Seven Years of Life

The other day I came home in a particularly stressed out, bad mood - blaming it 100% on my job. I'd spent the day going from meeting to meeting, talking about this project charter, and that working group, and hearing colleagues talk of "socializing ideas" with their supervisors for new projects that would inevitably just lead to more meetings. Taking one step sideways and three steps back.  The weeks lately have been devoid of that satisfactory feeling of taking something - anything! - from start to finish. Instead, it seems like I'm just spinning more and more plates. In short, I was pissy and longing for a job where I could just weed a pea patch somewhere for the next few years. I even spent the 35-minute bus ride home responding to emails on my work phone instead of reading the escapist novel I look forward to at the start and end of each day.   

Wah wah wah. 

That's the person I was when I arrived home.  What I wasn't expecting was that my husband would have dinner nearly in the oven, a favorite CD playing, and our digital photo frame on and flipping through the years of our lives, playing backdrop to the perfectly-set dining table. 

I decided not to be the grumpy bureaucrat and enjoy the evening instead. 
(But it was a hard decision.)

The following is how the night unfurled:  

After making our typical dinner table conversation about what we'd heard on NPR recently or how Paul Simon was one of our generation's best song writers - I turned my attention to the photo slide show playing on the sideboard.  We'd uploaded it with seven years' worth of photographs recently and it was displaying the pictures in a completely random order.

I started a game of "Can you remember where this photo was taken?" which got my husband to turn his chair around to face the screen and join in. As our normal dinner table is just the coffee table between the couch and TV at 7:30 when Jeopardy airs - this was a nice change of pace.  

It went something like this:

"Ooh - this was Bogota, our first Christmas when we realized that Colombia didn't do natural Christmas trees and the fake ones were too expensive and so we bought a landscape bush from the garden shop."  
"And decorated it!", topping it with the paper angel my step-daughter made years ago. We thumb-tacked a string of cardboard ornaments to the wall and called it our arbusto de navidad (Christmas bush).

"Maramureș!"
Another glimpse of Christmas, this one from 2016 when we traveled to the far northern reaches of Romania, along the Ukraine border to see the traditional winter festival in the town of Sighetu Marmaţiei.  The colors of this rug covering the front steps of a modest farm house caught my eye as we drove by and I asked my husband to pull off the road so I could snap a picture.  This gorgeous cat, sitting on its own piece of carpet, seemed perfectly suited to the snowy landscape, its fluffy tail curled around its front paws to stay warm.  Seeing these rugs relegated to outdoor use made me imagine how beautiful the good rugs inside the house must be.

"Oh, this was last summer, on the Eastern Shore of Maryland for our home leave. Chestertown - down at the neighborhood beach at sunset, and you with your pipe."
This one was pretty obvious to guess, and it took me right back to that confusing time where I was equal parts sad and stubborn about leaving Romania and excited to be "home" in an American summer time.  Happy to be back; sad that only one Tabby, Toby, had made it with us. Shocked at the price of things; relieved to see familiar sights.

"Too easy! Juarez as viewed from El Paso."  
True - and I remember the exact evening I took this photograph.  It was our first night in El Paso, staying at a interstate motel, upon seeing the blanket of lights below that would be our new home city for the next two years: Ciudad Juarez.  I can't say we were afraid to be crossing over the next day; it felt more like a badge of honor that we were going to live and work in this most feared city the very next day.  Turns out, we had an incredible two years in the dusty, wind-blown y muy fea city that made all the headlines for its violence. Instead, we found only friendship and kindness from everyone we met.  You can see the border here illuminated by the bright white lights following the course of the dry Rio Grande river bed and the big fence they call the border wall. To the left = El Paso, to the right = Juarez and all the "scariness" that we never saw.

"That little bastard! He was biting me!"
I'm sorry, but I still laugh seeing these pictures taken of my husband on his trip to Leticia, deep into the tri-border area between Colombia, Peru and Brazil.  His guide had taken him to meet some friends and this was one of their adolescent monkeys who was quite the nippy little bugger, circling my husband's legs as he tried to swat him away and the onlookers laughing.  Still wish I could've seen this one first hand. 
Sorry honey, but it's pretty damn funny.  

