Category Archives: Travel Musings

From Adios to Zbogom

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You may not know this about me, but I am a bit of a book nerd.  I will read nearly anything. While I was a fairly early adopter of the e-book format, owning both an original Nook and a Nook Color, print books will always hold a dear spot in my heart. Even as I am snuggled up under the covers of my king-sized bed, reading page after digital page by the glow of the Nook Color, a tug of nostalgia the yesteryear of print rests on my soul. Not so many years ago (okay, probably more years than I would like to admit) I was also snuggled up under the covers, this time of my white, frilly daybed, with a flashlight and whichever book was on the top of my library loan pile.

There is something about the smell of a new print book, the weight of it, the way the pages are cut, whether the cover is shiny or matte, how the pages sounds as I flip through them that can’t be replicated on an e-reader. It is for this reason, I was a bit sadden to read an article last week about how Encyclopaedia Britannica will no longer create print version of their series, but rather all copies with be digital. (http://www.latimes.com/business/technology/la-fi-tn-encyclopaedia-britannica-goes-digital-only-20120313,0,2517276.story)

Again, I have nothing against e-books, as a matter of fact, the majority of what I read now is in that format. It isn’t the technological progression that makes me stop in my tracks, but rather the memories of being a child with a set of encyclopedias that I could skim through, searching topics by whatever whim crossed my mind. The idea that generations of kids won’t be able to pick a random letter of the alphabet and spend an hour learning about platypuses, Peru and pentagons rather than taking their required afternoon nap is disheartening. Logically, I know that they will be able to do the same thing online, maybe even hitting more diverse topics though the help of a “random” button or digging deeper into a single subject through hyperlinks and multi-media offerings.

But, it just isn’t the same.

Those reddish-brown books with their gilded gold letters lined up on the second from bottom shelf were my first glimpse into the world of vultures, Venezuela and viruses. (The bottom shelf was reserved for stacks of the innumerable copies of the National Geographic, which also provided hours of entertainment, more through the photography from all over the world than the technical articles that were too difficult for a 4th grader to understand.) Our encyclopedia set literally contained the world from A-Z and provided the basis of many an elementary school report.

The positive outcomes of the digitalization of encyclopedias far outweigh the longings of my nostalgia. Hopefully this new format will make the reference’s sources more readily available to families of a variety of incomes (I actually have no idea how my family came to own the set we did), make searching for specific topics easier and allow the companies to expand not only the number of articles, but the lengths as well. (It used to drive me nuts when I found a super interesting topic, like jaguar or Jamaica or Jackson, Stonewall, only to find a mere three or four paragraphs about it. In the pre-internet era, I was stuck with those few columns of sparse information until the next trip to the library, where I could find a more suitable supply of facts to fill-in the gaps of ol’ Britannica.)

So, it is with not with a crocodile tear, but a more gecko-sized one, that I bid adieu to the hardbound copies of Encyclopaedia Britannica and embrace the next generation of factual summarization.  You served me well during those sanity-saving (for my parents) afternoon naps.  From anteater to zebra, Antarctica to Zimbabwe and Adams, John to Zorro, I’ll miss you Encyclopaedia Britannica.

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From Teacher to Tour Guide

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The end is coming! The end is coming!  No, it is not the end of the world, although there always seems to be a wacko or two pushing that theory to make a buck off of unsuspecting believers. Rather, the end of my temporary retirement is (hopefully) within sight. I’ve got applications and resumes submitted for two job opportunities in Chengdu, China, and with that move looming in the not too distant future, I am eager to see what I’ll be doing next.

While my background is in education, my year in Washington DC has helped me discover a different calling- tourism! Over the last year (yup, it has almost been a year now!) we’ve had a variety of guests come stay with us in the mo-partment. After investing in the fanciest air mattress Target had to offer (okay, that is not entirely true- I think we went with the middle of the line, store brand option), our place has been a revolving door of friends and family. With the last set of visitors arriving this week, I feel like going from volunteer tour guide back to a regular 40-hour a week job is going to be a rough transition.

The only thing I am lacking to make me a true tour guide is either an umbrella or a brightly colored flag so that my travel buddies can fall into line like ducklings as we wander (or waddle!) from site to site.

I’ve been to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum more times than Americans have been to the moon. Air and Space seems to be on the top of everyone’s list, which is fine by me, as I can sit and watch the video screen showing air traffic over the US for hours on end. (There is something hypnotizing about those little yellow planes filling the skies in more and more abundance from the east coast to the west coast as the day goes on. If education or tour guiding doesn’t work out for me, maybe I should look into a career in air traffic control!)  After touring the building numerous times, I have my favorite displays, first and foremost being the sets of stewardess uniforms on the first floor. I love to see the progression of the fashion over time. These glass cases make me nostalgic for a time I never knew- the time when flying was as much as part of the vacation experience as the destination itself. Airports used to be places to wear your finest clothes, pearls and heels where a must when flying to a far-off destination. Now, with airlines becoming more concerned with cash than class, it apparently has become appropriate to go to the airport decked out in one’s finest pajamas!

