The Road to San Diego Comic Con 2014

After three long years, I finally returned to San Diego for the annual geek pilgrimage known as Comic Con International, aka San Diego Comic Con.

My journey began on July 18, when I left Tel Aviv Ben Gurion International Airport at 5:15pm on a  British Airways flight headed for London.  I landed around 8:30PM London time, or 10:30PM Jerusalem time.  The seats were comfy, the food was adequate, and the flight offered a wide variety of complimentary programming.  Being a huge fan of "The Walking Dead," and having only seen the first episode of season 4 at that point, I was pleased to note that the entire season was among the offerings.  As my much longer connecting flight would also be through BA, I rolled the dice and hoped that this meant I could knock out the remaining 15 episodes of the season before landing in Texas the following afternoon.  By the end of that first leg, I had completed the fifth episode.  Ten more to go...this was going to be doable, but tight.

Our friend Anwarul, whom we had met in Orlando during home leave in September, greeted me at London Heathrow Airport. I had a fifteen hour layover on the horizon and the thought was that, as Anwaral's home in Henley-on-Thames was kind of far from the airport,  we would have a proper fish and chips dinner, do a little nighttime sight-seeing, and dance/drink the night away so that I could collapse into a peaceful slumber on the second leg of this journey and he could fall asleep on the tube and probably miss his stop and end up at Downton Abbey.  Or something.  I don't now where the tube lines end.  (Fortunately, as this plan was formed prior to my knowledge of the in-flight programming) I discovered mere days before my journey that Gavin, a friend from our years living in Orlando, happened to be in London that same week for a Monty Python concert.  The plan changed from dancing all night to bumming a free place to crash until morning so that I could get a decent night's sleep as any self respecting 34 year old should do.

Anwarul and I still opted for a little nighttime sightseeing and a fish and chips dinner.  But first we stopped at Paddington Station so I could pose with...Paddington Bear!

The places Anwarul had wanted to go were either closed or super crowded, so we went to...McDonald's.  BUT!  It was a McDonald's with a view.  I had the Filet-o-Fish and fries, because I thought it would be funny.  It was.  But not tasty.  Here I am in front of the London Eye.  I had wanted to ride it since my study abroad trip in 2001, but I didn't have time then and I didn't have time now. No worries; TJ and I would be returning for two weeks in September.  I'd probably ride it then.  (Spoiler:  I didn't.)  You'll notice how dapper Anwarul looks.  I told him that, when picked at the airport, I always expect my greeters to arrive in suit and black hat.  And that's just what he did!  He says it happened to be what he had worn to work that day, but I choose to believe it was all for me.

Anwarul was kind enough to accompany me all the way to Gavin's hotel to ensure that I wouldn't get lost during the many station changes.  Before parting ways, he even mapped out my route back to the airport.  I then proceeded to enjoy a cocktail and a chat with Gavin before retiring at a decent hour, while Anwarul missed the last train and ended up on a terribly long bus ride before arriving home at quite an indecent hour.  Sorry, pal!

The next morning I awoke refreshed and scurried off to the airport.  This leg of my journey would clock in somewhere between 10 and 11 hours and take me to visit my parents in Texas.  I hopped into my seat and immediately began watching the next episode of "The Walking Dead."  I wasn't sure if I'd be able to finish the series, when suddenly a..."miracle"...happened.  The captain made a series of announcements over the course of the NEXT TWO HOURS regarding flight delays.  I won't bore you with the details, but it involved two wheelchair-bound passengers, a broken ramp, a jammed door, a lost spot in the take-off queue, and a long line for departure.  

After calling TJ to ask if he would first notify my mother of the delay and then call my friend Patrick, who was going to drive 170 miles from Houston just to have a quick dinner with me because he was supposed to visit us in Jerusalem but then cancelled his trip due to the summer war, and tell him that now *I* had to cancel because of the flight delay, I sat back in my seat and watched 10 episodes of "The Walking Dead" and two episodes of "Pawn Stars," followed by several uninspired rounds of Pac-Man on the seat-back's touch screen.  In hindsight, I should have napped.  The jet lag would stay with me for two weeks.  

By the time I landed at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, it was around 6:30PM...or 2:30AM the following day by Jerusalem time.  I couldn't find my parents.  I didn't have cellular reception.  I feared that they had gone to the wrong airport.  After walking up and down the International Arrivals corridor a couple of times, I walked the length of the Arrivals pick-up sidewalk.  I finally located them at the domestic Arrivals gate, where they were growing equally concerned by the fact that no flights from London were showing up on the board.      

