End of Training and Heading to Post Part III

I recently took an online stress indicator survey where I answered a long list of questions about recent changes in my life. My score resulted in the pronouncement that: "You have a high or very high risk of becoming ill in the near future."  

As if that's not going to now make me MORE stressed.

Let me explain what happens at the EOT and what comes next, and I think you'll understand my stress level. And yes, the Foreign Service Institute uses that acronym. It means "end of training" which apparently is a lot harder to say than E-O-T. 

First - there's the language training test.  
There is no greater equalizer among men and women of all ages and career lengths than the dreaded EOT exam. I've yet to meet anyone who says it was a breeze, a pleasant experience, something they'd consider doing in their spare time, something to look forward to or even something that "really wasn't that bad."  Even those who  scored above their expectations have come out of the testing suite (that's what they're called, the video-taped, painted-blue-to-sooth-the-tester torture chambers) feeling like they really screwed the pooch. 

I went into my test fairly, well fairly "okay" is about the strongest adjective I can use here, and left almost cancelling our airline reservations. See, if you don't pass - you get six more weeks of language, you get to make the call of shame to your post and tell them you won't be arriving on time, cancel all travel reservations, extend your housing reservation, cancel your pack-out etc... It's insult, injury and major inconvenience with some embarrassment added for good measure. 

Somewhere during the test, even faced with my familiar and friendly teacher and language consultant as examiners - it dawned on me that perhaps my grasp on Romanian above the very basic level, was purely based on short-term memory and under stress it crumbled like an old aspirin found under the sink. 

At about the 90 second mark, I started to forget really simple words. Specifically, the verb "to work" ("lucra") and found myself holding my Spanish vocabulary away with a whip and a chair. Let me tell you, there's nothing like that little internal voice saying "Don't say 'trabajar'!" that will make you say "trabajar".  In the end, I was successful; however, I'm fairly confident I earned my 3/3 due to my prior demonstrated work in the classroom, and nothing to do with that two hour sample I provided in the exam suite.  And by "sample," please think of other samples one has to give in life... like in a medical setting. 

Now having passed the exam, the brain cues the little Zamboni that comes in and wipes clean your short term memory. Just watch that new language disappear!  Because now, you've got other hurdles to tackle: namely pack-out.  I will just refer you to this blog post about what that entails. True, the experience is physically demanding in the sense that you have to sort through and separate all your belongings. But mostly it's mentally draining due to the amount of decisions you have to make, the planning of what will be needed when, how much space you'll have etc... It can also often entail multiple trips to the post office to pre-ship things you'll need on Day One that won't fit in the suitcases. In our case, a litterbox, cat food and cat litter.  

It bears mentioning that if you're shipping your car to post, you'll be doing all this running around last-minute junk without personal transportation because the car is already en route, sitting on the deck of some carrier ship headed to the Black Sea (or so our shipping folks told us). There's another itty-bitty stress.

Now it's moving day and there's the worry about clearing out of the apartment, putting out the bag of FREE stuff in the building lobby, hoping your favorite houseplant will find a good home, and making sure you don't leave something in a cubby somewhere.  My clever husband puts that blue tape over all the drawers and cupboards once we've cleared them out so that the obsessive-compulsive one among us won't continually open and check for stray items.  (That would be me.)

Then comes the final shoving of stuff into your suitcases, followed by the hauling of them down to the workout room in the building to use their scale (you've already sent yours away) to make sure the bags aren't over the 50 lb airline limit. But what'll you do if they are? Wear the heavier shoes and tie a sweater or two around your waist, I guess. 

The Tabbies by now have definitely figured out what's going on and will probably be under the bed.  Unfortunately, their stress started a few weeks ago when the movers came. AGAIN with these guys?! was the look on their little faces. One Tabby stopped eating and beyond the multiple vet visits to get their international travel health certificates, she required more visits and blood draws to figure out what was wrong. Conclusion? We don't know, but here are some prescriptions to help get her to your destination. At least she'll be in cabin with us and in reach the whole time.  The third Tabby however, has to go under the plane because there is a strict limit to the number of pets allowed inside the cabin - and that limit is two.  I made their travel reservations six months in advance to be sure to grab the two allowed in-cabin spots.  I'm sure there's a European woman with a purse-sized dog cursing my name as she is unable to book her little amour on the same flight with her. Sorry sis, it's a harsh world out there. And did you know with pets you should check in three hours in advance? Yeah, that makes for a long day to be in a little carrier.

