection! Again! And now she goes to attach the assignment she worked on the night before, all while off-line.

She finds the file, hits "attach," and waits. And waits. And waits. And drinks. And forgets to make lunch. Who needs a sandwich when you have a margarita?

And decides to go outside to wait with her margarita. The Commissary never, ever runs out of tequila or triple sec, although it's hit-or-miss with the limes. Or yogurt. Or onions, and most fresh produce, Coke Zero, and many dairy products. Wow, it's hot in the hammock! Maybe it's time for another margarita.

After another margarita, she will go back to the hammock and. . . ZZZZzzzzz. Wow, it's a magical hammock. Within a few minutes of sitting in it, she has mysteriously fallen asleep.

In an hour, she will wake from her nap. She had dreams of fast internet. She goes inside and checks the internet.

Not yet!!! Dreams don't come true!!! And now she has weird diamond-shapes from the hammock all over her legs. This is as good an excuse as any to not go to the Commissary to get something to cook for dinner.

She decides to switch the laundry again. She takes clothes to the kids' rooms and realizes they need to be vacuumed. She tries to find child 2 to beg him to come home and vacuum. He is in a tree. A BIG tree. She will water more plants, talk a 9 year old out of a huge tree, do ANOTHER load of laundry, clean the remains of the margarita carnage (okay, drink the rest), and think about what she would have cooked, had she not sat in the hammock or had 3 margaritas for lunch. She will come back and check on her assignment.

We have confirmation!!

(Is it really 5 pm already?)

source: https://randomascii.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/image6.png

And just like that, that's how you spend 6-8 hours doing a 5 paragraph assignment online.

This semester marks the 8th and 9th online classes I'm taking here in GTMO.

Of course, I am crazy. I am also notoriously cheap and refuse to pay $300 a month for about 1/10 of the speed we got in the States. We are on the even worse plan. Think Dial-Up from the 90s. Now think even worse than that.

Why am I torturing myself? I'm taking various education/technology classes so I can add more teaching certifications. You can either complain about not getting a transfer, or you can do something for if/when it ever comes again. . .

With all apologies to Laura Numeroff, that's basically how I roll most Saturdays and Sundays here in La Isla Bonita.

Part of my survival plan for 2015-16---I'm teaching 7th, 9th, 11th, and 12th English AND Yearbook, to give you an idea of the insanity that is my job---is to go to the beach at least once a week. I went once last week, so I need to go again this week. I can slip out to the beach, come back, and my weekly essay assignment is still loading.

When not going to the beach, I also do yoga, watch the news, sometimes read a book, and on weekends when the internet is even slower than I thought humanly possible, I can do all three. The world's a little slower here sometimes, but the paradox of GTMO life is when you slow down, you will be amazed how much you can accomplish.

Problem Solving 101; or, Slaying Snark, One Skate at a Time

We have this big emphasis on doing problem solving with our students. And quite honestly, I do think it's an underrated life skill.

Think of all the stupid questions people ask you on a weekly basis. Or inane/uninformed/ignorant comments people post on facebook on an hourly basis. Most of these questions and comments would be eradicated if people would just stop and think things out. You know, problem solving.

I decided to put my own problem solving to the test and man, am I glad I a) cleaned out my garage and b) have been running recently.

The printer in my room isn't working and hasn't been for over a week. This isn't usually a big deal except 3/4 of my students are turning in research type projects for their finals, and since I'm having them put them in their writing portfolios, I need a print copy. This means I have to have students either email projects to me, share their Google Docs with me, or put their Word docs in a file on the shared drive. Then I have to walk down to the teacher's lounge to the closest working printer---the xerox machine.

The problem is there are usually jams or the person who printed before I sent my printing didn't replenish the now-empty paper drawer.

So more trips back and forth to my room to get paper to then go back and print. I'm making 20-30 trips a day, minimum, and it's exhausting.

What can a tired girl do?

Thanks to a recent discovery while cleaning the garage, I now have some old school quad skates and I've been going back and forth in style. AND I'm getting a workout. AND it takes about 1/4 of the time.