I spent Saturday evening through Wednesday morning with my parents.  For the most part, it was a relaxing visit filled with good foods and good company.  We ate.  We drank.  We reminisced.  My aunt came to visit.  My mom's dogs barked...a lot.  We went to Best Buy and looked at the technology that has been passing me by whilst living overseas, and passing my parents by whilst they don't regularly go to Best Buy.  Apparently, televisions are curved now.  Why?  I don't know.  I still haven't been able to explain it to TJ.  My dad showed me the newest classic Chevy that he was restoring.  Mom took pride in showing me her rock garden.  I visited my old college town.  I crawled through the barn and looked at my old toys.  I laid them all out and smiled.  As many as there were, I knew that many more had been sold off at one garage sale or another (with my permission, of course) over the years.

As much as I had wanted to, as much as I had planned to, I didn't tell any of my old friends that I was home.  I was nervous and sad and too anxious to do anything but spend time with my parents.  

While I was safe at home with mom and dad, TJ was once again assisting American citizens that were departing Gaza.  Rockets were exploding overhead, shattered glass and concrete rubble were everywhere.  Cell reception and battery power were not our friends that day, and I had minimal contact with him.  It wasn't until he made it home that I was able to relax.  The experience shook him to the core.  The following weekend, while I was in San Diego, he skipped town and visited Prague.  He just needed a break.

That was fine by me.  There had been talk over the last couple of weeks about sending family members back to the US if the conflict worsened.  I was worried that the order would be given while I was stateside, restricting my return while requiring TJ to remain behind to continue his work.  The thought of this made me sick.  I didn't want to be separated.  I hadn't left because of fear.  I just wanted to go geek out for a few days with my friends.  I wasn't able to truly enjoy my trip until TJ landed in Prague and I knew that, if any such order was given, we'd at least be locked out of Jerusalem together.  

Throughout all of this, my mother experienced her first (and hopefully last) cancer scare.  Tests had been run prior to my arrival, but the results would not be ready until after I had beens scheduled to return to Jerusalem.  I suspect she planned it this way deliberately so as not to dampen the mood of my visit, as I went running to her side the last time there was a medical concern.  She was in good spirits, and seemed to be in a positive frame of mind, but it was still cause for alarm.  Should I stay and await the results?  Should I go to San Diego and then come back if the worst was confirmed, or would she be better served if I went back to Jerusalem, and return home for treatments?  In the end, she was optimistic that things would be fine, so I continued with my planned trip, knowing that I could always return if necessary.  

Jet lag combined with the external stress contributed to wonky sleep patterns.  I found myself unable to fall asleep earlier than 2AM, but wide awake by 6:30AM.  Eating patterns mirrored the time zone I was inhabiting, so that was a plus. 

Early....so, so early...on Wednesday, July 23, my parents drove me back to Austin, where I flew to San Diego International Airport via a connecting flight at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport.  

The entire flight was filled with convention goers.  You could just...tell.

An obese, introverted geek sat to my left, an average, friendly, extroverted geek to my right.  When the flight attendant walked the aisles and asked that we buckle our seat belts, I could not find mine.  I turned to the large fellow beside me and had the following conversation.

"I think you are sitting on my seat belt."

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, could you check?  I kind of need it."

"It's not important."

"No, really, it is.  She just said so.  Get. Up. Now."

"Oh. Here it is."

"Yeah."

I then turned to my right and did something I have never done before:  I conversed with a stranger on an airplane.  We talked for the duration of the flight about all sorts of nerdy, geeky, dweeby things.  I don't believe careers or family or other hobbies ever came up, because we were going to comic con and who had time to talk about real life, am I right?

My flight landed at 10:00AM...or 8:00PM Jerusalem time.  In the course of five days, time around had shifted by two, eight, and, finally, ten hours.  My internal clock had not yet adjusted.  It would never accomplish this task.

But Comic Con had officially begun.  

Honoring a Fallen Friend

I post a lot about my travels around the world…so much so that I (and most likely anybody reading this) sometimes find it hard to believe that I do anything but travel.

It's important to remember that the entire reason I am able to do this is because my husband is a Foreign Service Officer.  That job comes with many perks, but those perks often come with great risk.  Even with the current, ongoing conflict between Israel and Gaza (which I will discuss in depth someday soon, once I've been able to fully process my feelings), we have been afforded a relatively safe environment in which to live and explore.

Not everyone is so fortunate.  

On Sunday, April 6th, 2014 we joined colleagues in honoring Anne Smedinghoff, who lost her life one year ago that very day in service to her country.

Below is the text and accompanying photograph that I posted to the consulate's Facebook page the following morning.