My feet have made the monumental walk around the Tidal Basin with various visitors many times. I’ve gotten the pathway from the Smithsonian Metro station through all of the major memorials and back forever imprinted on my mind. It’s an invisible tattoo for my brain. Plus, after a few death marches with the early guests, I’ve learned to pack snacks! It is pretty amazing how excited full-grown adults are when I suddenly pull a Ziploc bag full of Twizzlers or cookies out of my bag. Nothing says “I’m in my nation’s capital” quite like wandering the expanse of land from the Washington Monument to the Lincoln Memorial, all while nibbling on red licorice vines.

I always thought I would teach middle school until I retired, or at least until I no longer found myself stifling giggles at the randomness of 8th graders. Instead, I have found myself exploring new cities and hauling friends and family along with me. We’ve gotten lost a few times, but those off-track excursions have often been just as awesome as whatever was on the original plan. If my current job prospects don’t work out the way I am hoping, maybe it will be time to invest in that cute little flag and start my own guiding business!

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May I Interest You in a Cherry Blossom?

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Is there a better way to celebrate the recent sunny spring weather than a trip to the National Mall on a Friday afternoon? Thad and I thought not, as did half of the population within a fifty mile radius of the Washington Monument, as well as the gobs of families and school groups in town for Spring Break. Why, it must be time for the Cherry Blossom Festival- and not any festival, but the 100th anniversary of the cherry tree gift from Japan.  With highs pushing 80 this last week and Thad home a bit early, we figured we too would join the masses of humanity and view the spectacles that are the pink and white blossoms surrounding the Tidal Basin.  (The sign toting folks dismissive of both global warming trends and the scientist who track them just needed to see my mid-March sunburn to know that climate change is no mere theory!)

After hopping off the Metro at Smithsonian Station, we were sucked in to the flow of people blossom-bound. The trees were gorgeous and definitely photo-worthy, but with amateur photographers set up roughly every three feet, I felt like every step I took was directly into someone else’s shot.  We quickly decided the best option was to find an empty spot of grass along the basin and enjoy the flowers (and excellent people watching!) from a stationary position.

Watching pretty pose after pretty pose, Thad could no longer contain himself. He too wanted in on the posed photo action. It appears he may need to spend less time studying Chinese and more putting in some quality time with Tyra Banks and back episodes of America’s Next Top Model.  He is definitely does not know the secret of “smizing.” (That would be “smiling with your eyes” in Tyra-talk.)

An hour of critiquing the various outfits that meandered by us (between the middle aged coupled dressed like they were straight out of a Jane Austen novel strolling along the basin to the man in the pink shirt and pink tie that I can only imagine he purposefully matched to fit with the blossom theme, there was more than enough fodder for me to keep up a E!News-worthy running commentary) we decided it was probably time to call it a day. By that point, we had not only our required floral photos, but a few additional ones of Thad, the likes of which may never have been taking before.  Weaving in and out of the masses, avoiding the click of the ubiquitous cameras, we slid out of the throngs and made a break for the Foggy Bottom Station.

Between the blossoms, spring break and our recent spate of stupendous weather, DC is bursting at the seams with people.  It is no understatement to say we breathed a sigh of relief as the thin door to the mo-partment closed behind us Friday night, shutting out the craziness brought on by the perfect-storm of spring-y-ness.

 

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Why I’ll Never Be A Tetris Champion and Other Lessons from Costco

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You know how there are things in life that you just don’t think you’ll ever do? Not things that you insist you won’t do because you are adamantly against them, but those things that you just don’t see in your future- those are the ones I’m thinking about. For example, fifteen years ago I would never have thought I would end up living in rural China. (The Dominican Republic was definitely on my radar, but East Asia? Nope.) Ten years ago I didn’t think I would ever take a random hiatus year from work. Five years ago I didn’t think I’d be the proud (although not worthy) owner of a motorcycle license. Well, last week, I encountered another of those “don’t think that’s for me” moments- a minivan. That’s right. A minivan. Pushing fourteen years of marriage and no kids, the minivan has never been on my list of things I wanted to drive. (And this is coming from someone who kinda’ wants to drive everything! I would do almost anything to get to drive a Zamboni.  When I heard the Idaho Red Cross where I used to volunteer was having a forklift driving class, I seriously considered buying a ticket to fly across the country, just to get in on that gig.) But, with a run to Costco looming, my best buddies at the Crystal City Enterprise didn’t think a Prius was going to cut it.

So, with my parents in town for a two-week visit, we loaded into the shiny new minivan and made the two block trip to Costco. I figured with the pre-shopping trip I chronicled in “It’s Not Peace Corps This Time Around,” plus the addition of two extra sets of hands, the trip should be fairly straight-forward. (Who knew Costco was not only blog-worthy, but double blog-worthy?!)