Our classrooms open to the outdoors, so my hallway is an open sidewalk with grass on one side (thankfully I didn't need to fall into) and little lizards frantically running in all directions when they hear me coming.

Thank god I started running a few weeks ago because I am not in the worst shape and didn't completely want to die after the 15th or so time to the teacher's lounge.

I actually forgot how much fun I had as a kid on roller skates. I skated every day after school for years. I admired Olivia Newton John in Xanadu and Linda Blair in the awful Roller Boogie and watched them dozens of times each, and like all kids of the 70s and 80s, I had my favorite skating songs, as well. By the end of the day, I was skating around the classroom backwards (and bonus: the kids really did pay attention, although I think it as more to see if I busted my butt than because research is just that riveting).

Why oh why did I quit skating?

One kid in the hall (in a snarky tone of voice): WHY on EARTH are YOU wearing SKATES?

Me: Because I can.

Kid to snarky girl: WHY are you NOT wearing skates?

Love these skates. 

Ha.

District employee to me: WHY are you wearing skates?

Me: They are a metaphor. Skates represent the last two weeks of class. If you study hard and do your work. . . (pointing to student)

Student: You skate through the last week of school.

Can you believe the kid picked up on that? Not bad, right? (And not bad for off the cuff, if I must say so).

Skating/Problem Solving/Metaphors.   I see a great lesson plan in the future. Feel free to use and adapt it for your own needs. (Be sure to throw in some Common Core in there, too).

My Own Private Hell; or, Tedium and Minutiae

Last spring I set to filling out the paperwork for my our first paid tickets back to visit family, a perk and reward of fulfilling the first full year of my contract.

Many weeks of swapping emails with people in the States, many hours of phone calls on hold (paying 10 cents a minute), many hand-wringing moments later, I had our orders and tickets to go back home. The actual email confirmation came less than 48 hours before we were set to travel. Talk about nerve wracking!

And now I am paying the price for those lovely tickets back home in the form of The Travel Voucher, also known as My Own Private Hell.

In all fairness, it's not just my private hell. Oh no, it's the hell all civilians navigating the World's Largest Bureaucracy get the pleasure to go through.

As a military wife and dependent, I had no idea what goes into travel. And most military people don't have to go through the craziness us civilians go through, either. When you are in the military, you make an appointment and someone types up your orders for you. Your travel arrangements are made through a travel office. You don't have to worry about keeping up with a stack of receipts and exact records in order to get reimbursed for portions of the travel.

And there are the forms---dear God, the forms are killing me. Codes for everything, lots of scary blanks, and a very vague set of directions to guide you.

Remember that obnoxious commercial for a credit card that went something like this:

•           4 round trip tickets =  $1000 
•           1 rental car for 3 weeks = $600
•           Seeing your family for the first time in over a year? Priceless

Oh, if it were just that easy. . . 

Know what else is priceless? Knowing "your" from "you're." Seriously. . . 

There is a definite cost to travel back, with so much that is not reimbursable. That which is requires you to fill out the form EXACTLY how they want. It's almost a joke because you know it's going to get kicked back to you at least twice before you get any of your expenses reimbursed. 

I'm not usually a conspiracy junkie, but I really do think the whole purpose of this experience is so you give up, thus letting the government keep those nickels and dimes for themselves. 

The travel voucher is technically supposed to be filled out within five days of our return, but like most of my coworkers, I've put it off because I know I have five years to fill it out. I've started and stopped the process several times since I returned in early August, and although I'd love to have that money in my pocket, the thought of filling out this form three times (once for every leg of the trip---an extra bonus for traveling separately for parts of the trip) makes me put off today what I can do tomorrow. In fact, I'm still trying to get reimbursed for portions of our Oct. 2012 move here. 

I complained to a coworker last year that we don't have anyone guiding us through the process like our military personnel have. 

He chuckled and unsympathetically said, "Um, we all have degrees, and most of us have at least one master's degree. I think they figure we can fill out a form without assistance." 

Maybe so, but I disagree. I don't have a Master in Tedium and Minutiae Degree, and although I like to think I'm a details person (I love writing library catalog records, filling out accounting forms, and working formulas in spreadsheets), I can't for the life of me figure out how to get these forms right the first time. 