Finally we're on the plane for the long slog east. My husband and I haven't traveled horizontally across time zones like this since 2002.  Moving to Juarez meant a five day drive to gently acclimate us to the two hour change that is Mountain Time - how civilized! Jet lag is a very real thing when you're moving across seven time zones. Don't want to think about moving to Asia. (It took about a week for me to stop waking up at 2:00 am, bright eyed and thinking that a game of Scrabble sounded like a good idea.) 

So now you arrive at your destination - success! With luck there's a sponsor, a friendly Embassy/Consulate driver holding a sign with your name and a nice welcome to your new city. That has been our experience so far, at least.  Next comes my favorite part of all -checking out the new digs. I think it's one of the main reasons I joined the Foreign Service, truth be told.  As the instant excitement over seeing your new home begins to wane, you can't help but start mentally sizing up the storage space.  

Sponsor: "And here is the balcony with a view over the park" 

My Inside Voice: Yes, yes, very nice, but where will we put the Kitchen Aid on that counter?

Sponsor: "You'll find the central AC controls here, very convenient."

My Inside Voice:  Yes, yes, convenient, but I only see this non-walk-in closet in the master bedroom! What about the shoes?!

Sponsor: "And there are two darling restaurants just down the block."

My Inside Voice:  Fercrissake, be quiet woman, WHAT ABOUT THE TREADMILL?!

Truly first world problems for which I have no excuse and only shame, but they need to be expressed as I think just about everyone goes through them.

Your sponsor then tells you to just relax and settle in (sorry, still sizing up closet space), rest up (not happening) and the van will be here at 07:30 to pick you up for your first day of work tomorrow!  If you're lucky, this conversation isn't happening at 10:30 pm, but sometimes it is. 

The van comes on time the next morning, as it always does, and ready or not whisks you off to work. The following days are a blur of meeting new coworkers (only 10% of whose names you'll remember and only because they were kind enough to have nameplates on their cubicles), learning new regulations, new passwords and building codes, where the bathroom and cafeteria are and how to get back to your office after lunch.  

And on top of all that - now you have to do your JOB. The job for which the USG has just paid perhaps more than your annual salary to train you and move you, your family and your too much stuff. 

So THAT'S why my stress meter is in the red.  

My current mantra is something a coworker in Juarez used to say as I was training her on the heavy details of immigrant visa work: Poco a poco, or here, puțin câte puțin - little by little. 

It's all we can do.

Oh the Glamour of Being a Diplomat

There is a cliche complaint in the Foreign Service world, but frequently cliches got their start in some good, old-fashioned truth:

Pack-out sucks.

There, I've said it. 

Yes, this also sounds like a true first-world complaint so if this doesn't garner any sympathy - I can understand that.  My goal in writing this is to offer warning to anyone thinking of joining the Foreign Service and imagining the glamorous life of a diplomat, dashing hither and yon around the world between cocktail parties and Serious Work.

Let me dash that image first and lower your expectations a tad.  Instead, imagine the life of a postal employee who has to reevaluate all their worldly possessions every two years, pack them up and move somewhere else. For this post, I'm going to get into the details of that last bit.

We're less than three weeks from leaving post. In this time frame we're expected to pack-out so that our belongings can clear customs while we're still here in the country, or something like that. Meanwhile we get to live out of the "welcome kit" for our final weeks (provided one has remembered to request it from the warehouse that is).  Some folks don't remember this and are left waving goodbye to the moving crew in a completely empty house. 