After being granted access to the store after my Dad flashed his members-only card (again, don’t even get Thad started on the exclusivity of a warehouse shopping experience), we chose a flatbed cart over a basket and retraced my steps from the previous outing. The list I created on my initial visit turned out to be more helpful than even my obsessively-organized self would have imagined.  We were able to go up and down the aisles in the same order I had done before, picking up the desired items in the desired quantities. It was like clockwork.

What wasn’t like clockwork? Mom’s and my stacking abilities. We quickly decided that Dad would be the muscle of the group, pushing the awkwardly huge cart up and down the aisles littered with wandering small children and cap-stoned with sample tables on each end. While he did that, Mom and I would get the items and add them to the flatbed. Apparently, we were horrible at this. I guess neither of us is bound for a job in freight-packing or as Tetris champions.  I get the basic concept. Big, heavy stuff should go on the bottom and light, oddly shaped stuff on top. The problem is, Costco doesn’t organize their store from big and heavy to light and oddly shaped. For some crazy reason they put items together by food category rather than size and shape! Thanks for that Costco.

At first, Dad tried to help out with suggestions and the occasional reordering while we were away from the cart, but I think it soon became clear to him that this process was not going to stack up the way he would like. The helpful hints soon became knowing smirks as Mom tried to figure out how to put twelve cans of tuna on top of a giant bottle of ketchup and I tried to cram one more box of Cheerios onto a four-inch empty spot on the side of the cart.

Once we had finally reached the end of my list, getting everything off of the two-page “buy” list, I had to make a decision or two. On my “maybe buy” list, I had included some camisoles, a polo shirt for Thad, some bath rugs and a 7’X5’ shag carpet area rug. The camisole verdict was quickly reached, when they were all out of anything but white in my size. Thad’s polo was an easy decision too, as I think he needs a few more and he could care less, so onto the cart it went. I eventually decided against the bathmats. I still do want to get a few small rugs, as they will add color to the house, but I also think I may have a few in storage that will be showing up in China a couple of months after we arrive.

The big decision was the area rug. Chinese apartments are almost always carpet-less. I know a lot of people think it is cleaner to not have carpet, but I love the softness of it. I love to be able to lay on the floor with a book and read (or with a laptop and write). Knowing that we will be lacking carpet in Chengdu, I really wanted this big, fluffy rug for my new home. I had talked about it with Thad ahead of time and he said he was indifferent.  So, it was off to the rug rack one more time to stare and them and try to make a decision. (Thad will tell you that this is a key part of all of my large purchases. Staring at them. It is as though I think if I look at it long enough, a light bulb will appear above my head telling me what I should do. There might also be a hope that if I stand there long enough, the price will magically go down.)

After a few minutes of staring and a consultation with Mom, I decided we were going to go for it. We had the minivan, after all! The rugs were all rolled and stacked on their ends in a giant box. Out of the four colors available, three of them were easily accessible from the edges of the holding crate. But wouldn’t you know it? The one I liked the most (there was only one!) was in the far back corner. Luckily, we brought the muscles with us! Dad abandoned the cart, leaving Mom to guard the precious stores of pudding cups and Mountain Dew, to dig out the one and only pretty mottled-brown rug from the back of the display. This meant pulling out about five other rugs, digging the last one out of the back of the box and then returning the previous five to their original holding pen. Thank goodness we brought Dad along! There is no way Mom and I would have been able to do that without creating a chaotic mess.

With my lovely rug piled on top of the goods, it was time to bid adios to Costco and head home, in hopes of finding a place to store all this randomness until mid-May. The mo-partment seems to be getting smaller by the day. The little-used dining room table is now totally off-limits, as it has become a make-shift pantry. (Just a few days after the Costco run, I bought a small cabinet at the Eastern Market, which will be fabulous in our home in China, but is currently sitting in the middle of my living room.)

I now have one more thing ready to check of my “getting ready” list, but maybe more importantly, I can cross “minivan” off my list of vehicles to operate. (Okay, technically I’d have to add it first, as it was never on the list, but you get the idea.) Now, how can I get my hands on a Zamboni?

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From Coloring Books to Formals

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While I had a Barbie or two as a little girl, I never really got into dressing them up in an array of outfits and using them to put on pint-sized fashion shows. Those pointy little fingers that caught on every shirt and the geriatric, unbending knees that made putting on a cute pair of pants nearly impossible put me off on the idea of doll dress-up.  Rather, my Barbie usually ended up colored coordinating with the black and purple tractor-trailer into which she was crammed, inflexible limbs and all. Who needs to haul big machinery with a semi-truck when Barbie is awaiting a ride?

