I Will Always Lub You; or, Crack is Whack

Things that make me happy.

1) Express shipment came today. Amongst the goods was a gigantic container of . . .

Legos that span two generations. Thinking about my husband as a little boy in Belgium and Germany, playing with some of these exact same pieces, makes me happy. They've lived in four countries now.

2) I love Communist Propaganda. You read that right. Every morning, one of the Cuban stations plays a very dramatic story about This Day in Cuban history. A lady reads the first part of the story, then sad music plays (violins! wailing violins!), followed by a squeaky-voiced child who reads the rest, and completed by a chorus of children re-telling the whole ordeal in musical form.  My Spanish isn't perfect, but I get the general idea. My favorite was the day they told the story of the "criminales" in Cuba. The criminals were the Spanish, of course, and the lady, the child, and the song told about how the Cubans got their independence from the horrible, no-good, filthy Spanish. (At least I think that's what they were saying. It IS propaganda, after all).

No mention of those other criminales, the ones of who took control of Guantanamo Bay a few years later and made it the oldest overseas US Navy Base. Hmmm.

The same station, a couple of weeks ago, was playing various Latin artists from all over the Spanish speaking world, and then, the announcer said this:
"Y ahora, Meeeese Whitney Houston, con 'I Will Always Lub You."
It's the first and only time I've heard American music on the Cuban radio station.

I lub it.

3) Speaking of Whitney "Crack is Whack!" Houston, she would approve of yet another thing I LOVE about Gitmo. When entering the NEX, you are greeted by this sign:

I really wish that once it got warm (over 60 degrees) in Texas, there was a way to enforce this rule there. Yes, for the entire state. It's so nice to be behind someone with a big behind, bending over to get (or, in the case of our Commissary, snatch) that last container of sour cream, that last stick of butter, or that last pack of bacon, and not have your eyes assaulted by Too Much Crack. We've all been there. Do you look away? Do you throw up a little in your mouth? Or are you so used to it, you don't notice anymore? So the moratorium on Too Much Crack is nice at Gitmo. It still doesn't mean that people don't cram themselves into too-tight yoga pants to do errands. You can't force people to have taste (or common sense). But at least it's a start. 

And before you think, "no freedom of expression!" on Gitmo, you should check out the high school kids with their crazy dyed hair, tattoos, and piercings. It's much less oppressive than most Texas schools. And amazingly, they do better on their standardized tests. Guess it's not too distracting after all. 

Go figure. 

4) Trying to live this motto . .

isn't always easy, but I'm trying. Especially after getting the first 750 lbs of household goods today ("Express Shipment," I'm thinking that's supposed to be an ironic title since it's taken almost 2 months to get here on the barge, instead of the 30 days via air as my orders state). In addition to our old stuff, got some new stuff today in the mail, including a case of Method Cucumber Cleaner today. Yep, a case of eight, that's EIGHT, beautiful bottles of household cleaner. It's been a long six-week wait from purchase to delivery, but I like what I like, and maybe Communist propaganda on the radio has infiltrated my brain, because I love cleaning my new house---but only with very specific cleaning products (most of which we don't have here). So I have a case of Method cleaner, a large bottle of Mrs. Myers Lavender Laundry Detergent (thanks to Amazon), and if Santa would send me a case of those eraser sponges, I'd be a happy cleaner.

And Tyler Durden isn't real, anywho, so who cares what he thinks.

5). G got his acoustic bass guitar early for Christmas. He's loving it. And I'm loving that I walked by his room today, and he was playing . . .

part of the soundtrack of my college years. And then I realized that he is only 3 1/2 years away from college and although that's a lifetime for a teenager, it's just a blink and a nod for me.

Merry Christmas Parade! or, How I Survived a Drive-By Assault

The kids and I decided to go to the GTMO Christmas parade last weekend. It is small and cute, and because of a hellacious rainstorm, it was postponed a day. I'm expecting a marching band, some floats, maybe with a pretty girl or two waving from a convertible, and lots of cute little kids in costumes. 

Well, that's small town Mississippi parade style, but it's not small American town Cuba (small Cuban town America?) style. 

Let me try to break down the GTMO Christmas Parade experience for you. 

First, it was supposed to start at 5 pm (that's 1700), but we had to wait until colors, so it started at 5:30 because there was no way they were going to stop an entire parade. All cars (and walkers and talkers) are expected to drop everything and be silent until music plays for about a minute every day. Parades are no exception. 

Then, there was no marching band---they played at the lyceum afterwards. Instead, there were golf carts and Jeeps (the unofficial car of GTMO---there are 8 on my little street) blaring Christmas music. 