On Sunday, employees of the consular section joined colleagues from Consulate General Jerusalem and US Embassy Tel Aviv to donate books to Pioneers Baccalaureate School in Nablus. This event was coordinated to honor US diplomat Anne Smedinghoff, who was killed on April 6, 2013, while delivering textbooks to a school in southern Afghanistan. The school, less than a decade old, features a mix of Palestinian and international educators and has a strong focus on bilingual studies. The donation will be put to good use by a student body that has enthusiastically read through the current literary offerings on campus. Pictured: Children eagerly line up between classes to check out books from the school’s small but growing library.

Lowered Expectations

Among my favorite skits from Fox Broadcasting Company's now-defunct sketch comedy show MADtv was one called "Lowered Expectations," in which the dregs of society recorded video solicitations for a dating service.  None of these folks were winners but, hey, you knew that going in.  If you were so inclined to give one of them a chance, perhaps you'd be pleasantly surprised.  But probably not.

Lowered expectations were exactly what we were facing when, in February 2013, fresh off of a pretty remarkable tour in Guadalajara during which we lived in an amazing house, we received our housing assignment for Jerusalem.

Many words rushed through our minds as we took in the photos that were sent along with the notification of assignment.  "Small."  "Ordinary."  "Plain." "Mediocre."  These were a few of those words.  Some of the other words aren't fit for print.  Here, let me show you a few of these gems.

A little…musty, right?  Lacking in personality.

This had been a concern of mine as far back as September 2010.  We were living in Falls Church, VA at the time while TJ finished up his Spanish studies, and I was contemplating our upcoming move to Guadalajara.  I wondered if, moving every couple of years or so, we would ever be able to feel at home anywhere…to truly believe that our personalities were reflected in our living space.  When we arrived in Guadalajara that fear became moot.  We had a gorgeous house that, despite the standard issue government furniture, had a lot of potential.  There were amazing furniture stores and artisan markets galore, and pretty quickly we found ourselves filling the place with things that we enjoyed.  We bought new couches, new bedroom furniture and so much local artwork that by the time we left we felt as if were saying goodbye to a part of ourselves.

When the Jerusalem housing assignment came through, we had already been separated from our stuff for about five months.  We had been living in government assigned housing with dreary, standard-issue furniture.   And there we were, looking seven months into the future at pictures of more of the same.  It was disheartening, but we quickly put on our big boy pants and decided that no matter what, we'd make the most of it.

When we arrived in Jerusalem in September, we immediately realized two things:  One, that the photos provided were not of our apartment, but of another unit within the complex that was a mirror image of ours…everything was flipped around; Two, the photos did not do the place justice.

It was practically love at first site.  But it still wasn't home.  We chose a color scheme and quickly set about painting the living room, kitchen and master bedroom, as those would be the spaces in which we spent the most time.  After that, we waited.  It was a long two months between the time we arrived and when we were finally reunited with our personal possessions and our Jeep.  All told, we hadn't seen most of this stuff in a year.  An entire year.  That just boggles the mind.  

During the two months of waiting, we tried to busy ourselves.   We explored Jerusalem.  We frolicked along the shorelines of Tel Aviv.  We visited Haifa.  I took a three-hour market tour/cooking class.  We spent time with co-workers and met a few locals.  These are all things that I thoroughly enjoyed and wanted to write about…but I was in a funk.  I didn't feel like I was home…but I didn't feel like I was traveling, either.  I just was.

That all changed the moment we finished unpacking.  (Okay, okay, there are still a couple of boxes hidden in the study.  I'll get to them soon.)  It was as if someone flipped a switch.  We were home.

Check it out!

We will be the first to admit that the color palette won't be to everyone's liking.  It's a little quirky.  Just like us.  In other words, Mission: Insert Our Personality has been accomplished!  There's still some work to do, like finding some more wall art, adding a plant or two, finding something to fill that negative space by the television and putting a glass in that mirror…but it's home.  We're finally feeling settled. 

We've also learned something from this experience.  When we get our housing assignments for future posts, we will try to keep our expectations lowered.  That way, we will always be pleasantly surprised.

But probably not.  

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Dog Days of Summer

Sometimes...not often, but sometimes, I really, really hate the Foreign Service.  Those of you on the outside looking in may see us as a bunch of highly paid pencil pushers that get to live in fancy mansions in faraway lands...in between exotic vacations to Italy and Fiji, of course.

Well, you'd be wrong.  We are actually a bunch of modestly paid pencil pushers that get to live in average-for-Middle-Class-Americans housing that just happens to be in faraway lands...in between giving up any and everything that we hold dear.  