Maybe I didn’t learn much about clothes and fashion from Barbie, but I wasn’t immune to the lure of pretty colors and matching accessories. I can remember picking out coloring books as a little girl, thumbing through whatever selection was available, looking for the one with the most pictures of girls in dresses. The fancier and more elaborate the dress, the better! Coloring would commence by selecting a color palate to be used for the entire outfit. If I went with pinks, I would pull every shade of pink from my Crayola 64-count box (that’s right, the one with the built-in sharpener!) and line them up from lightest to darkest. If I elected to go with a purple theme, I would do the same with every shade of violet available. This worked for any theme, from blue to orange, but I tended to lean towards the pinks and purples with an occasional blue outfit thrown in here or there. I would then mix in the metallic colors for accents to go along with whatever color family I had selected.  I ended up with perfectly coordinated outfits that would make even Joan Rivers stand speechless. (Her lack of comments could possibly be blamed on an excess of Botox and plastic surgery, but I’d rather chalk it up to the outstanding fashion-sense of my seven year old self.)

Now, with no coloring book in sight, it is time to flex those fashion muscles once more. Being in need of a formal dress to take to China, it was off to the bridal shop to see what I could find. I met Erin out in Rockville this afternoon, where we searched the racks for a dress to travel the world. The requirements were pretty simple:

*Floor-length formal

*Not black

*Be able to ship not only to China, but on to the next posting, without being ruined

*Not look like a bridesmaid dress

I went into the shop with a couple of dresses in mind. (You will remember the pretty pink one I loved from “The Intimidation of Sparkles and Baubles.”) Of course, after riding the Metro for an hour and then having a strange and rather uncomfortable encounter with a homeless man on the walk to the store, they didn’t have either of the dresses that I wanted to look at in stock. (They did tell me I was welcome to go out to Baltimore, where both were available! Thanks, but the Metro doesn’t go there.)  After having a moment of grumpiness, Erin arrived to save me from my slump. She quickly convinced me to try on other dresses while we were there, saying that she would take me to Baltimore one weekend if we didn’t find anything we liked. With that in mind, I passed on the cotton candy creation that the dress consultant told me was “just like” the one I had wanted to look at. (No. No it wasn’t.) Her other pulls were just as lacking, so Erin and I opted to hit the racks ourselves.

As we pulled a couple of promising gowns, a different sales consultant saw us going through the dresses ourselves and came over to check on us. She promptly asked us if we were looking for prom dresses. Erin and I grinned as we said that no, we were just looking for a formal that would be appropriate for State Department functions. Then, we sneaked behind a rack and giggled as we high-fived. This was better than being carded to get in a bar! Prom?!?! Take the age I went to prom and double it and you’re much closer to reality.

After trying on a series of long dresses, Erin and I narrowed down the options to two. (I also tried on a bunch of short cocktail dresses, one of which I loved, but eventually decided I didn’t want to spend the money to get both a long formal and a short cocktail dress.) One dress was fitted and had a more classical style to it. It fit like a glove (in a size 4, thank you very much!) and would be easy to wear to multiple occasions. The store only had it in black, but could order it in a variety of jewel-toned colors. The other dress was more flow-y on the bottom and was a lot of fun. It came in a variety of sherbet colors, but was so unique that it would be hard to recycle for various events. After going through the pros and cons and possible accessorizing options for each dress, I settled on the slimmer silhouetted dress, but ordered it in “sangria,” which is a rich raspberry/purple color.

Dear ol’ Barbie may still be jammed in the back of a tractor trailer, hidden in a pile of dump trucks and Rainbow Brights (dolls and trucks went together like peanut butter and jelly in my young imagination) but the love of pretty colors and clothes has not been smothered by subsequent years of school and work nowhere near the world of fashion.  I may be in the middle of a move from Idaho to Washington DC to Chengdu, China, but I am determined to take the pretty with me!

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It’s Not Peace Corps This Time Around

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After thirty one days filled with endless PowerPoint slides, way too many personal comments from some class members, one hundred multiple choice test questions (only two of which I missed and one of those I blame on orphans!), enough fake interviews to know the visa line may not be the place for me and one tedious make-up day (long story!), I can officially cross ConGen off of my list of things to do before we head out to China.

(Short version of the long make-up day story: Because of the classes I missed when we went to Aunt Karin’s funeral a couple of weeks ago, I had to make up the two sessions of training from that day. They were the introduction sessions to American Citizen Services. The thing is, I had already taken the final test on that section, and all of ConGen for that matter, and was just putting in seat time. The first session was fine, but the afternoon one was possibly the longest hour and a half of my life. You see, that session was computer-based, but there were not enough computers and since my class had already “graduated” from the program, my user login was no longer valid. That meant that I took up residence on a spin-y chair at the back of the room. I sat directly behind a young man who obviously was totally uninterested in the lesson.  He spent the ninety minutes chatting on G-mail with a friend of his, mostly complaining about these new rumors that Whitney Huston had an affair with Jermaine Jackson. To quote him directly, “Can’t they just leave Whitney alone? She’s dead. She’s the queen. Let her be!” Whenever he wasn’t decrying the media’s vilification of ol’ Whitney’s morals, he was posting links on his Facebook page to articles about when “douche-bag” became an insult-apparently a novel in 1939 introduced a  pimp named Johnny Douchebag, and it was all downhill from there.  So did I learn anything about serving American citizens abroad during this required make-up session? No! But, the facts I came away with are rather intriguing. I love picturing an old person, born in say the 40’s, busting out the ever so classing d-bag epithet. Makes me giggle every time.)