After three hours tonight, I think the government won this round. However, I'm up for another fight, another round of filling out forms from hell, and hopefully I won't be two years getting my nickels and dimes this time around. 

Hurry Up and Wait; or, The Dirty Laundry Perspective

Several years ago when I was still working in Austin, I had a friend who invited a few of us teacher colleagues to her house for lunch and laughs. We had a great time, and one of the funniest exchanges went something like this:

Hostess: My husband's great, I just wish he'd turn his clothes right side out before he sorts them into the color or white laundry bins. 

Rest of us, picking our jaws up off the floor: Um, your husband actually puts his laundry in the dirty clothes bin??? 

***please note, my own laundry currently sits on the floor next to the bin. I'm not throwing stones or anything***

It just goes to show, sometimes you need a little perspective in life. To one person, dirty clothes not turned right side out is a big deal; to others, just getting the clothes in the bin is a major victory.

Life's like that here, too.

Island life has its perks. Beautiful weather occurs year-round---if you like sunshine, and I definitely do. It's not too humid and there's usually a light breeze. There are several beaches within a few miles of the house. Diving is relatively cheap here. There are no fresh fish at the one grocery store, but if you look hard enough, you'll find someone willing to take you fishing (or at least give you hints about the best fishing spots). Traffic is slow. Iguanas cause traffic jams, which never last more than 5 minutes. If you wear shorts and/or flip flops to work, nobody bats an eye. You keep sunscreen and bug spray in your car at all times because you'll need both.

It's not a total Jimmy Buffet relaxed lifestyle, however, because you are expected to work and produce in an island environment the same as you would on the mainland.

Yearly training modules---8 or 9  modules about everything from terrorism awareness to what we can do/say while on the job (especially about politics) to privacy training are unique to anyone working in a government job. We have a paid half day off work to get these trainings done, which would be generous in any other location, but when you have to do all these trainings online---and many are videos that take hours to load on our internet---my colleagues and I feel the stress of our "island life" when we are measured the same as anyone else with our jobs at any other worldwide location.

If my kids want to participate in Halloween, they have to decide by mid-September about costumes because they have to be ordered online (same with candy, unless you want the very limited selection available at our one store). Kids being kids (and fickle) get stressed out in early October when they realize that they can't change their minds.

I ordered Christmas gifts in mid November last year (forget about "black Friday" sales online), and some still didn't make it until after the holiday.

In light of "hurry up and wait," I try to keep things in perspective.

I was feeling down last week because I missed my grandmother's 90th birthday celebration. You're probably thinking I'm lucky that in my mid-40s, I still have a grandmother. She's sharp as a tack and very independent. I missed her birthday, but I've had her around to help guide me through my entire life. How many people can say that?

My youthful grandmother in Natchez, MS. 

My house, which is smaller than any other we've lived in (kids or no kids), is free. So are utilities. It's a perk of my job and something I have to remember when I wish I were living somewhere with larger rooms and located close to more shopping choices.

My job with its sometimes frustrating training requirements allows me to afford to travel and save money, something my fast-paced lifestyle (and Texas teacher salary) wouldn't allow. As a 20 year teacher veteran, I had maxed out the pay scale. Now I still have much more room to grow.

A completely untouched photo of yet another spectacular GTMO sunset---
a weekly occurrence. 

When the opportunity comes, I get a paid move to the next location. I don't know many educators who can afford to move all over the world on their own dime. It's a nice feeling.

And my friend who just wanted her beloved husband to turn his clothes right side out? Less than two years later, she lost him to a well-fought battle with cancer. She would give anything today to be able to tell him to put the clothes in the bin the "correct' way.

Some days a little perspective on life makes it sweeter and more bearable.

And those GTMO sunsets don't hurt, either.

Bring back Doc Martens; or, I'm not even supposed to be here today

My favorite saying is this: Mann traoch, Gott Lauch. It's Yiddish for "Man plans, God laughs." 

It's like some higher being has had a good laugh or two at me this past week.