What all does pack-out entail? This year, it meant that for three solid days my husband and I have touched every single belonging of ours and had to designate each item one of to the following categories:

1. Will never use again = give away to charity, friends, housekeeper, co-workers
2. May use again, but not at the next post, maybe because of space restrictions in new housing, electricity changes in new country or wrong climate = long term storage
3. Will use again, but not in the near future (ie holiday decorations, wrong-season clothing, camping gear etc...) = Household Effects aka HHE to arrive approx 3 months after arrival at next post
4. Will need to use within one month/shortly after arriving at training or at new post = Unaccompanied Air Baggage aka UAB, still takes about a month to arrive even though the "A" in the name seems to infer AIR travel to the destination
5. Must use on a regular basis = stuff into luggage/car and hide from movers so they don't pack it into long-term storage by tragic accident

Each category now has to be moved into a separate physical space in our house so as not to get mixed up with the other categories.  The Tabbies and category five will be hiding in our bedroom while the swarm of bees moving crew goes about their work wrapping and boxing everything up tomorrow.  We've packed-out five times in fewer than four years now and so far have had only one broken tea tray (we glued it back together) and one plastic frame (we got a new one). Not a bad record, the credit going completely to the various moving crews who have done all the heavy lifting (pun intended). 

The Foreign Service hiring process should include evaluation on the elements of the pack-out process, which draw more on logistics and planning skills than anything else. It is not for the faint of heart, the pack-rat nor the procrastinators among us. Having pets or children only complicates matters, as it requires imagining exactly what arriving at wherever will look like, and what will be needed vs. what will be available. This year, we're heading to home leave first, so we need to plan for litter boxes, cat food bowls, climate-correct clothing, books, and other things to keep us occupied for one month.  And all that must fit into our car.

Arriving for training at the Foreign Service Institute, we have to have a supply of business-casual clothing for the Northern Virginia climate, plus paperwork and files for travel/ transfer orders and vouchers, Department ID badges that we haven't used in two years, and any language materials we may have picked up along the way. 

Arriving at post, we need fancy meet-the-Ambassador clothes, appropriate work clothes which will completely depend on your post and assignment and climate, extra photos for the obligatory country ID cards, PLUS the same lengthy list and quantity of survival equipment for pets and family members who will now be stuck alone in new house or apartment while we head off to work.  

ALL this needs to be completely planned in the few days before pack-out!

Now do you see why I'm complaining?  

In 24 hours the brunt of it all will be over for us and we will be enjoying the comforts of our scraped-bare home and the contents of the welcome kit.  The thoughtfully provided sugar bowl and creamer set will complement the cup of tea I will boil up in the single cooking pot. We can dish out fruit cocktail or sorbet from the small carved glass bowls offered for such occasions, but then we'll retire to bed under the single, fleece throw blanket and coverlet offered to warm us in our over-the-garage bedroom (ie no insulation) in January's sub-freezing temps. Ahh... I shouldn't fuss, the welcome kit did provide us with four of each plate, bowl and piece of silverware, cleaning tools, an ironing board and iron, and very thoughtfully, a TV and an ashtray for late nights of stress relief after the whole ordeal. 

To illustrate my little rant, I offer the following glimpses into our real-life example:

No, No! Not another pack-out and move! Wake me when it's all over.

Advice: Separate all items into UAB, HHE, Storage and Luggage.
This was our living room, now is our UAB room. Can you judge what 450 lbs looks like?

Just leave us a bit of space, please. It's a simple request.

For HHE. And why do we have so many pillows?

Last year's welcome kit sheets were turquoise zebra print. This year we're more muted with beige stripes, gray blanket and chocolate and strawberry pillow cases. Any guesses whose side of the bed is whose?

Tabbies In Snow

Welcome to the end of the year from Juarez!
I haven't been able to write in a while as the last months here have been a slippery slide towards our inevitable departure. We're now in the final month, and in accordance with the "Life Cycle of a FS Assignment,"  we're visiting our favorite places for the last time, relishing the food we will have pangs for when we're thousands of miles away and are now facing the dreaded EER and pack-out time. 

But first... the holidays!

Christmas morning was simply gray, offering the perfect excuse to stay inside and not feel guilty at all about it. But the next day was quite a surprise; I'll let one of the Tabbies demonstrate what he found in the yard after breakfast:

Tabbies in Snow! First flakes we've seen in four years.

Snow in Juarez!  Big, slushy flakes that did not amuse Dodger as he quickly darted back inside the house, to be fluffed dry with the traditional "wet paws" towel that I haven't had to break out since about 2011 when we left the Pacific Northwest.  I can't say that the snow stuck on the lawn (it didn't), but it lightly frosted the mountains in the backdrop of El Paso/Juarez and made it feel like real winter. 