We say goodbye to our family and friends.  To favorite restaurants and nightspots.  To old careers that we may or may not have loved.  To houses that we bought barely two years prior and thought we would grow old together in but instead will probably not set foot in for another 20-30 years...if we don't just get bored and sell them off first, of course.

And then, just when you've been at post for a couple of years...just when you've established new friends, new work connections, new local hangouts....you uproot your family and start from scratch all over again.

And sometimes...sometimes this job causes you to lose your best friend.  Your compadre.  Your pretty little girl.  That precious, dopey, flopsy mopsy golden retriever that you bought for you husband in 2007 as a present for his college graduation....but that everyone secretly knew you really bought for yourself. 

We knew almost from the beginning of our relationship that TJ had wanted to pursue a career in the US Foreign Service.  It was his dream job, but given the highly competitive nature of the State Department, we put that dream up on the "Wouldn't that be swell?" shelf in the closet.  By the time February 2010 rolled around and we realized we'd need to pull the dream down and dust it off, we had accumulated two dogs, a cat, and a 30-year mortgage.  

The house?  No biggie. Slap some paint on the walls, replace the carpet, find a property manager and rent that sucker out.  

The pets?  Also no biggie.  Throw them in the car and road trip it on up the highway until you reach Virginia.  

Then came the first pet exporting disaster.  After weeks of bureaucratic delays (both Mexican and American) resulted in several thousand dollars beyond our projected shipping expenses being tossed to the wind, the animals all arrived safely, if not a little rattled, in Guadalajara. 

Two years later, we tactfully circumvented this issue on our return trip by hiring a driver to escort them to the Texas border, from which we were able to safely and leisurely drive back to Virginia and prepare to start the whole process again. 

Almost immediately upon returning to the US, we began to crunch the numbers and realized that, bare minimum, it would cost approximately $3,500 to purchase air fare and get all the critters "up to code" per Israeli import regulations.  That's a hefty chunk of change, though certainly doable.  But...what happens when TJ receives his next posting, and it doesn't require a lengthy stay in DC?  We'd have to fly the pets back to the US for one month of mandatory home leave, and then fly them to our onward assignment.  $3,500 to get them all to Israel suddenly turned into a hypothetical $10,500 round trip experience.  Doable.  But logical?  Feasible?  Maybe not.  

Then we took a long, hard look at each of our pets.  They are all getting older.

Sophie is an 11 year old gray cat with an average life expectancy of 13-15 years.
Zelda is a nine and a half year old beagle/jack russell mix with an average life expectancy of 12-15 or 13-16 years, depending on which breed she favors.
Chloe is a six year old golden retriever with an average life expectancy of 10-12 years.

Other than a bad case of kennel cough-turned-pneumonia in Zelda's infancy, all three pets have lived perfectly healthy lives.  Assuming that continues, Sophie and Zelda are on trajectory to clock out of this mortal realm in the next few years, with Chloe following a short while later.

But stress can effect an animal's health, and all three of them arrived in Mexico looking much worse for wear.  We were hesitant to put any of them through that again.

Then we were assigned to our housing unit in Jerusalem.  It looked...shall we say...much more cozy than our accommodations in Mexico.  It also lacked a yard.   Zelda is a cuddler, but Chloe is a wild beast that loves to run.  We were concerned about a lack of space to keep her entertained.

We had already been considering the possibility of needing to find alternative homes for our furry friends as far back as February 2011.  I just didn't think it would actually happen so soon.

It was important to us that, should any of our pets leave our home, we would continue having access to them.  We began putting feelers out there to see if anyone would want to foster any of them.  Our logic was, if we could find someone we know to take them, we would do that.  If not, we would weather all health and financial risks and bring them along.

Poor Sophie.  Nobody wanted her.  She has apparently developed quite the reputation among our friends over the past decade as an evil demon from Hades.  She's actually quite sweet.  She just likes to hiss at people she doesn't know, and glare at those she does.  Plus, she isn't declawed, so that's a deal breaker for a lot of folks.  One person did offer to take her, but it would have been as an outdoor cat and we know she doesn't have the chutzpah for that.  Due to lack of viable interest by anyone but ourselves, Sophie was coming along.

Zelda would have been welcomed by our old roommate, Kris, and with open arms.  He loves her and we've always suspected that she likes him more than us, anyway.  Timing being what it is, though, he's found himself in a relationship

with someone who has pet allergies.  I suggested they break up, but apparently they're happy.  Oh well.  Another friend committed to taking her, only to back out saying his landlord didn't approve.  I've since seen pictures indicating that he's adopted two puppies, so he's currently on my poop list.  Had he said no at the onset, that would have been fine.  Sadly, he let us down so close to departure time that we had to decide whether it was worth the risk to wait for another bite or to start the lengthy and expensive process of getting vaccinations and genetic testing just in case we had to take her...at which point why not just bring her along?  And so, Zelda joined Sophie as a two-time world traveler.