"That little village we found on the island of Milos in Greece. What was it called again?"
We took this trip for my Big-eth birthday to an island we'd never even heard of before.  We'd taken a day-long boat trip around the island on our first day which gave us great ideas of where we wanted to return by car later.  This village of Klima broke out of the usual white-with-blue scheme that is so typical in the Cyclades.  Many of the colored doorways along the narrow sidewalk were open to catch the sea breezes off the small harbor, giving us a glimpse into daily life in Klima that we would've missed being seen only from the passing boat. 

"I think this is my favorite picture of Dodger: a ole' cat in his basket."  
I took it in Juarez, in a pool of omnipresent sunlight that streamed through our screened and barred garden doors to illuminate his face.  He was so regal, so happy living there where his bones were warmed by the desert heat. The kitties loved our garden, too, with its 10 foot stone walls enclosing the yard and keeping them safe from everything but the sunlight, hot winds and a few dozen doves who visited our bird feeder to fill up on seed and torment three old cats. 

"That village on the road between Sibiu and Sighişoara!" 
This one wasn't too hard to guess; the Romanian interior of Transylvania still looks like the 1800s.  Or the 1700s.  We'd headed into the rolling hills in early spring, hence the freshly blooming trees, and stumbled upon this tiny town.  Actually, we'd pulled off the "highway" (one lane each way) to find some castle ruins and from that purview, spied this postcard village beneath.  I didn't even notice the guy repairing the church steeple until after I'd snapped the picture.  Totally spontaneous, it became one of my happiest and most content days in Romania. I'm surprised still we're not there. 

"Aguirre Spring, New Mexico!"
I'll never forget experiencing this sunrise one morning as we camped outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico.  I woke up well before my husband to catch the sunrise over the flat horizon of the White Sands Missile Range to our east and was not disappointed. Sitting in the still-fresh morning air, I watched the sun change the sky from pitch black with just a small orange ball on the horizon, to the flaming waves seen here.  Behind me, these colors were reflected on the craggy peaks of the Organ Mountains, highlighting the dark shadows of the rocky outcroppings with a brandy-colored glow. 

"Cartagena! The fruit lady in the walled old city."
This was taken when I was sent as part of the Embassy team to assist with the 2012 Summit of the Americas, hosted by Colombia.  If I go back to Cartagena, and I'd love to, it will never be the same as it was that week.  Because 45 presidents, ministers and prime ministers from nearly all the countries in the western hemisphere were in attendance (including our own President and Secretary of State), and security had closed off the entire walled city to allow only credentialed guests and employees in. The city police even moved all "undesireables" outside the walls... for just a few days. But street vendors remained, and I loved seeing this fruit basket woman.  I'm pretty sure she made more in selling photo ops with her wide smile and floral skirt than with the actual cut fruit. 

"Here!"
Nothing says Virginia to me more than a cardinal in full color plumage. I remember spotting him in Falls Church when we had a late-season snow day in March 2015 that cancelled FSI classes.  My husband and I trudged through the small woods near our temporary apartment, savoring the silence that comes with a good few inches of snow dampening the urban noise.  

Naturally, not all the photographs were that easy to figure out, and some brought back no memory at all.  Take this one for example: 

Yeah, clearly it's water at a beach somewhere... but that's as far as I could figure. 
I'll just imagine we were having fun. 

These days it is far too easy to get caught up in the drama that is the 24-hour BREAKING NEWS cycle, the politics, the often nonsensical bureaucracy, the stress of everything we do being VERY IMPORTANT so don't mess it up! combined with the lack of time or training to actually do it correctly. ("You're a Foreign Service Officer; we hired you for your judgement. Figure it out!" comes to mind.)