By the next afternoon the skies were already clearing and returning were the crisp winter sunshine and china-blue skies that are my favorite part of this region.  Here are a few more holiday scenes from our travels with visiting family:

Ciudad Juarez Municipal Palace and city Christmas Tree

Gate decoration at a lovely estancia near where we live. 

Church in Mesilla, NM old town plaza 

Organ Mountains outside of Las Cruces, NM under clearing winter skies

Showing family around the region was a nice way to run through our Favorite Last Places tour. But looming on Monday comes the heavy lifting of preparing for our pack-out just one more week away: 
What will we put into long-term storage? (Will we need garden tools in a Soviet-style apartment in Bucharest? Hmmm....) 
What will we need immediately that can fit in the car to drive to our home leave house? (It HAS to fit in the car, as we drive away two weeks after the packers leave.)  
What will we need at FSI, but not immediately? (Winter, spring and summer clothes, plus the first month of work clothing at our new post.) 
What does Goodwill get? (Really? But I love that sweater!) 
What does the housekeeper get? (Do you think she'd use a coffee grinder?) 
What can we pawn off on coworkers? (Anyone need large potted plants?) 

Ahhh... the decisions!  It's enough to make a minimalist of anyone.  We now eyeball any grocery store purchases with "Can we eat/drink/use all that within three weeks?" and we're not buying any green bananas or full gallons of milk. 

Besides the holidays, pack-out and getting sentimental about my "last times," the God of Stressful Things added an EER (annual employee review) that needs to be written (by three people), edited, fussed over, edited again, worried about, and finally, officially submitted before our last day arrives.  For all untenured officers, EERs are due on the anniversary of our arrival at post, which is also our departure date, making this last month extra stressful.   And then when we're tenured - the EER is due on April 15th - does that date ring a bell for anything else important on the annual To-Do List? Yeah, I don't know how that date got selected either.

So, that's what the final month at post is like.  Oh, and I should mention that they sent me on a last minute, two-week TDY to help out the Consulate in Guadalajara just before Christmas.  Sigh. 

Coming next: the final drive north. 

Terminal (again)

Last year, a few days before my Spanish exam, I was pulled out of my regular class and given a private instructor instead. My teacher had explained that it was because I was, "terminal," which didn't quite have the same connotation as he'd probably intended, but I understood what he meant nonetheless. 

That time has come again. I have only three days of class left before taking my exam and not only are my studies here terminal, so is my life as a professional student. Because that's technically what we are at FSI. In fact, we're more like middle school than  university students. We arrive at FSI from the various Oakwood apartment complexes (where the majority of us stay during training), shuttled to and from each morning and evening, carrying our backpacks and neoprene lunch bags. We cluster at the long cafeteria tables by like kind, and on the bus rides home, we chat, fiddle with our i-devices or cell phones, look at homework, or complain about the aches and pains of learning in general or teachers in specific. We refer to evenings as being "school nights" when giving reasons for not wanting to stay out late. Most of the time I don't know if I should say I'm going to "work" or "school."  The only difference between FSI and any busy middle school is that we don't have to take gym (although there is one), we won't get expelled for smoking, the TVs are tuned to CNN and, naturally, the subject matter of our conversations differs just slightly from that of the average 14 year-old. Instead of griping about restrictive parents, boy/girlfriends, or homework - we gripe about not receiving our travel orders, arranging pack-outs or vaccinations, airline restrictions about getting Fluffy or Fido to Mongolia, and homework. If one of us mentions doing something that another person hadn't heard of, like filling out some form or requesting some type of salary advance, the others at the lunch table prick up their ears and start questioning, "Do I need to do that, too?" "Where did you get that form?" "Who told you that? Do you think I could get that, too?" In fact, in my (nearly) two years with the State Department, I think my best source of information on ANY topic has been either the shuttle bus or the lunch room. Those who eat at their desks or drive to work are truly missing out!