So now that my days are FSI are mostly over (mostly, because I do have to haul my arm back in for a few more shots later this month), it is time to get crack-a-lackin’ on all of the to-do lists I have formulated over the last six weeks. Today’s check-mark goes to “Costco Reconnaissance Trip.”

Chengdu is a consumables post. (I have no idea why, but I’ll take it!) That means we can have about a ton (literally) of food and other use-up-able items shipped to China for free. Obviously, we have to purchase them, but then the shipping is on the department.  Thad can’t wait to eat Sichuan peppers for the next two years, but my eating habits will be better served with an occasional treat from home. With that in mind, I thought I would do an initial trip to Costco to make a shopping list that included prices and weights so I could mull over my options before actually making any purchases.

I gathered my handy-dandy notebook (not the blue spiral one featured prominently on Blue’s Clues, but rather a cute cream colored one with stylized flowers and vines twisting their way across the cover), a sparkly purple pen and marched myself the block and a half to Costco. As non-card-holders (don’t even get Thad started on the idea of paying a corporation money to shop at its store), this was my first visit, even though it is a mere five-minute walk from my front door. I figured the best way to tackle the daunting cavern of a store was to just go up and down each aisle, skipping the fresh and frozen foods, as they aren’t going to do well sitting on an airport tarmac for undetermined amounts of time.

Here are just a few observations from my warehouse field trip:

*Apparently, Miracle Whip is not popular on the east coast. (Does it fall into the same category as fry sauce?) There were several varieties of mayonnaise available in trough-sized jars, but no Miracle Whip anywhere to be seen.

*People look at you a little strangely if you stand for too long in the cereal aisle, counting unknown items out on your fingers, mumbling quietly to yourself.

*You can buy bras at Costco.  Their packaging claims to guarantee a perfect fit. How is this possible? (Also, said bras only come in larger sizes. Is this in homage to Costco’s giant-sized everything? Do boobs come in bulk?)

*It takes roughly two hours to wander up and down every aisle of Costco, making a three-page list and checking it twice.

*People buy weird stuff in bulk. It is fun, as you wander the aisles, to try to figure out what each person’s deal is. Look in their gigantic shopping cart (or flatbed wagon!) and take a guess at why exactly someone needs that many oversized muffins and three gigantic bottles of shampoo.  The possibilities are endless…

 

Now that my item, amount, weight and price columns are completely filled in, the contemplating begins. What do I want for the next two years?  In reality, I can get pretty much everything I would want in Chengdu. This isn’t Peace Corps after all. We will be making real salaries, be in a huge town and have easy access to supermarkets carrying at least some basic western foods. Whatever I eventually decide to ship will really just be frosting on the cake. (By the way, both frosting and cake are on my list!)

 

No, No! Happy Birthday to YOU, Dr. Seuss!

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Many American kids grow up on a steady diet of Dr. Seuss’ rhymes, but when one of your parents is a second grade teacher and then an elementary school counselor, your personal food pyramid is particularly laden with green eggs and ham.

As Friday would have been Dr. Seuss’ 108th birthday, the man who encouraged kids everywhere to count “One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish” was on my mind. There was no way the day can go unmarked by my family each year. The celebrations are always concocted by my mother, with a bit of help from the girls and a healthy dose of groaning from the boys. Before her retirement from the Caldwell School District, Mom organized and pulled off a spectacular Dr. Seuss birthday party at Van Buren Elementary School each year. It was an evening event that included pulling in a variety of local policemen, firemen, politicians, community leaders, etc. to read to students and their families. On top of that, there were free books to be handed out to kids, there were treats galore and a festive atmosphere that made it impossible to not fall in love with reading! (There was also a fabulous Cat in the Hat costume, donned annually by my mother, which totally made the evening worth attending!)

After hanging up her red and white striped hat, Mom just couldn’t walk away from the wonders of Seuss and with a growing herd of grandkids, Dr. Seuss night was transferred from an official school duty to a grandparental one. It now consists of dinner at her house where invitees are encouraged to come in their pajamas. (Adults who wear less than appropriate pajamas are encouraged to come in comfy sweats. No birthday suits allowed at this birthday party.) After a dinner, not made of green eggs and ham, as there would be rebellion among the adult children, but rather potato salad (eggs included) and hamburgers (close enough!)  my talented cake-decorating sister-in-law always provides a Seuss themed confection to be enjoyed by all. Dr. Seuss night lives on in the McDaniel household.