There was the radio (it's always the radio lately). We have an advertisement heard daily on our two Armed Forces Network radio stations that says, "Stuck on an island with nowhere to go: AFN Radio GTMO."

I chuckle. It's true, but still funny.

I swear this really happened last week---I had just heard that ad while scanning through stations, and then immediately after, on one of my favorite Cuban radio stations, The Eagles' "Hotel California" was playing.

Seriously.

Also, I took my son to see this movie during Throw Back Thursday at our outdoor cinema:

1994 was a good year. Clerks. 

I know, I know, I'm Mother of the Year for that move. I did sort of forget how, well, raunchy it is. (Just the fact that I use the word "raunchy" means I'm perhaps old and semi-senile and may excuse my lack of parenting judgement).

I still laughed, oh boy did I laugh, inappropriateness and all. Clerks is such a slice of the early 90s and reminds me of grad school (much of it spent hanging out with friends at a video store), driving around in my beloved 280z (I could write a book on how much I loved that car), living off snow-cones and Taco Bell, moving to Georgia and then Colorado in very quick succession, and often wearing my Doc Martens just like the protagonist (or anti-hero?) with my favorite movie line: "I'm not even supposed to be here today!"

And that's what I found myself saying while spending yet another weekend at school doing lesson planning. It came out of my mouth before I realized that, oh my god, I'm Dante Hicks, but without a hockey break (on the roof) or a significant other with a counting problem.  (The Doc Martens boots are still in the closet, ready for a much-overdue revival of flannel and mom jeans).  I'm spending every waking hour trying to catch up. Is it getting easier? Um, no. Am I getting used to it? Um. . . no. I am, however, headed to sleep at 9 pm because I'm going to work with my son, who gets dropped off for cross country by 6 am. It's amazing how much work you can get done when you are alone---just a pot of coffee, a stack of papers, and around 6:50, an exquisite sunrise that sort of makes it all worth it.

Slaying Dragons and Monsters; or, Things That Go Bump in the Night

Today's weather at Naval Station Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: high of 89º, partly cloudy, and swarms of gnats still a-buzzing. 

I've been having recurrent dreams (okay, nightmares) since school started.

It's not those "I forgot my pants!" or "I forgot all the students' names!" or any other typical teacher/anxiety dreams.

It's that I'm battling dragons.

Big, scary, dark scaled creatures with wings and claws.

Mother of dragons, I am not.

A quick Google search (okay, there is no such thing as a "quick" Google search) found the following possible dream interpretations:
I'm battling inner demons
I have struggles to overcome
I am carried away by my passion which may get me into trouble
I need to exercise self-control
I will have good luck and good fortune
I'm using my anger to get my way
I'm struggling against my instincts

But it's not just dragons I'm fighting. Oh no.

There are also monsters. And I'm beating them down with my bare hands.

More possible dream interpretations, via Google searches found:
I have problems spiraling out of control
I have exaggerated fears in my life
I have hidden anger
I need to face my worst fears and inner demons
I have a very stressful situation going on in my life

Sounds rather dire for the most part, right?

However, I have a better interpretation.

Guess what my seniors have been reading?

We've been reliving Anglo-Saxon times and delving into the world of Beowulf. You know, Ye Olde English tale starring the horrible Grendel, who greedily grabs drunken warriors from their mead hall, biting off their heads and letting their blood dribble down the front of his monster body in the process. Then *spoiler alert* once Beowulf, our fierce, boastful, strong hero rips the arm off of the monster Grendel, leaving him to bleed to death, Grendel's mama comes to battle with Beowulf (moral of the story: mess with her kid and mama will come and kick your a$$). She ends up headless, Beowulf becomes an old king, goes into one last battle with---here is it---a dragon, and all his men, save one, abandon him and he dies a valiant warrior's death (but the dragon dies, too).

That's the quick-and-dirty, but you get the general idea. (Read it if you haven't. Seriously. It's fun, gruesome, suspenseful, and overall entertaining).

I've also been reading Grendel on my own, and more monsters, blood, guts, glory, and that dragon (although he's a little more philosophical this time around).