Being terminal again is a very sentimental time for me. It's made all the worse/better (depending on my mood in the moment) by the fact that it's a new year, with all the hope and expectation of starting afresh ingrained in that image. We have an inauguration less than 24 hours and a handful of miles away, steeped in the same images of hope and expectation. It's also gloriously sunny, with light-blue January skies and wide-open horizons. If it were oppressively gray with low, cloudy ceilings, perhaps I'd be saying, "Good riddance; let's head south!" but it's not. 

After over six months with my A-100 classmates, watching the herd thin to a hardy core group left here to over-winter, as in Antarctica, I'm sad to leave. And differing from the last time I left, I don't have the hope of returning soon to do this again in my back pocket. Last time, I left as an OMS, all the while knowing there existed the possibility of returning as an FSO. This is it; the end zone is in sight. When we leave in a few weeks with the car loaded and the Tabbies in their carriers - it's for the long-haul. Two years in Juarez to learn about being a Consular Officer in one of our flagship consulates. Two years to meet another core group of friends, many of whom we're already enjoying here, only to leave again and be thrown into the salad spinner once more. That's how I see it: we're just in this big salad spinner called the Foreign Service. We're bound to work with each other again (for better or worse), to see each other in the FSI hallways and shuttle vans, to see each other's names on cables or promotion lists, to call on each other for opinions about places we're considering when bid lists come out again. 

They say it's a small town that lives in the entire world. 

Meanwhile, the 168th A-100 class just welcomed the 170th A-100 class last weekend. As part of their welcoming committee who arranged their receptions, I am included in their group emails. Their bid lists just came out and they're busy arranging post video-viewing parties to help them learn about the corners of the world where they'll be dispatched. They're organizing running groups and happy hours and exchanging tickets to events. They're sizing each other up, sharing stories of personal and professional backgrounds, and trying to remember each other's names. The natural process of bonding as friends is beginning. Just exactly like we did. 

So, please pardon the sentimentality that I'm frequently prone to indulging in. Please also wish me clear thinking (in Spanish) and dry palms next week as I take my exam. If I'm unsuccessful, I'll be back in the van with my buddies on Monday instead of organizing piles of belongings for the movers. 

(Hey wait a minute... there's an option...)

Just kidding. 

It's finally time.

Transitions

Yesterday Tim and I spent an inordinate amount of time scrubbing our apartment. He moved all the furniture and made the wood floors shine, and I took scrubbers and froofy-smelling products to the bathrooms. Why the cleaning frenzy? Because today the Housing Board (of which I'm a member) will be touring the soon-to-be-available apartments to help in their assignment process and tomorrow we'll have our pre-departure housing inspection.

This is the only job I can think of where your coworkers get to walk through your home to evaluate its condition and your housekeeping skills. Can you imagine working in a bank and having the tellers and your manager come by your place with clipboards, noting the size of your closets, the lack of light in your kitchen and the scratches on your floors? Yikes! And as one of said clipboard-toting Housing Board members, I've learned quite a bit about my colleagues from seeing how they keep house! (Read: "Did you see that she/he had five hairbrushes all lined up on the bedside table? What's that all about?")


So today it was our turn to be under the microscope and I was seeing the apartment through fresh eyes. Yeah - the Tabbies have barfed on the bedroom carpet quite a few times and we've done our best to remove the stains, but there's only so much one can do. Plus we're one of the only families I can think of who managed to live in Latin America without ever hiring a housekeeper. We're not slobs by any means, but there will be oven cleaning and intensive dusting in our very near future. Any type of damages above what is seen as "normal wear and tear" will be evaluated and charged, so I'm walking around the apartment with tiny nail scissors snipping off snags on the couches, spot-treating bits on the carpet and polishing tables (okay - that's Tim's favorite chore).

Besides cleaning for the inspection, we are also preparing our home and lives for our transition to Washington, DC. We've dedicated rooms in the apartment to "UAB" and "HHE" to prepare for the movers who will arrive Thursday morning. (UAB = Unaccompanied Air Baggage and HHE = Household Effects.) Our belongings will be divided into what we can physically pack and carry on the plane which have to last for three to four weeks until our UAB (450 lbs of stuff) arrives to carry us through until we reach our next post. We won't receive an HHE shipment until quite a few months after we reach that post. Naturally, nobody knows where that will be or when, so our UAB has to be a clever assortment of clothing for all seasons.