There's the waiting and wondering about what the next job, boss, language, or country will be like, and lack full control over one's life.  Trust me, it's very easy to start romanticizing a stable home with a garden to tend and a few favorite restaurants to visit with friends or family on the weekends.  Home improvement projects! Watching the seasons (the same set of seasons) pass in their proper order! Not having to hem and haw, unsure of how to respond, when someone asks, "So where are you all from?"  

However, seeing these glimpses of the past seven years of our lives revitalized an (withering) appreciation for my job and its inseparable lifestyle.  Because if we'd chosen not to get on this carousel seven years ago - I wouldn't know what New Year's Eve in Colombia looked like or that you're supposed to eat twelve grapes, walk around the block carrying your suitcase and wearing yellow underwear at midnight. 

I wouldn't know that Romanians are crazy for pickling and make their own wine from the grape vines that keep their arbored gardens cool during the long, hot Bucharest summer. 

And I certainly wouldn't have known the incredible pleasure of biting into a Crisostomo burrito while sitting on a dusty road-side picnic bench in downtown Juarez. 

Sure, had we stayed put in 2011, those seven years would have been filled with other memories - no doubt many of them wonderful. But for the time being, I guess I'm still okay with a few more years on this merry-go-round.  It's just good to look around and appreciate why we're doing it once in a while. 

Becoming Domesticated

It's Saturday of Labor Day weekend in the American capital. 
BBQs, a long lazy lakeside weekend, maybe a camping trip, still wearing shorts, a big glass pitcher of lemonade and the sound of pond frogs in the evening - right?

For some, I'm sure.  But for us, it's pouring rain and feels more like late October than early September. I have an urban view from our temporary Oakwood apartment of thousands of other peoples' apartments. Our car is still somewhere on the Atlantic mid-way between Belgium and Baltimore where hopefully the cargo ship won't get hit by Hurricane Irma, and all our BBQ stuff is in our HHE (household effects), which have arrived on US soil - but are awaiting customs clearance and then delivery to our permanent apartment in two weeks.  And I just spent an hour assembling evidence for my case against Telekom Romania proving that I did indeed cancel my account and stop using their cell service in early July and therefore shouldn't have to pay the $100 bill they're trying to stick me with because THEY failed to turn off the service when requested. 
(But at least I had a nice cup of tea while doing it.)

THIS is what I pictured when imagining returning to the US.

And this is what we got.

Hurrumph.  It's all part of becoming domesticated. 

Once the fun of home leave and the novelty of living back in the US wore off (read: I quit being on vacation and went back to work), the reality of life in a crowded, expensive, sprawling metropolitan area hit us.  With six weeks at my new assignment already in the can, it feels like we're still living in limbo.  This no-man's-land covers both personal and professional territory:

On the work front, oh sure, it's to be expected that finding one's place in a new job is accompanied by a period of unsettled adjustment. Like borrowing a friend's well-worn flip-flops - it feels like I'm trying to fit into someone else's footprint and haven't made my own yet. I'm getting to know my new co-workers and my boss, and am trying to make a good impression without it feeling forced - like when you tell all your best stories in the first half-hour of a date and then just have to smile and pick at your fries the rest of the evening. Then there's the concern about how the hell I'm going to reach the high watermark left by my beloved predecessor.  I should also mention it took 9 (count 'em NINE) work days before my computer account was transferred from EUR Bureau to WASH Bureau to CA Bureau, all the while I just sat like a decorative plant in my cubicle and read over my co-workers' shoulders.  I find myself lost in meetings chock full of updates on acronym-titled-projects with unfamiliar people whose name and spot on the org chart escape me. I keep referring to my new civil service colleagues as the Locally Employed Staff and I'm still turning the wrong way off the elevator to get to my office. Geez.  

(Sidebar: I just Googled "new job confusion" to find an image that might fit this description and nearly all the returns were pictures of medical or military workplaces. Oh dear.)