I can choose to believe that I am ready to implode with tons of stress and fears and problems, or I can choose to believe that literature is taking over my dreams.

Also, I have this note on my computer left by a very thoughtful kid that reminds me to breathe and not sweat the small stuff (I hear his mom is AWE-SOME). It's all about making connections with kids and having a great time. I have struggled with little-to-no direction (I'm the only person teaching my preps in the entire district), a real lack of resources, and other teaching issues that are somewhat minor in the scheme of things. I have about 50 students and know as much about their skills and personalities in a few weeks as it would have taken me a semester to learn with 180 students in the States.

Smile, they're only teenagers. Teenagers never judge. 

I'd like to believe that sometimes, dragons are just dragons, monsters are just monsters, and my problems will work themselves out in their own time.

Hopefully I won't be hitting/kicking the husband or waking up with all the sheets twisted in a knot once The Canterbury Tales begins. He's battled dragons and monsters with me, but I'm not sure if he'll be "longin. . .to goon on pilgrimages."

Back in the Saddle Again; or, Some New for the Old (that's me)

Time does stand still sometimes at GTMO.

Did you hear that Philip Seymour Hoffman died?

You know, the actor who died waaay back in Feb?

In case you've been in a coma, come to GTMO and check out the most recent Entertainment Weekly magazine here---it's the "latest" edition all about what happened.

There are several other magazines from February currently on the stands. And yes, they are selling for full price.

Other times, time zooms by. I can't believe that a) summer is over and b) weekends go by at warp speed, thanks to my new job duties this year.

I'm back in the teaching saddle again.

It's been a little rough.

The teaching part has, thankfully, been great.

It's just me that's falling apart.

Just keep swimming. . . A day at the beach, earlier this year. 

I have a pattern in my life that goes something life this: exhaustion leads to frustration, frustration leads to anger. 

In the middle of that is illness. 

I've been exhausted with the start of a new year, new preps, new schedule, new routines. 

I first found myself with a full fledged cold---exhaustion, moldy room, and/or germy kids I'm sure had something to do with it.  I ended up going to the ER for my cold---it sounds silly until you realize that I couldn't take off work the first few days for a dr. appointment, so the ER it was. Thankfully you can still get Sudafed in GTMO (as long as you go through a doctor), and I am finally feeling better. 

I was also feeling frustrated (leading to anger) over having to spend so much time at work instead of with my family, that I went for some backyard therapy and pulled, yanked, and cursed at weeds for a good 2 hours until I felt much better. 

This sounds great until the yanking, combined with many nights bolting upright coughing in bed, resulted in a back that was completely out of whack. That's not the doctor's diagnosis, because, well, there's that whole not-taking-off-work-at-the-beginning-of-the-year thing. . . But whatever I did hurt worse than back labor, and that's saying something. I have finally recuperated and I'm holding my breath that I'm healthy from here on out.

What's different about this year isn't just that I'm getting older and crabbier. It's that there are more hours required than I have in a day for work. 

Unfortunately, teaching isn't just teaching. That's just a small part of the job. There's the prep. 

I've been known to spend 2 hours or more putting together a 30 minute lesson. This seems stupid until you realize that a skill learned in 30 minutes can be used for a lifetime. The payoff is huge, if you plan and execute your plan just right. 

I'm teaching five preps of English after six years out of the classroom. I have very little resources, being that a) I moved here to be a librarian, thus not bringing many teacher resources, and there are very few here; and b) I am the only person teaching my preps IN THE ENTIRE DISTRICT. (Did you catch that?  We are the only high school in our district, so I have no colleagues for collaboration). Imagine now doing this for five classes, every week for 180+ days. 

I'm so exhausted, I'm frustrated, and I'm trying so hard not to get angry. 

I don't like being angry. I don't like not being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

But it's been difficult to not get angry when I am exhausted AND sick at the same time. 

My version of the pic above---done when I should have been doing lesson plans. 

Why am I falling apart? 

I could go on and on with being a martyr/mother/teacher, but there is some good that makes me realize that this, too, shall pass. 