We still have over two weeks here, but there are a LOT of staples to eat through! Tim has been busily baking to work our way through the flour and sugar, and coming up with dinners that maximize the left-over ingredients. Seems I'll be bringing a bean and canned fruit melange, tossed in a white vinegar dressing to the Embassy 4th of July event. Mmmm... (For some reason we have four bottles of white vinegar left over. Oh, wait, I promised I'd CLEAN with all those. Oops.) Our left-over half-bottles of cleaning supplies, remaining garbage bags, coffee filters etc... will go to any neighbors, friends or porteros who show the slightest bit of interest.

In fact, last weekend my Embassy Spanish teacher received our old TV for her young sons. Her taxi-driving husband swung by the apartment to collect it, and when I explained to the portero why this guy was taking a TV out of our apartment, he was both shocked and seriously disappointed that it wasn't going to him instead. He's a very nice man, and we plan to leave all three porteros tips before leaving, but my teacher had become a good friend over the past year and I wanted to do something for her. She teaches at the Embassy in the morning and at a local middle school in the afternoon, all the while working on her Master's to teach English. She always comes to class with a big smile and funny conversation, despite working until 2 am on her own homework the night before. Yesterday was our last class and I got all teary as she expressed her gratitude for the TV and for our time together. One by one, this leaving stuff is going to be tough.

I think the last few weeks will just slip by. After pack-out, we'll be living out of the Embassy-provided "Welcome Kit."  The GSO guys dropped it off in a massive RubberMaid trunk the other day and once we're done packing out, we'll appoint the apartment with the four plastic plates, four plastic bowls, dull knives, light green sheets and beige towels, just like we had as newcomers. The Welcome Kit really has a way of bookending one's tour.

Speaking of newcomers - I've started to notice lots of new faces in the Embassy corridors already. People pausing in hallway intersections, trying to orient themselves, these people are here to replace us, to start making their own marks and to have their own Colombian experiences. But in a way, they feel like an intrusion. Who are they to try to take the place of all my friends and familar faces? Silly, I know, and I'm certain that as I meet them, I'll see that they're just as smart/funny/friendly as the people we're losing day by day.

Meanwhile, Bogota has been moving into the dry season, trying to make us feel worse for leaving her with blue skies and crisp morning air. It'll be bittersweet to leave our big brick city, for sure.

Okay, better get back to the scrubbing.

Our HHE has arrived!

I think the title says it all.
After over three months, our complete shipment of Household Effects arrived at our doorstep yesterday. This is the stuff that Tim packed up in late August, but I hadn't seen it since March when I left for FSI. So - are we excited to have our belongings with us?

Yes and no.

Yes - 60 more pounds of clumping cat litter arrived, plus all our kitchen stuff. I guess I should put those things in opposite order, but our lovely empty kitchen is now packed full. I was enjoying the free space in the kitchen after living with a "galley kitchen" for nearly 14 years (Tim called it a "one-butt kitchen" and swatted at me with a dish towel when I came in while he was cooking dinner). At least we now have more than four plates, four forks, four glasses etc... We also received our music collection, favorite prints for the white-on-white walls and a vacuum that doesn't suck - or that does suck - well, you know what I mean.

No - After having lived without these things since March, I'd grown quite used to being without them. The free space is wonderful and not having to dig through stuff in cupboards or drawers to find whatever it is that I'm looking for is a luxury. Also, many of the things feel like they're attached to a different life. Especially the clothes suited for a different climate, different work environment, different pastimes and hobbies.

We received about 60 boxes from the nice moving company. Not a thing was broken, not even scratched. Three champagne flutes and over a dozen glasses of all styles arrived in perfect shape; it was quite the testament to well-planned boxes and liberal amounts of tan packing paper. I know others have horror stories, but I'd like to add this happy ending to the mix to let people know it is possible.

If we may add a word or two of advice to those choosing "to bring or not to bring":
Don't bring.

This is just one couple's opinion, but I've heard it from others as well. To start, you will have to wait anywhere from 3-12 months for your things to arrive, depending if you stay at FSI for lengthy training or not, and by that time you will have acclimated to not living with these things. They may feel like interlopers in your new life, not quite fitting in and possibly cramping your new style.