But who am I to squawk? At least I HAVE a job.  
My husband started his search about an hour after my DC assignment was confirmed. That was last November.  He began by applying for federal jobs that would utilize his four years of specialized training and experience picked up in both the Juarez and Bucharest consular sections. Then came the federal hiring freeze.  While still scraping the barrel for the few federal jobs which are sneaking in under the freeze's radar, he added a layer to his search by including any type of ESL teaching work. This makes sense as he hopes to gain more experience in a field that could be both freeze-proof and valuable at our next overseas post. Still nothing (so far), but a good volunteer gig starting in a few weeks.  Like bringing home a new baby, every well-meaning friend is full of "Well have you tried...." tidbits of advice, which at first were graciously received but now are verging on annoying because yes, he has tried that, he is signed up with that service, he does visit that website, and he has considered that angle - and still the outcome remains the same.  The reality is that it kind of sucks to be middle-age and stumping for a job in a highly competitive field in a very expensive city. Period.

The kind of advice that never makes you say, "Thanks! I hadn't thought of that!"

 On the personal front, we're taking advantage of the Department's Home Service Transfer Allowance which gives us per diem to help with the costs of a temporary apartment, meals and "incidentals" for 60 days.  During this time, we'd expected to be apartment searching, but as it turned out - while on home leave in Maryland, we found an apartment advertised online and popped over to Virginia to see it and sign a lease.  Fortunately, it seems to be an easy commute to my new office and very close to FSI in case we have language training for our next assignment (see that - always looking ahead to "But what comes next?").  The place will be ours in mid-September at which time we'll receive our HHE and re-take possession of all stuff the Department stored for us when I was hired 6.5 years ago.  All that stuff that I didn't know what to do with but couldn't bear giving away and didn't realize would come home to roost in a small apartment some day.  My husband has been looking forward to culling this assortment of treasures for years. 

With all this griping - I must admit that I do really like my work and DC is a great city to live in. In fact, the only reason we considered a domestic assignment was because the particular job seemed to fit me perfectly - and once I've feathered my nest and have asked my boss the requisite 5,476 questions about how to do everything, I imagine I'll start feeling like my old self.  They say ("they" = nearly every speaker who gave advice in nearly every Entry Level Officer training you've attend since joining the Foreign Service) that our third tour should be in DC. This is so we learn how the Department's sausage is made and can meet people on whom we will hopefully make positive impressions who can then recommend us for our next overseas tour.  

Yup, that's pretty much how it works.

In the meantime, I've decided to treat this domestic assignment like an overseas one. Instead of just putting my head down and serving my time while paying over half my salary in rent, I look forward to exploring parts of the country we've hardly seen.  Taking the train to Philly or Boston while we're so close.  Flying to Miami for a long weekend in January.  Maybe even seeing NYC at Christmas alongside thousands of Romanians I've issued visas to for the very same thing. Who knows - maybe my husband will find a wonderful and fulfilling job and we'll want to extend our DC adventure for another tour.  

But until then, I'm just going to make another cup of tea and enjoy watching my favorite American re-runs without having to log into the VPN.  

And what's not to love about free museums?!

Handshake Day: The Day Formerly Known as Flag Day

I often  joke that I joined the Foreign Service so that I could finally live in a house with more than one bathroom.  Another reason is because I always need something on the horizon to look forward to, to wonder about, to plan for.  I endlessly spin the "What If?" wheel and try different lives on for size.  This is why the State Department's world map of our overseas posts is hung in front of our treadmill.  Therefore, while bidding season is certainly an anxiety-inducing process, it's the kind of anxiety that comes with a toy surprise at the end. 

Our first two tours were announced with an exciting Flag Day ceremony. I learned of our third tour (my second as an FSO), through an email that simultaneously was sent to thousands of officers worldwide who were bidding at that time.  In Juarez, with its crew of 48 entry-level officers, this made for yelps, gasps, smiles (no tears that I saw) and a lot of leaving our interview window (and some perplexed applicants) to hug each other.  But the mid-level process of informing bidders of their assignments is a horse of a different color. Although 2016 debuted the improved and abbreviated bidding season, it still d r a g g e d   o u t  over a week leading up to "Handshake Day" as bureaus made decisions of their top candidate(s), checked in with candidates to confirm interest and then re-shuffled their decks as needed. Prohibited from offering a final handshake (read: JOB) until October 31st this year, many bidders were pre-informed of their Most Favorite Bidder status for certain jobs in the week prior to Halloween.   

