Anxiety Dreams; or, GeTMeOutta Here

Today's weather at Naval Station Guantánamo Bay, Cuba: high of 87º and cloudy, then rain, then low of 72º. Get me a jacket; I think I've acclimated!

I've been having awful anxiety dreams, sort of like those you get as a teacher before a year starts or when you are returning from a long winter break.

It's not the "I'm teaching and forgot my pants" variety of dream, but these do cause the same sort of panic. It's the, "I'm praying I'm getting off this island before someone realizes a mistake was made and I am stuck here for three more months" dream.

I officially have cabin fever and I HAVE to get away for a few days.

When we first moved here, people said, after six months, people go crazy. You gotta plan a trip off-island. I didn't realize at the time how absolutely, incredibly difficult that would be, or I would have paid better attention and starting planning then.

I am SO ready to get off this rock.

And getting off and back on is no easy task. It's a little more complicated traveling when you have orders, and even more so when you are flying on and off a military base.

We have to have our passports---not tourist passports, but our fancy "no-fee" ones. As an aside, the fee for processing the no-fee passports was $100 because Fort Hood wasn't able to process them. They couldn't process them because I didn't have orders yet. I didn't have orders because I didn't have my passports. So much for no-fee and welcome back to the world's largest bureaucracy!

Also, if you are making a move overseas with the government, if at all possible, avoid Ft. Hood. Drive one, two, six, or ten hours away. You will probably get everything done in one trip instead of the five or so it took us. They lost our moving paperwork; they didn't return phone calls; they tried to tell me that you can't bring family members to GTMO; it goes on and on. The entire experience made me happy that we were never stationed there.

So back to the passports---these passports can only be used for government travel, which is sort of a drag because you never actually get them stamped leaving or coming back. Remember: GTMO is USA-Cuba, not Cuba-Cuba.

It's so sad to have a passport that's been used but has no stamps in it. That's sort of the beauty of a passport, right? You can go back and look through your stamps and realize how much you've seen and how much more of this big world you still need to visit.

I requested our airline tickets back in January because I knew that the flight would fill early. It's Spring Break next week, yet the only flight during Spring Break week is that Friday. Go figure. So our options were: take 4 days off work and fly out tomorrow (Tuesday); take 1 day off work and fly out on Friday; or take 2 days off and leave Friday of Spring Break and come back on Tuesday of the following week.

Do you see how ridiculously inconvenient and nerve-racking it is to get off this island? Also, it costs a little over $2K just for round trip tickets to Jacksonville.

And nope, that's NOT first class.

Anywho, I have to make sure we have the passports and some paperwork saying we can come back on island, take an early ferry to the airport for weigh-in, and then wait for take-off.

You mean you don't have to sheepishly announce your weight to the ticket clerks and whomever is listening in line behind you when you check-in to fly?

You have to give your weight and the weight of your suitcases when you fly here. Since they won't cut off a pound (or more) of flesh, you will be leaving those bags, if necessary. Also you hope you don't get bumped because they need to weight allowance for mail or because troops are flying in/out on your plane. (Flight movements were the main reason we couldn't get out of here most of last summer using Space A travel).

I'm a nervous wreck and hoping all goes as planned. It's our second trip back in 18 months, and the first time was for only 10 days last summer. Four of those 10 days were spent traveling. It wasn't exactly a relaxing vacation, but I did get to see my little niece whom I had only seen once before our trip. I got to visit with my younger sister; got to hang out with my older niece (I am always partial to those older sisters); spent time talking to and getting to know my little cousins a little better, who were in elementary and middle school last time I saw them; and had some quality time with my big cousin Al who, next to my husband, sons, and father, is my most favorite guy in the world.

Hopefully this time next week we will be enjoying a nice, relaxing (ha!) vacation at Disney World. Never in my entire life have I been so ready to stand in line (wearing my air cast) for hours. Bring on the real world! I can't wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*blank look on his face*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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