Then there was Chloe.  She's so beautiful and sweet, who would NOT want her?  The day our friend had falsely committed to taking Zelda, I sent out a Facebook blast asking about Chloe.  Offers immediately poured in.  I decided on Pam, a sweet woman I have known for about eight years from a previous job.  She lives with her granddaughter who is just about to start college.  They have several dogs and a cat already and had previously shared space with a golden retriever, so they knew all about the breed's behavioral patterns (or lack thereof).  Pam graciously offered to foster Chloe while we are overseas and says she will return her upon the completion of this tour.  Pretty sweet deal, huh?  Of course, it was right around this time that our other friend reneged on his offer to take Zelda and I felt like a monster.  You're not supposed to have favorites, but I do.  And Chloe is mine.  I felt like I was abandoning her.

I used what little time I had left with her to the best of my ability.  I know that it is a human flaw to impose human characteristics upon animals, but I wanted Chloe to know that I love her.  Realistically, I'm sure I just needed to make myself recognize that I loved her.  Either way, I took her for extra long walks, bought her more toys than usual, forced everyone to sit for a family portrait and generally just made a point of being more attentive.

The result of which was that I had somehow managed to cry myself out by the time we made a whirlwind weekend trip down to Orlando and handed Chloe over to Pam and her granddaughter, Bailey, on August 3rd.  We knew our car was going to be stuffed when we made our final departure from Virginia at the end of that month, and we wanted to give them all time to adjust to each other before we headed off to the other side of the world and found ourselves unable to make adjustments if needed, so handing her off early seemed like a smart idea.  Pam did a great job of reassuring us that Chloe was in good hands.  They have a huge yard, a doggy door (always wanted one of those!) and toys galore.  I knew our baby would be in good hands.   As we got in the car to leave, Chloe watched curiously from the screen door.  She didn't look sad, nor happy.  It was just sort of a "Those are my daddies.  They are there and I am here," curious kind of look.  Weeks of emotion had left me dry.  I calmly turned to see TJ, who had been bottling it up for weeks so as not to exacerbate my feelings, finally, briefly, lose it.  The drive back to DC was sad, yet oddly happy.  We knew that Chloe would be well cared for.  And that's the important thing, right?

We had the opportunity to spend some time with her during home leave.  I picked her up from Pam's house on the morning of September 10th and she was so excited to see me that she almost knocked me down running out the front door (Chloe, not Pam).  I had claw marks all over me for days from her trying to crawl into my arms!  We didn't do too much that day.  Just lounged around in a big dog pile watching trashy television (Maury) at the hotel, for the most part.  We did want to spend some alone time with her so, leaving Sophie and Zelda in the room, we loaded Chloe in the car and

headed to Celebration, FL.  TJ lived there when we first started dating and we had been been wanting to stop by to reminisce.  We walked to one of our favorite eateries, The Market Street Cafe, and took a seat outside.  We ordered our favorite dishes and a bowl of water was brought for Chloe.  We had never taken her out to eat like this before, and she behaved like an angel.  We were so proud of her!  After lunch we walked around the lake and the downtown area before heading back to the hotel for some more trash television.

Pam wasn't home when we dropped Chloe off, but Bailey was.  Chloe ran to her just as eagerly as she had run to me that morning.

I know she's in good, loving, capable hands.  I just hope those hands are still willing to release her when two years have passed. 

Zee What I Mean?

The simple fact that you are reading this (You are reading this, right?  Validate my life, people!) means that I have successfully overcome the trauma that occurs when one finds oneself without home Internet for a month’s time.  Okay, so I haven’t blogged much since leaving Mexico, regardless of my Internet status.  Truth be told, DC kinda bores me.  Good news, folks!  I’m in Jerusalem now, and that’s FAR from boring!  Bad news, folks!  You gotta suffer through some non-Jerusalem blogs first.  I slacked, and now we must all be punished.  Don’t worry, we’ll get there.  I’ve got two years to paint this picture for you.

Ahem.

On the afternoon of August 29th, I completed the six week class PC530: Basic Consular Course, otherwise known as ConGen.  It is a long, exhausting, highly beneficial class that teaches you the policies and best practices of the department through our dealings with The Republic of Z, an imaginary land constructed specifically for this class (because in real life, laws and regulations change all the time and they wanted course content to be consistent and accurate).  The course, mandatory for consular officers but optional (and, like language training, unpaid) for Eligible Family Members, prepares our diplomats for conducting visa interviews and providing a wide range of services to our American citizens living and/or traveling overseas.  For EFMs like myself, the course provides the necessary skills to apply for positions at post similar to, but more better-er, than the one I occupied in Guadalajara. Apparently it worked...pending the processing of some paperwork, I should be starting up next week!