The "street view" of this process, however, was that day by day I heard from friends worldwide who had/had not gotten these "air kiss" emails (see this post for what that means).  Monday became Tuesday became Thursday without receiving any word from Consular Affairs, despite staring at my BlackBerry's little red New Message notification light and calculating and then re-calculating the time difference between Eastern and Eastern European Time.  Finally, just before going to bed on Thursday, the email arrived. It said that my bid for a particular position was being most favorably viewed (or something like that). 

Therefore, in keeping with the Flag Day tradition, I'd like to announce that we will be heading to....

Where? 
Panama? 
The Netherlands Antilles?

Let me give you another clue:

Yup - back to the Mother Ship in Washington, DC. 

So now let's talk about some difficult stuff. Where to start?

First, when that BlackBerry red light blinked and I furiously typed in my password, saw a message from Consular Bidders and quickly scanned it, I was in our living room, winding down the evening and watching a bit of TV with my husband and my visiting mother and step father.  We'd just seen something - I don't remember what - that prompted my husband to start joking around and singing "Vamos a la playa!" because first on our bid list was a job in a popular island tourist destination in the Caribbean. This is a busy post with a huge need for consular officers, for which I already have the required the language score and for which the timing of our departure from Bucharest coincided nicely with the job's start date.  Meaning: I thought I had a very good shot at it. 

As I read the short message and saw that instead I was the top candidate for a domestic job ranked second on my list, I knew I had only a moment before I had to break his heart. 

You would now be correct in thinking, "Well then why did you bid on this job if you really wanted to go elsewhere?"  Because I had to list ten viable options. Because it's a great job. Because the position description, the conversations I had with the chief of the unit, the second in charge and the incumbent currently occupying the chair all made it sound like it was designed for me, my professional background and my personal interests. Because back in 2012 when I first saw someone who was doing this job - I thought to myself, "I want to do THAT!" 

That's why.  

The rest of the message said something like, "Where does this position rank on your bid list?" meaning, "And do you like us, too, or should we move on?"  I read it out loud to my husband and family and then in private conversation in our bedroom, my husband and I agonized over how to word my reply. I didn't want to lose this opportunity, but also wanted to let them know that, ahem, we really wanted to stay abroad. Essentially, this is a game of The Price is Right.  You contestant can have this beautiful washer-dryer set in front of you - OR - what's behind Curtain Number Two!  Because I certainly could have at that moment responded by saying, ehhhh - no thanks.  

Would this have endeared myself to the folks in Consular Affairs after selling myself so confidently for this position?  (I think that answer is obvious.)  

Would I have then been re-shuffled into the deck to become one of the unassigned on Handshake Day?  Possibly.  

Would I then be assigned to somewhere we really would prefer not to go at this time? Also possible. 

Did I swear to be worldwide available when I was hired? Yes. 

Had my husband and I discussed the eventual reality of going back to DC? Yes.  

So - what is it?

Let me now go back to the top of my posting.  Besides the jokes about joining the FS to have a house with more than one bathroom, I really joined so that we could live abroad and do really cool work at the same time. This was our plan from the day we met: to have an ex-pat life of fresh experiences and adventures, of feeling alive when faced with the joys and difficulties that come with living in new environments. But going back to the States, we'll just be regular ole' Americans. My husband will be a middle-aged guy looking for a job in a very competitive market with six years away from his usual profession and a desire not to return to that line of work anyway. One person's salary would barely cover our expenses in DC and drain all savings. More important - my husband has his own sense of pride and value that is very much tied to his being a productive member of society, having meaningful daily activities and the ability to carry his own financial burden. 