Distance (just a country’s-worth at this point, but soon to be several continent’s-worth) makes attending this year’s Dr. Seuss birthday party an impossibility, but to commemorate the author who introduces so many kids not only to reading, but to creativity and lands of imagination, here are three of my favorite Dr. Seuss quotes:

“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.” –I Can Read With My Eyes Shut!

-This is my personal favorite! It not only encourages reading, but couples it with another of                      my favorite things-travel. The only thing that could make it better would be a shout-out to shoes or accessories!

 

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” –The Lorax

-This one is for my older sister, a science teacher and Lorax lover. While it comes from a book that was before its time on environmental issues, the spirit of it can apply to anywhere a positive difference can be made.

 

“When beetles fight these battles in a bottle with their paddles
and the bottle’s on a poodle and the poodle’s eating noodles…
…they call this a muddle puddle tweetle poodle beetle noodle
bottle paddle battle.”    –Fox in Socks

-Finally, my favorite lines from my all-time favorite Dr. Seuss book. I called eternal dibs on this one for Mom’s annual Dr. Seuss night at Van Buren!

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The “+” Column Doesn’t Always Win

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Sitting in a long, faux leather, mechanically reclining chair, enjoying the strange comfort of a heavy radiation repellant blanket over me, listening to the buzzing x-ray machine resting next to my cheek, I was amazed to find that for the first time ever at a dentist’s office, the bite-wing x-ray strips were not cutting into the top and bottom of my mouth. I quickly chalked this up in the “+” column for the week, as it had been one where the “-“ column was definitely dominating.

This last week started with Thad getting a call on Sunday afternoon saying that his Aunt Karin had passed away. Aunt Karin had been fighting cancer, most recently a brain tumor, for years now, and has had a really tough time the last few months. We were lucky enough to get to spend Thanksgiving with Thad’s Pennsylvania family and see his aunt again. She leaves behind four fabulous boys and a loving daughter, as well as a hero of a husband, her mother, brothers and sisters and a whole host of nieces and nephews.

When we got the news that the funeral would be held on Thursday, we quickly put together plans to attend. This meant making arrangements with FSI to miss our classes that day, which isn’t always as easy as it might seem. Thad’s final Chinese exam is on Tuesday, so the he has lots of one-on-one study sessions scheduled with teachers, as well as classes set aside just to help him and a few others testing in the near future, prepare for the exam. He had to make sure to clear the absence with an array of instructors. In ConGen, the course I am currently taking, there is a 100% attendance policy. This means that I will have to make up the classes I missed by attending them the next time they are offered. (Typically, every seven days.) The obnoxious part about this is, I will take my final exam in ConGen this coming Friday, but then will have to go back the following Monday to sit through lectures for which I have already passed the test. Lame-o!

With a car rented and a super fancy Super 8 motel room booked, we headed out after work on Wednesday afternoon.

Thursday was a rough day. The services were well-done and many people came to mourn with the family. I was a little thrown by the pastor’s lengthy reference to Madonna during the sermon. (Not Bethlehem-dwelling, virgin-pregnancy Madonna, but Super Bowl performing, “Like a Virgin” Madonna.) The discussion was of us living in a material world and being material boys and girls. I’m still not sure if it was an awkward attempt at a pop-culture reference (albeit not current, as that song was released in 1985) or a more serious endeavor towards making us consider our own mortality, but either way, it was a unique take on funeral speaking. (I have to say, I was oh-so-secretly hoping that his next point would reference Lady Gaga. But alas, such things were not to be.)

After Thad completed his service as a pall-bearer, we met up in the basement of the church, where the congregation had put together a lovely lunch for everyone who attended the funeral.  The people running the kitchen were pros at this, taking all of the work off of the grieving family and running a well-oiled machine when it came to service. It was really nice to be able to sit and chat with family before having to head back to the DC area that afternoon.

Funerals often make people introspective and reflective when it comes to their own lives and those of their loved ones, but I’ll share my lighter life-lesson of the day: don’t get travel immunizations the day before a funeral.  On Wednesday, Thad and I both became State Department pin cushions, as we got the first round of vaccinations we will need for the upcoming move to China. My arm was already sore, as the tetanus shot tends to be a super-achy one to begin with, but then add on a bevy of hugs, a mass of “gentle” arm rubs, a series of arm squeezes and a couple attention-getting punches from an unsuspecting uncle and I end up with a left arm that throbs for the entire four hour ride between Greensburg, PA and Arlington, VA.