On that sunny, happy Thursday afternoon in late August I walked the halls of the Foreign Service Institute with my diploma in one hand and my peer-voted Zoscars awards in the other ("Best Actor in a Role Play," for my dazzling portrayal of a Zian gangster, and "Most Likely to Run for President of Z," which I would like to think means I am knowledgeable due to my prior job assignment overseas but probably means I talk too much...), saying my goodbyes and see-you-laters, and looking toward the future.  In less than three weeks' time, we would be arriving in Israel.  

But before that?  VACATION.  ORLANDO.  HOME.  WHEEE!

The department mandates one month of home leave between overseas assignments (or every two years spent overseas, whichever is shorter) regardless of your length of domestic training in the interim.  There are many reasons for this, I am sure, but the big one seems to be that the powers that be want us to remember where we come from.  We may live most of our lives abroad, but we are Americans serving American interests and need to maintain an American perspective.

Sounds cool in theory.  Home leave either begins after your departure from your previous overseas assignment, or immediately following any domestic training leading into your next overseas assignment.  Timing depends on your training schedule, and you can spend your leave anywhere you wish, so long as it is in the United States.  For TJ, home leave fell at the end of training.  This means that we were, for all practical purposes, evicted from our government sponsored Oakwood housing the day his training ended.  Okay.  We had planned on spending that time in Orlando anyway.  No problem!

Wait.  Problem?  Oh.  You see, the only constant is change, and TJ's training ended earlier than we had anticipated when I signed up for my six week ConGen course.  We got the boot when I had exactly two weeks of class left.  Oops.

Ever ready to take advantage of an unfortunate situation, we used the opportunity to find a hotel in Alexandria, which we had never really explored despite its proximity to Falls Church (approx. 9 mi SE).  We stayed in the historic downtown district and, thanks to the architecture, shops, restaurants, parks and waterfront, found ourselves falling in love with the area for the first time in the combined 20 months that we had spent in Northern Virginia since early 2010.  In fact, we are viewing Alexandria as a potential contender for residence should work or training prompt a return to the states in the future.

We explored at night.  During the day TJ did laundry and watched TV and met friends for coffee.  I studied and envied him his break.  He would tell you, and has told me, that he did more productive things than that, and I'm sure he did.  But this is my blog and it's more fun to poke at him.  Besides, I'm sure it's a lovely contrast to now, when TJ is working and I am doing laundry and watching TV and making plans with an EFM neighbor while I wait for the okay to start my job.

That's neither here nor there.  The important thing is that ConGen was over.  Next stop:  ORLANDO!

Why I Don’t Speak Arabic

When we arrived in the Metro DC area waaaay back in February 2010, TJ was beginning his shiny new career as a U.S. Diplomat and I was wrapping mine up as a Quality Analyst for Express Scripts, Inc.  After begging and pleading for several months, I had convinced my bosses to allow me to telecommute, which I did for approximately six months before bowing out to study some Spanish in the last couple of months leading up to our arrival in Mexico.  The upside of being a diplomat’s significant other is that you get to travel the world and learn languages for free.  The downside is that, unlike the diplomat, you don’t get paid for that free language training.

Weighing the pros and cons, we had decided it was best for me to not take the full six month Spanish course and instead focus on paying down my credit card and saving up what I could, as at that time we weren’t certain what type of employment opportunities would be available in Mexico.   As it turned out, I paid off the credit card, saved next to nothing, and found work almost immediately at the consulate.  Everything worked out more or less as planned…except I didn’t speak much Spanish and that would prove to be a constant thorn in both of our sides for the next two years as we endeavored to grow a social circle beyond the realm of our new consulate family.  Lots of people spoke English.  Lots didn’t.  It made for some strained conversation.  I didn’t feel any more out of place than the other Eligible Family Members who had received positions at post, though…their Spanish wasn’t so hot, either. 

When we began bidding on our second assignment, we were both in agreement that I would take the full language course this time around.  We rolled out of Guadalajara in mid-October and arrived in Northern Virginia several days later, eager to begin nine months of coupled language training. 

Things began well enough.  We started off in a larger group of nine before eventually being broken off into smaller classes.  We found ourselves in a class with another couple that was headed to Kuwait.  Class was challenging but oh so rewarding when you had a good day.  I hated the teachers that made me study so much but loved the me that was learning such a hard language. 