Further, moving to DC comes with some icky logistics. Not only does it mean we pay for our own housing in one of the most expensive U.S. cities, but also all the belongings and furniture the State Department kindly stored for us when we joined nearly six years ago will be delivered to our apartment within 90 days of our arrival. Please picture us in 600 square feet with cardboard boxes of text books, high school yearbooks and gardening equipment draped in colorful blankets. And paying 60% of our salary for the pleasure. 
I'm thinking...

  ...or...

Just add a litter box and two geriatric cats to the picture.

Please read this not as First World Whining, but as a real Foreign Service life tale with tentacles that reach out to zap sensitive nerves involving family member lives and difficult marital/family decisions.  (And we're not even a family of five trying to do the same thing - I can't even imagine what that'd be like.)

In the end, I am naturally an optimistic person who trusts that every turn in the road will bring unexpected pleasures.  We have always loved living in DC, a city that offers everything one could want (so long as they can pay for it and don't mind sharing it with millions of others).  I am excited about the actual job I will be doing and trust that when one does what they're passionate about - good things come.  I also have faith in my husband that he will have a more independent life and will be able to feel like an individual in his own right as opposed to the Trailing Spouse.  And maybe after all, it will really be like this:

Learning Romanian: Nine Weeks In

Welcome to my life in the Romanian language. Here is what nine weeks looks like:

We're improving each week, little by little. We're learning how one connects two verbs, how to say sentences in the past and a little in the future.  I can say what I want, hope, and believe, too.  We (my husband and I) study a lot and we use many different methods to learn. For example, we watch Romanian movies, listen to Bucharest radio stations, read news articles and we have many conversations in class.  Now there are only women in my class, so on Friday, we looked at magazines and learned how to describe people, colors and clothing. 

I practice saying things in short sentences so that I don't go into a corner. It's easy to go into a corner and not have enough words to escape.  Last Thursday, I had my first evaluation. I talked about my visit to the countryside to see a historic town and the Appalachian Trail last weekend. I said I like being in nature. We talked about a volcano in Chile and climate change, and how it seems like the American Dream these days is just to buy more things, expensive things. I don't agree with that!  When I finished talking and reading, the lady said I was about a level 2/2. That means that I can talk about familiar things, I can give my opinion and I don't bother the native listener tooooo much. Yay! In August, I need to be a level 3/3, so there is still a lot to learn, but I think I'm learning well.  

Last week when I was on the bus, I was reading my class notes when suddenly the woman behind me asked if I spoke Romanian.  She was from Bucharest - what a surprise! I was happy that day because I had received the good result on my evaluation. But when I spoke with this woman - I forgot so many words! Ayyyy....  She was the first Romanian who I have talked to outside the classroom.  I was embarrassed and wanted to say more.  All my friends at FSI say that they don't like to chat with their teachers outside of the classroom because they forget the easy words and appear stupid.  I understand well; it is very common!

On Monday, we have a new student. He is the Consul General in Bucharest and he is learning Romanian, too.  We have a new Ambassador, too, but he is learning alone with a private teacher.  Romania is happy now because the Embassy has a new American Ambassador. Well, he is the "Ambassador-designate" because he is not yet confirmed by the Congress. We hope he goes to Bucharest soon. 

OK, that is all I can say now.  Thank you! Here are some nice pictures of spring. It is very pretty here in spring. Until soon,

Harper's Ferry, WV flowerpot

National Arboretum, DC

Tidal Basin Cherry Blossom Festival

Beautiful blossoms

168th A-100 Here We Come!

Good Morning Ms. H,
The Registrar's Office is pleased to extend an appointment offer for the July 16, 2012 - Junior Officer Class. 

Looks like we're heading back to FSI!

Much to my surprise yesterday morning, while looking for the results of my Spanish phone test from last week, I found this message from the Registrar instead. I really wasn't expecting this to come so soon, so it's a bit of a shock. I contacted the Registrar to say, first, "YES!" and second, to ask if I'd been boosted up the register due to passing the language test. They hadn't even received the results yet, so the irony of it all is that after all my stressing and fussing and extra lessons - it looks like my plain ole' score earned me the invitation after all.