Back home, the week continues, with us going back to classes and my excitement for housing news continuing to grow. Since we returned from Christmas break, I’ve asked Thad daily if he’s gotten an email from Chengdu with our housing assignment. The way the process works is that the Foreign Service Officer submits a form called a Housing Survey to post, where a housing board then meets and assigns housing to those officers and families arriving in the near future.  The Housing Survey is basically just a paper asking what the officer’s preferences are. We put (at every possible opportunity on the form) that we would like to live off-compound and maybe somewhere less “Westernized.” I have been waiting like a clown awaits a new pair of giant, floppy red shoes! Knowing where we are going to live will be a super step in the moving process.

Friday, the email finally arrived. Thad forwarded me a note that was all of about four sentences long, welcoming us to our apartment…on the consulate compound. No pictures. No blueprint. Nothing.  Just a compound apartment number.  Ugh! Seriously? The only thing I really asked was to not be on the compound, but it appears that is where we were placed. In Chengdu, that housing seems to be mostly families, as there is a playground and the secure grounds are nice for young kids. Great for them, but not so great for a young (relatively!) couple with no kids with a high level of comfort in the host country and a desire for a bit of space between their professional and private lives. Talk about going from uber-excited to down in the dumps in a matter of seconds.

This has just not been a great week.

I know every argument about why I shouldn’t be upset by this, but I still am. I know that it is a huge perk that the State Department pays for my housing, and I am thankful for that. I know that the housing will probably end up to be just fine. I know that in a few days I will be over it and excited to go again, but I’m just not there yet.  I rarely get upset about much, so I just need a few days with this. It will be fine. The back of my brain tells me that- I’m just not quite there.

To wrap up my wonderful week, I ended Friday with a dentist appointment. My teeth suck. I’ll just put it out there. Nearly every time I go to the dentist, I have a new cavity or other issue that needs to be dealt with. (My local dentist chalks it up to growing up on well-water and not city-water. I don’t know how valid of an argument that is, but weak teeth are mine, regardless of the reason.)  I was super-de-dooper excited, channeling my inner-Barney, to find out that my crown is still good and that I have not a single cavity! Yay! I was soon returned from my mental PBS-foray when the dentist flopped the x-rays up on the screen in front of me, not to point out the lack of cavities, but to point out the old silver filings that are leaking! Ugh! Seriously? I apparently have two (side by side) fillings from about a million years ago that are leaking and need to be replaced. So, even though I have not a single cavity, I still get to get the drilling. Nice.

It has been a long week. Luckily, it wasn’t a total bust. Things started looking up on Saturday and now I am convinced that it is up, up and away from this point onward. I hosted a small baby shower here at the mo-partment Saturday afternoon and then met up with fabulous Peace Corps friends for dinner Saturday night.

This week is going to be nothing short of the mirror opposite of last week. It is going to be stupendous, tremendous and marvelous. I am going to get excited again about moving to Chengdu, compound housing or not. Thad is going to pass his Chinese exam and we are going to go out to celebrate. There will be no shots, no funerals and no dental drillings.

It’s time to rally Team Ross. Ra-Ra-Hip-Hip-Hurrah!

The Intimidation of Sparkles and Baubles

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So, years ago, not long after we were married, when Thad and I were both teaching full time, I used to tell him I wished he had a job that meant I got to get dressed up and go to fancy parties. I love the idea of flow-y dresses, sparkly baubles and fabulous heels.  Yes, Disney and its fairy tales wheedled their collective way into my brain. Who wouldn’t want to trade chores for a glass slipper and a ride in a sparkling carriage? Who wouldn’t love a life of mirrors that told you just how fabulous you looked in the latest ball gown? I was pre-“Dinsey princess” times, where the rags to riches stories are  mass marketed in every shade of pink and purple imaginable, but I did have stacks of books featuring a variety of fairy tale princesses getting happily-ever-after endings in full formal attire.

The teaching world doesn’t provide a lot of those regal-esque opportunities. The closest I got as a middle school teacher was buying a new dress each year for the 8th Grade Recognition Night (i.e.: 8th grade graduation, but don’t even get me started on that topic!) that I planned, prepared and pulled off each year. Those dresses definitely didn’t fall into the “formal” category, being much closer to the “spring casual” one, but they were still a lot of fun. (The 8th grade girls also loved to buy new dresses for the occasion, which really was a pretty big deal for them and their families. One year I wore the same dress, luckily in a different pattern, as one of my students. I was secretly glad to know that I still had the “cool” factor, while she was probably secretly horrified to be dressed the same as her teacher!)

Years have passed. I have a collection of random dresses from each of those Recognition Nights, as well as a couple qipaos (traditional Chinese dresses) and a slew of casual summer dresses, as well as a bridesmaid dress or two. These were doing the trick…until Thad got his new job. Now, as a Foreign Service Officer, he will be expected to attend evening socializing events, as well as more formal ones such as the annual Marine Ball. I definitely don’t have anything in my closet for those!