Then in December our tenants of 2.5 years decided not to renew their lease and we discovered that  lots of repairs were needed before new tenants could move into our Orlando home.  Painting, carpet cleaning, lawn maintenance, pest control, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Suddenly, we found ourselves missing that dual income.    

Then I got the flu right before our January 9^th wedding.  I missed a full week of class.  When I returned, I had no idea what was going on and was suddenly dragging behind the pack.  I stuck it out for another month but never managed to get my groove back.  The house was still vacant.

Annoyed with my lack of progress, bitter because I’d rather have learned Hebrew anyway (try being a non-Hebrew speaking Jewish convert that moves to another country like, oh, say, Mexico where he can’t speak Spanish very well and then try to go to a synagogue.  Completely lost.), confident in the fact that many Israelis speak English, and not feeling the joy of the penny pinching that the empty house was causing, I made the decision to forego my Arabic studies and return to the workforce.  Within a week I had found a great position at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.

Whether it was the best decision to make in terms of my Israeli social life, I can’t say yet.  I’ll let you know in a few months.  But it was definitely the right decision to make for our pocketbook.  The house remained vacant until mid-March.  The new tenants immediately proved themselves to be a bit…fussy is a nice word.  They wanted/needed several other repairs.

The roof leaked.  The mailbox disappeared.  The house was robbed and a window needed to be replaced.  The roof leaked again.  The washing machine had a leak.  It went on and on and on. 

It was not until mid-June that we received any sort of rental income, and it was only ½ of a normal month’s rent.  Five months without rental income.  That’s a huge chunk of change. 

I studied Arabic for a little over three months.  That was not a huge chunk of time as far as Arabic goes.  Had it been Spanish, I would have been halfway to the finish line.  With Arabic, that’s only 1/3 of the way.  I told myself I would do self study, but I didn’t.  Those characters mean nothing to me without the context provided by a classroom.  Sadly, I feel that it is very much a use-it-or-lose-it situation.  Here I sit on the backend of four months out of class and I find myself struggling to remember some of the stuff I’ve learned.  Maybe I’ll work on it in Israel.  Or perhaps I’ll take that Hebrew class I had wanted in the first place.  Maybe I’ll dabble in both.  Or maybe I’ll just write them both off and work to improve my Spanish, as we want to return to Latin America one day.     

Of course, I’m presently more concerned about what happens when my work contract ends in a couple of weeks and then the side of the house decides to fall off. 

A Life Too Short

The State Department mourns the loss of one of its own today. Anne Smedinghoff joined the Foreign Service three years ago at the bright young age of 22. Her entire life was ahead of her.

She was in my husband's training class. They and their colleagues spent several months together studying languages and learning how to be diplomats so that they could spread to the four corners of the world and try to make this a better sphere on which to live. She died while trying to do just that.

I am sad to say that I only knew her in passing. This is truly my loss, as by all accounts she was a kind, brilliant, beautiful young woman.

My thoughts and prayers are with her family and friends this evening....and with all Foreign Service families that make great personal sacrifice that is so often misunderstood or unappreciated just to serve their country.

Mount Vernon

Despite being snot-deep in the middle of his second cold/flu/major-annoyance-to-me since arriving in the metro DC area in late October (darn that drastic change in weather!), TJ mustered the energy to crawl out of bed long enough for us to accompany our Guadalajara friends Craig and Jo (and their rascally son Hector), who are also stateside in preparation for their next tour with the State Department, on an excursion to historic Mount Vernon this past Sunday.

Mount Vernon was the plantation home of our nation's first president, General George Washington (1732-1799).  The estate was designated a National Historic Landmark in 1960 and is also listed on the National Register of Historic Places.  

This was a much-anticipated outing for us, as our last stay in the Metro DC area didn't find us exploring much of the area beyond the District of Columbia.  Not that Mount Vernon, situated a mere 15 miles northwest of DC on the Potomac River, is what anybody could call very...beyond.  

Our tour of the facilities began at the Ford Orientation Center with a brief video tour of the property hosted by TV legend Pat Sajak.  It's always fun to see D-list celebs thrown into ridiculous situations, and Sajak, dressed in period garb and pretending to be jostled in a horse and buggy, doesn't disappoint.  This was followed by We Fight to Be Free, a 2006 short film that recounts Washington's most important military achievements and his courtship with Martha Dandridge Custis, the future Mrs. Washington.  I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, but the snorts and chortles I could hear from down the aisle led me to believe that TJ, perhaps, did not.  Eight-year-old Hector was more entertained, though he did almost fall out of his chair at the onset, when the announcer revealed that the film would be 18 minutes in length.  I was right there with him.  

