New Digs; or, Happy Diversions

We have moved!

(Yes, this even includes Rodney).

Poor Rodney forgot his seatbelt. 

After schlepping boxes and furniture (and taxidermied animals) from point A to point B, we are officially living in our new house.

It's a lot more spacious than our last place---we can spread our furniture out, unpack those boxes that were tucked away in closets and the garage until now, and the best part is we have our own banyan tree!

When I first moved to Cuba, instead of unpacking and sorting (which I am doing now, and REALLY wishing I would have done a better job of 2 1/2 years ago), I dug up trees from a stranger's yard.

The seeds from that coral tree (under the banana tree, left) have produced several other trees, and I left that original tree in the front yard, but dug up the babies populating my backyard. They are now living in front of the new casa.

As I always do, I am working in my yard and sorting books instead of unpacking and sorting clothes. It's all about priorities, y'all. 

I am still category F. I have contacted everyone I can and begged people to go to bat for me, but I guess it isn't going to happen. The transfer round has been postponed, but it is coming up fast, and I am not being a pessimist (or cynic) but a realist---I have a very, very slim shot of leaving here this summer. Bummer.  It's not a great feeling. There is a definite feeling of claustrophobia that comes with living in a small, isolated fishbowl of a community. Many people here love it, despite this fact. The one thing I have learned about myself through this experience is that I am most definitely a city girl at heart. Despite having a lovely home, a great childhood, and wonderful, loving parents, I could not wait to get the heck out of small town Mississippi  at 17 years old (and after a few days back visiting every summer, I am very ready to go again). Give me traffic and let me live somewhere where I have to lock my doors any day. Mayberry is great to visit, but I am not the kind of person who can live there. My teenager has the same feeling, too. 

In the meanwhile. . . I am enjoying the happy diversion that is moving. 

Thank God it's broken; or, Pedro's (finally) on the move

Today's weather in Naval Station Guantánamo Bay: 88º and it's hot, y'all! 

Being a tall person my entire life, I am often called upon to "come here and get this [such and such] from that top shelf." The problem with our house is the kitchen cabinets are over a deep set counter, which means I have to really get on my tip toes to reach the highest shelf. This problem became apparent when, upon grabbing a pyrex casserole dish, another glass dish hidden inside it came crashing down, narrowly missing my head in the process.

The crash was horrendous, the mess was heinous. Glass slivers and chips and chunks sprayed EVERYWHERE, thanks to a tile floor that had the dish bouncing like a ball before its demise. I swept, I mopped, I swept again, and I vacuumed. Twice. Even after finding dead (and live!) scorpions in the house, I have an aversion to wearing shoes indoors, but I now find myself wearing flip flops in the kitchen.

My thoughts?

Thank God. That's one less thing I have to pack.

And just like that, I've been secretly wishing that everything I don't need would just tumble out of a cabinet and end up in the garbage. That would make the process of moving to another house oh-so-easy.

Some good news. . .

Pedro the Yard Chicken has a new home.

We got keys today for our new digs! Stay tuned for the Continuing Adventure of Tacky Lawn Art (Bottle Tree, you are next) and inevitably, more broken dishes along the way.