Now that he has the job that means I need a fancy dress or two, I find myself at a loss! It sounds like I will need a formal and a cocktail dress or two. The problem is, now that I am in that position I used to envy, I don’t really know what to do with it. What exactly qualifies as a cocktail dress? Ack! I go to stores and look at dresses, get overwhelmed and leave without making any headway. This pattern has played out several times over the last few weeks, with the only real progress being the appointment I made for a few weeks from now to go look at a dress that I found online. It falls into the “formal” category, meaning the “cocktail” one is still a complete blur. Where to start?!? (My normal store choices of New York and Co., Target and Old Navy have not been a lot of help. Although, I have found some tank tops and shorts that I will need to add to my dresser before heading to Chengdu!  This is part of the problem- I am easily distracted by easier to wear items and those with price tags that are easier on my wallet. )

I find it odd (and it comes up often as I complain and he reminds me that I am just getting what I wished for) that I used to give Thad a hard time about not having a fancy-pants job, but now that he has a career with the occasional fancy outing (again, none of those in the world of education), I am tempted to shrink back into the land of jeans! I still love the idea of the dressy outing, but shopping for such apparel is a bit intimidating. Once my consular training course is over in just a couple more weeks, dress shopping is just one more thing on my growing list of things to accomplish before our quickly approaching mid-April leave date. Flow-y dresses, sparkly baubles and fabulous heels, I’m comin’ for you!

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Cupid and Co.

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Riding the shuttle to school; wandering the halls of FSI; scrolling down endless Facebook updates- three seemingly individual, daily tasks. Yet, all of these actions have been linked by a single connection today: Valentine’s Day. There are few holidays more divisive than the one based on love.  Whether you fall into the “love it” category, or the “loathe it” category, everyone seems to take a stand when it comes to cupids wielding miniature bows and arrows, heart-shaped boxes of mystery chocolates and small cardboard boxes of chalky hearts bearing messages of love.

I have vivid memories of the first year I had a valentine on the big day. I remember I was sitting in Mrs. Smith’s first grade class, carefully printing each letter of my spelling words, making sure the letters went from the top, strawberry layer of the ice cream cone all the way through the chocolate layer and ending neatly with vanilla. (Did anyone else learn to write on that paper as a kid? In the left margin of the paper there was a three-scope ice cream cone, the top and bottom lines were solid across the page and the middle one was dotted. Each line was a color that corresponded to the sweet treat in the margin. It was meant to help us make each letter the proper size. Maybe it has since been phased-out due to all of the sugar restrictions in schools today. Literacy and diabetes are not happy bedfellows.) I couldn’t wait to turn in my paper so I would earn a scratch-and-sniff sticker! (I know this may come as a total shock to some, but I was a bit of a goodie-two-shoes school. Not getting a sticker on my writing page or not getting to pick a treat from the treasure chest on Friday were both devastating disasters in my six-year old world.)

As I diligently completed writing out my spelling words, I heard Mrs. Smith call my name. She said I was wanted in the hallway! What?! Only kids who were in trouble got called in to the hallway. I wracked my young brain to figure out what I could have done to get in trouble. Did I finish my entire carton of white milk at lunch? Yes. Did I run on the blacktop during recess? No. Did I say something bad and someone told on me? Not a chance. What could it be?

With a pounding heart and tears threatening in the corners of my eyes, I put down my pencil, slid my tiny chair away from the desk and walked to the classroom door as if I were walking the green mile. When I got into the hallway, the school secretary was standing there with a bouquet of pink carnations. She told me they were a Valentine’s Day gift and that I should read the card. As I pulled the small rectangular envelope from the trident holding it in the vase, I was more relieved I wasn’t in trouble than I was surprised by the delivery. I had just turned six years old. I had no idea why someone would send me flowers- at school no less!

The card was written not in a penmanship that was ever taught on ice-cream paper, but one that I would come to know and recognize instantly on those florists’ cards. I would continue to get bouquets of flowers each year on February 14 all throughout my years of school and college and then when I had my own classroom. The handwriting was, and still is, my dad’s.

Once we started school, my sister, brother and I have received Valentines from my dad each year. Melyssa and I always get flowers (always carnations, as the roses were reserved for my mom) and Matt would usually get balloons and candy. When Matt married Kristina and I gained a sister, Dad gained another daughter, to whom he also now delivers flowers each year. As the family has expanded, Dad’s delivery detail has gotten longer. He now not only covers his own three daughters, but has a daughter-in-law, three granddaughters and two grandsons who also get to take part in this special tradition.

As I hear the naysayers complain about Valentine’s Day and how it is just another Hallmark holiday, it makes me realize how lucky I am to have always had a Valentine on this special day. As the drama of high school and boyfriends came and went, it didn’t’ matter whether had I that someone special to celebrate the holiday with (although I’ve been lucky to have another Valentine for the last sixteen years as well) there was always a vase of flowers waiting for me, making me smile and serving as just another reminder of how great my family is.

Happy Valentine’s Day Dad!

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