As the crowd shuffled from the theater we made our way over to the main attraction:  The Mansion.  

Oh wait.  We stopped and saw a Christmas Camel named Aladdin first.  Now, I'm still not quite sure what a Christmas Camel is, but there was a plaque that explained how Washington enjoyed seeing exotic animals and paid 18 shillings to bring a camel to Mount Vernon in 1787.  I think that's something in the ballpark of  ninety cents, making him a sucker.  The National Zoo has free admission and lots more than just camels.  Of course, that didn't open for another 102 years, but whatever.   Anyway, Aladdin will be on display until January 6th, so plan accordingly, folks.   

Our next stop was the mansion, which is allegedly depicted as it was in 1799, based on an inventory conducted upon Washington's death.  

Photography is not allowed inside, which is always a sticking point for me.  How in the world am I ever supposed to remember what something looks like if I can neither take a picture of it nor be bothered to open my laptop and blog about it until three days after the fact?  I'm just going to steal a quote from the website:  "The Mansion features original furnishings, items owned by the Washington family, 18th-century objects, and a small number of reproductions.  Vibrant wall colors, reconstructed after careful paint analysis, demonstrate the Washingtons' wealth and sense of fashion."  Tour guides were stationed throughout the house, and through them we learned that the last room in the house to be finished was the dining/entertaining room, which features intricate wall art to represent Washington the farmer, not Washington the general.  We learned that Martha decorated their master bedroom, an uncommon occurrence during the period which was likely permitted because she used the space as her private office during the day.  We learned that Martha vacated the bedroom and relocated to a room in the attic upon her husband's death.  Oh!  That reminds me:  We got to tour the attic, a treat reserved for the holiday season.  Like the camel, I guess.  

Surrounding the house are a variety of structures like the restrooms (both public and historic), the kitchen, the storage facilities, carriage houses and the (eek!) slaves' quarters, all set up in your standard museum/take-a-peek-at-an-authentic-room-of-the-times fashion  Two building that feature staff presentations are the Blacksmith Shop and the Greenhouse, though both were inconveniently closed for lunch as we passed through.  You'd think they would stagger breaks like at Disney World, but whatevs.  Near as I can tell, the "blacksmith" pretends to make things and the Greenhouse is only used for guest interactions with people dressed up in period attire.  That's sort of odd, given that this wintery time of year presents a golden opportunity to showcase the benefits of a greenhouse.  I mean, seriously.  Look at the dead garden outside the greenhouse.

Next up was Cobbler, the National Thanksgiving Turkey.  This one makes more sense than the camel.  Cobbler was this year's recipient of the famed (and coveted, in turkey circles) presidential turkey pardon .  Cobbler is very protective of his friend Gobbler, and was none to happy about our sstopping to take photos.  The pair will be on display until January 6th, at which point they will move into a custom-made pen at Mount Vernon's livestock facility.  

We then meandered through the gardens of the estate, making our way to Washington's Tomb (site &  materials specified in his will) and the Slave Memorial (designed by students at Howard University).

The remainder of our day was spent walking the trails, where a humorous sign that began "Species Washington Didn't See" in an attempt to explain animal migration instead had me imagining unicorns and dragons, and visiting the museum, where we saw the lower half of Washington's famous wooden teeth and bitterly wondered where the top half ran off to.  An exhibit entitled Hoecakes & Hospitality:  Cooking with Martha Washington provided several recipes that we are dying to try at home, including one for an alcoholic beverage called the Cherry Bounce that Craig and Jo enjoyed over lunch.  The taste I managed to sneak was divine.  Speaking of lunch, The Mount Vernon Inn Restaurant provided us with the most delicious meal I have had since being back in the states.  TJ and I shared a bowl of Virginia Peanut & Chestnut Soup, followed by a Meat & Potato Pye for him and a a Duck and Sausage Cassoulet for me...followed by a shared helping of Homemade Bread Pudding.  My lack of food reviewer training prevents me from describing just how savory this meal was.  Suffice it to say, we will be going back next month, when out-of-town visitors provide an excuse for a return visit. 

I'm super excited for this return visit, as my camera died shortly after visiting the tomb and memorial.  I discovered early in the day that my camera battery was low.  Hector wanted to take a picture of a squirrel he saw climbing a tree along the bank of the Potomac, then proceeded to take fifteen (Seriously.  Fifteen.)  photos of various animals' derrieres.  Here's his best one:

TJ's cold had started flaring back up around lunchtime, and after that meal we were all exhausted anyway, so we decided to call it a day.  All in all, it was our most enjoyable excursion since returning to the states and a great start to the many tales I plan on recounting over the next eight months!