Oh wait, let me explain a minute for those who are new to the FS vocabulary. "A-100" is the nickname for the five-week foreign service officer's training course. It takes its name from the original room in Main State where it used to be held, before there was a Foreign Service Institute (FSI). When I went through the training to be an OMS, it was simply called a Specialist Orientation and it lasted three weeks. During this five-week course, besides learning about being a FS employee (again), we will also have sections like public speaking, and answering difficult questions. We will also get another bid list, much larger than the last one I got with only 13 posts on it, and we will have another Flag Day (yay!).

At the end of A-100, chances are good that I'll get six weeks of ConGen training. This is the very specific training for Consular Officers, complete with mock interviews, jail cell visits and volumes of immigration law to digest.

And let's not forget language training! As Consular Officers must communicate directly with the public all day, every day as they conduct interviews - language abilities are crucial. Just because I have some Spanish abilities is absolutely no guarantee that we'll be sent to a Spanish-speaking post. In fact, it's a running joke that if someone is fluent in French, chances are good they're going to be assigned to China instead.

Now for the frosting on the cake: I received word today that I actually did pass the Spanish phone test. Woohoo!!!

To understand more about what a Consular Officer actually does, here is some extra reading, if you have a moment. If you follow a few more links from this page, there are some cool examples of the work I'll be doing over the coming years.

How does my husband feel?  He's excited to reshuffle the deck of cards again and see what comes up. With his newly-minted certificate to teach English - he's far more portable now.

How do the Tabbies feel?
Shhhh.... we're waiting to find a way to break it to them. I think Dodger will be happy remembering his sunny balcony in our Oakwood apartment. Toby liked the wall-to-wall carpet and Tim has promised to take Daphne for walks by the pool. Hmmm... maybe we shouldn't bring that up just yet.

Blossoms and Roots

Blossoms

Springtime has hit me, metaphorically and literally.
Last Sunday I spent nearly the whole day, under amazingly bright blue skies and temps in the mid-70s, wandering through Arlington National Cemetary for my first time. With a day like that, I can't boast that I had the place to myself, but I can show you some pictures of how beautifully in full-bloom the spring trees and flowers were:

And dripping in my favorite color: pink!

I spent a good few hours exploring up and down the hills of the massive grounds, overlooking DC to the East and the Potomoc in between. For all of you who've been there already, you know the setting. Each of my sojourns into DC reignites that patriotic feeling of being part of the Big Team now, something that has carried me through the months (years) of work and waiting to get here. Therefore springtime just feels like the right season to be in now: budding, growing, opening to something better.

Roots

Meanwhile, the past six weeks - during which my classmates and I have been the target of a deluge of new information - are starting to gel and settle into our new lives. Perhaps tiny trepidatious roots are starting to grow? We've been learning about how to do our new jobs; we've researched the cultures of our new host countries; we've read the names of our new co-workers and some of us have had e-mails or even met them in person. We've completed presentations about the issues we'll encounter when we get to our assignments and a lucky few have even seen photos of our new homes (I haven't yet - but if you want to see a room full of women squeal and run to one computer monitor en masse - just announce, "I've got my housing pictures!"). All the while we're still finishing the closing up our current/old lives here.

I'm noticing that the disparate snippets of information I've been gathering are starting to fit together into full sentences of knowledge. So far it's been like one big game of Concentration, where I've been turning over two cards at a time, hoping for a match. I'm starting to remember where things are, what they mean, how they fit together. Finally. Even the Tabbies are settling into a nice routine. Each day when I come home from FSI on the shuttle with my classmates, I walk through the door, set down my bags and call out to them so they know I'm not the (dreaded-she-with-a-vacuum) housekeeper, and I hear two thumps of kitties jumping onto the carpet. Dodger always comes to greet me first, still ruffled and warm from his spot on the bed, and Toby a moment later - bellowing hello.

A routine equals roots, right? A settling-in and relaxation in one's environment.

Perhaps it's all a circle, and these roots will soon form their own blossoms.

That's all for now.