There's the husband who has cooked dinner almost every single night since school started. He's packed lunches, walked a boy to the bus every morning, made sure a teenager is where he needs to be after school, and barely bats an eye anymore because, bless his heart, he's had to live with this for 21 years now. He knows the drill---I will be completely and totally worthless at home for the next month or so. (Hopefully less than that). 

There's the neighbor who greeted me at my first night back to work and said, "I know you are exhausted from your first day back, so I cooked you supper." 

Seriously. And she's done it again since. 

Then there are the kids. Not my amazing birth-children, but my student-children. 

There are the less than 3 weeks of school and I've already heard these comments:

"I think it's a hyper-bowl." (nope, that's a hyperbole: hy-PER-bo-le)

"I miss you in the li-berry." 

"Christopher Columbus was a sick bastard." 

"Miss, Miss. . . " (some teachers get offended when kids call them "Miss," but it's a sign of respect in several countries/cultures, and I find it rather endearing). 

*snicker snicker* "She said 'diction!!' Dick-tion!!!" *snicker snicker* 

(I won't even go into the inappropriateness that accompanied our unit on DIDLS. Yes, the unfortunate acronym is pronounced "diddles"). 

. . . and my personal favorite (directed partially at me): 

"All white people are crazy." 

I'm so impressed. It usually takes 2-3 months for kids to say these things. If one bursts out with, "You forgot to brush your hair this morning, didn't you?" I know that I've reached them all. 

The Parts Don't Make a Whole; or, Non Sequitur

POINT A:
I came to a sudden realization after some recent discussions about our school system's high-stakes testing: we get our funding from the federal government, not state governments, so No Child Left Behind does not apply to DoDDS schools. Take that, Bush and Obama!

Yes, there are standards (and we are moving to Common Core soon---you teacher folks know what I'm talkin' 'bout). I just don't see teachers in this system having to forgo weeks of classroom instruction so they can do benchmarks---practice tests ad nauseum---like they do in most state systems.

Private schools, which get their funding from private organizations, foundations, individual donors and/or tuition fees, also do not follow No Child Left Behind.

Additionally, not following No Child Left Behind means you do not measure AYP. For you non-educators, that's the AdequateYearly Progress your school must show. If 90% of your public school population exceeds expectations for math this year, that's not good enough next year---95% must exceed to be acceptable. Also, in case you zoned out in the 2000s, Bush said students, even those with very low IQs but not the very few who get a waiver (usually the very, very, very low IQ kids), and those with major behavior and learning disabilities, and those non-English speakers with more than 3 years in the country but no real grasp of English, should all be at 100% on all tests, by next year. ¿Cómo se dice delusional? 

Now you know why, if you look closely enough, most teachers have mysterious marks on our foreheads---it's from banging our heads against the wall.

Another interesting tidbit I've learned: if you are not on military orders (such as private contractors), but you want your kid to go to a DoD school, the government will charge you tuition. It's around $20,000-25,000 a year.

POINT B:
To come to GTMO (and any international military base) with orders to work, such as government civilian personnel, you have to have a physical. If you are over 40, that includes an EKG. Your physical is sent off to someone at the hospital who reviews it and your fate is in that person's hands---you can be refused entry for medical reasons. (Wearing dental braces is a reason excluding you from working and/or living here---civilians don't have a dentist here, so an orthodontist? Surely you jest). You also have to have proof of insurance to live here---it costs tens of thousands to medivac you off island in case of an emergency requiring anything other than routine ER care. Even though we are an American military base and you never set foot on Cuba, you have to have a passport to live here (and depending on your job, a government issue, maroon passport).

If you are visiting someone on the island, you have to have a tourist passport, proof of insurance, and lots and lots of paperwork signed from the base commander giving you permission to stay here. You have to stay in a private home. This ain't Club Med---you aren't coming to town and staying in a hotel. We really don't have a hotel here. Even the press stays in tents.


IN CONCLUSION:

We are living in a very exclusive gated community.

AND

We are sending our children to a moderately expensive private school.

So now I need to know: have we become the 1%?

I feel an existential crisis coming on. (Also, if I don't believe in logical fallacies, do they still exist?)

We finally got a piece of the pie.