What about the things that are very meaningful, irreplaceable even, that you don't want to be without? My coworker who just left Libya with only two suitcases lost all her belongings, including family photos and momentoes from her children's growing up. Her things are still in the house where she was living, or at least that's where they were left when she had to immediately evacuate. Who knows who has their hands on them now. If something is irreplaceable, you may want to consider not bringing it for fear of losing or damaging it in transit or in the event of an evacuation. It's not something we like to think of, but it happens.

So here we are, boxes mostly unpacked, kitchen cupboards stuffed ("Why do two people need 20 coffee mugs?") and clothes shoved into drawers where many of them will sit unworn for the next two years. We're already researching charity options for some of it.

If you're on a hiring register now, or if you're awaiting your clearances in the hopes of heading to FSI in the near future, may I suggest that you start garage-saleing, eBaying, Craig's Listing and giving to charity as much as you can stomach. Trim your sails now and enjoy the flavor of your new life when you get to your first post.

Just remember to pack extra cat litter - it's expensive out here!

Wheels up!

Well, just about!
This is my last post from terra-firma: from the land of the known, comfortable and understood. I've been watching families pack-out of Oakwood for months now. One day the kids are playing on their patios in my building and the next day the movers come through like a swarm of locusts and then the day comes when I realize that I haven't seen that family for a while. They're in Russia; they're in Vietnam; they're in Guatemala - I don't know, but they're just not here anymore; now it's my turn. My obligatory box of left-over kitchen goods is packed and ready to be set in front of some friend's door or in the lobby for anyone. It contains a few items I've inherited in the same manner! (There is a bottle of apple cider vinegar I believe has lived in three apartments so far.)

My cat "coyote" has arrived from Florida to assist the Tabbies in the move. Instead of shipping one cargo and taking one in-cabin, I've "hired" a friend (and aspiring OMS!) to fly with me and carry one of the kitties while I carry the other. It's a good solution all around as she will get a visit to her home city (she's Colombian), show me around, and I will have both kitties in the plane with us. And it's legit - she doesn't have to hide him in her bra or anything!  So, wish us well on this journey.

Okay, it's time for getting ready and making this all REAL.

See you on the other side!

But what I meant to say was...

Me again,

I'm noticing a bit of stage fright when I find this blank blog screen. I dribble out some stuff and only later do I remember what I wanted to say. Okay, now Toby is sitting on my left hand (he's 16 lbs) and so this is becoming increasingly difficult to type, but I wanted to add some stuff that I thought of while writing to an OMS pal, Laila. Here it is:

Having a nice night of listening to some old tapes (yes, tapes, as we only have a little tiny boombox left for entertainment. Oh, and the $20 TV that Tim broke down and bought at Goodwill tonight after ours was packed up while he boasted, "I don't need no stinkin' TV - think of how much reading I'll get done!") I digress. Anyway, it's the Guess Who and old Doobies tonight to help make me feel all sentimentally 'merican (or Canadian... details, please).

Can you tell I've had a pint of cider already?

My pack out is done. I had only 150 lbs of air baggage and barely the minimum of household effects to go on the slow boat. I may be the first person I know whose stuff is taken by pirates on some unnamed cargo ship in the Gulf of Aden. Anyway,  the mover guy had lots more boxes, packing material and - apparently - time, 'cause when he was all done he said, "Well, is there anything else you want to add?" which prompted me to scurry about the house gathering a paltry armful of random items like Steve Martin leaving home in "The Jerk."  Of course, now that he's gone, I'm finding all sorts of things. Like my tape collection.

Yes, this timeline feels like skiing (okay, you didn't say that, but many of you said that time goes by quickly):  At first it's all slow and you're pushing on your poles to get moving, and then before you know it the slope gets really steep and you're moving far too quickly.  So now it's the second-to-last night in Snohomish. Two more showers in my favorite bathroom. Okay, in my only bathroom. I think I joined the Foreign Service solely in the hope that someday, perhaps if I'm really, really good, I will live in a home with two bathrooms. Maybe. Yes, truth be told -THAT is why I joined the FS, to get a cool free house. In Djibouti.