The hill above town lit up with a huge (artificial) tree and several lighted wire structures, and then it began. 

The first float had cute kids---maybe the boy scouts?---and a few called out to my youngest. Then *BAM *POW*SPLAT* the candy came out of nowhere and hit us. Hard. In the face.

I'm thinking, poor lad has nobody to practice throwing ball with him, he's so bad. What a pity. 

But then it happened again. And again. And again. 

And then I realized that the entire point of the GTMO Christmas Parade is that as a participant, you assault spectators with candy. 

Which means that, conversely, you run like hell when you see someone with a handful of candy looking in your direction. 

Three points for the middle aged mom with a ponytail. Two points for the first grader sitting on the curb. Five points for the high schooler who is rolling around on the ground in hysterics. 

The kids and I went into the street between floats (all three of them) to get candy, and realized the folks in golf carts were trying to MOW US DOWN. You know those hideous inflatable snowmen? A driver had one of those on top, and she was zooming by so fast, it was bouncing 180 degrees. 

I'm not sure why we thought it was all so funny, but the kids and I laughed and laughed until we cried. I got pinged in the face, shoulders, and chest with THREE bags of candy total. There were also some potato chips, Hawaiian leis, and Mardi Gras beads thrown in the mix. 

The kids were pulling candy out of their clothes when we got home. Having lived through dozens and dozens of Mardi Gras parades didn't prepare me for the sheer volume of stuff that got thrown at us. 

Not TO us, but AT us.

Man, those beads especially hurt. 

The much older folks next to us weren't spared, either. One of them was crawling around on all fours getting candy, and precious little children were assaulting her, too. 

Did I mention this happened in only 10 minutes? It was the shortest parade I've ever seen in my life. And quite honestly, the funnest. 

(Just as some of you would object to the Gitmo parade being a real parade, some of you would object to "funnest" being a real word. I'm here to tell you that they both, in this instance, are very real). 

******

And now, the part of the program I like to call, "Things You Only Hear in Gitmo." 

1. Mommy! Mommy! It's 5:25 am! We still have power! Mommy! Mommy! It's 5:45 am! We still have power! Mommy! Mommy! It's 5:55 am! We still. . . oh oops, there goes the power!---heard on Saturday, the day of our scheduled six hour power outage for some sort of "grid repair." When you don't pay for electricity, you really can't complain. And yes, H is still keeping farmer's hours and is up at the crack of dawn. 

2. Yes, I know the commissary has been out of cream cheese for weeks, but I'll buy or barter for some.---entry in last week's roster. We've also been out of eggs, butter, sour cream, and bacon (whaaa!) for almost the entire last month. 

3. I'm becoming a hoarder. My daughter squealed in delight at sausage patties, and next thing I know, we've caused a mini riot in the frozen food section as everyone was grabbing what was left. ---coworker discussing the grocery shortage in this place. 

4. You know, there was a six foot boa slithering across your front yard a couple of weeks before you moved in. --- a neighbor, to us. Yikes! 

5. You need to dump that toad. Damn things will kill your dogs. ---neighbor telling me to get rid of the evidently poisonous toad that's taken up with the plumeria. 

6. You still living on Fred Flintstone furniture? --- lender furniture supplied to every single newcomer by housing, which is rattan furniture from the Philippines and the most uncomfortable furniture I've ever sat on. Also---heard at least 5 times----You know, if you get several boxes and flatten them, put them under the cushions, that Fred Flintstone furniture is almost comfortable. 

7. After six months, people go crazy. You gotta plan a trip off-island.---advice given, almost verbatim, from at least 5 people since we got here. 

8. Yeah. . . that. . . it's on the barge. ---my furniture, my clothes, the essential grocery items we never seem to have, you name it. 

9. We are surrounded by fish, and there are chickens running all over the place, yet you can't get fresh fish, poultry, or eggs in this place.---wise words spoken by a coworker. Can someone explain???? 

10. Oh. My. God. Did you get caught in that traffic jam? I bet I waited five minutes before I could get on Sherman Ave. ----heard often, usually after a movie lets out or on payday at the NEX. 

11.Mom! Stop speeding! You're going to get a ticket! ---my kids screaming at me from the backseat as I'm going 30 mph. Do you know how difficult it is to drive only 25 mph everywhere you go???

12. Oh yeah, I think the mail is only running Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday now. Oh wait, that's right, maybe it's just Tuesday and Thursday. Or maybe just Tuesday. ----our bizarre mail schedule which changes weekly. Does anyone know when the post office is really open or when mail runs here? 

and my favorite

13. Let's go to the beach! ----365 days of fun in the sun. Can I tell you how much I love living in the Caribbean????