I learned today that there will be 12 OMSers in my Specialist Class. This means that our bid list will have 12 cities on it. I was hoping for a few more, but it seems that the supply is smaller than the demand. In fact, they just opened the OMS position AGAIN, which makes three times in one year. I'm tellin' ya' - this is a really, really cool opportunity and all you have to be is a US citizen and between 20-60 years old... it's worth a look: http://www.careers.state.gov/   The OMS window is open through the end of the month, I believe. Any of you with office or administrative assistant experience should consider it and maybe you, too, will have two government-supplied bathrooms.

In Chad.

Okay, 'nuff said. Wonderful Tim is waiting on the couch where we can watch our new TV.

Procrastination

The movers are coming tomorrow, and not just for the survey - for the real thing: all my belongings in cardboard; newly empty rooms in the house; final decisions made of what I need now and at my first post; borrowing Tim's toothbrush and wearing the same socks for the next six days (I might need to rethink that last bit). Also, I have to do a dry run on my luggage packing to make sure it all fits in the suitcases that will go on the plane. The rest will go in my UAB (unaccompanied air baggage - NOT, as Tim notes - the University of Alabama - Birmingham!) or my HHE (household effects - the stuff I won't see until post). But you may notice that instead of doing these fun, fun tasks - I'm here at the kitchen table writing this instead.

To back up a bit: the trip to California was great. I got to see four of five siblings, my dad and my step-mother, not to mention my second home-town of Sonoma. Saying goodbye to Pops in the driveway left me a crying mess. My sister Eden took me to the bus-station sized Charles M. Schulz (yes, of Peanuts fame) airport in Santa Rosa, and sent me on my way with a baggie of homemade cookies and a snapshot of the two of us with the larger-than life-sized Lucy statue.  I took one last big breath of warm California air and got into the little plane for Seattle. My flight was ten minutes early in landing and my bag hit the carousel as I walked off the plane - all was moving smoothly.

And then I got to my truck in the off-site parking area and got screwed.
No, really, there was a massive screw stuck into the tread of my left front tire and the tire was flattened down to the rim. Tim, coincidentally, had a flat while I was away, too, but his was discovered while driving on 405. (Could this have something to do with the ongoing feud that has recently heated up with our neighbor over her free-range chicken? Hmmmm....) Fortunately I've kept up with AAA and they had me back on the road in less than an hour.

My new in-cabin cat carrier arrived while I was away. It will be Dodger's little personal RV for our flight on Saturday. It's sized to fit under the seat, and technically, Dodger does fit inside it. And by "fit" I mean as my foot fits in my sock, but with some creative tail placement, I think he'll be okay. I've been putting cat nip and treats inside the carrier and leaving it on the living room floor in an effort to make it seem comforting, familiar and inviting to him for when The Day comes. Yeah, it's not working so well.

I'm also torturing myself with the "last-time" blues: Last time Tim and I watch "Amazing Race" on the couch together on Sunday evening; last time I prune my roses; last time I watch the fog drift in past my kitchen-window; last time I ... oh, knock it off and go pack your stuff!

Saying goodbye in California

Moving away is the gift that just keeps on giving...
Saying goodbye at work.
Saying goodbye at Purrfect Pals.
Now I'm headed to California to say goodbye to five siblings, my 85 year-old father and my stepmother. Is there an RCW on how many tissues one person can go through in a week?

But other things are moving along:
The moving estimator dude came today to figure out the sizes of my two shipments. Fortunately the medium-sized pile which will arrive via plane is underweight which means I can load on more stuff. And the big pile that will take the slow boat to post (and I hope to see before Halloween) is waaaay underweight, so I'm walking through the house sizing things up, "Hmmm.... bulky AND useful - I'll take it!"  Tim had better keep me away from the couch and fridge, 'cause they'd fit juuuuuust right in my shipping container.

Meanwhile, the Federal government is threatening to shut down and nobody knows how that will affect us trainees. Does that mean that we just hang out in our hotel apartments? Wouldn't be too bad, do some collegial bonding and all, but not so cool if our per diem also goes on furlough. Each person I talk to - on the rare occasions that I get a live person on the phone - is honestly puzzled about what will happen.

As with everything else in life - only time will tell.

G'night for now,