Road Trip: Day Three

Day Three: Chattanooga, TN – Pearl, MS

Mileage: 616 – 1007

Weather: 66 – 48 degrees - clear and mostly sunny

Soundtrack: “O Brother Where Art Thou” 

Shortly outside of Chattanooga, we drove through a small corner of Georgia and then into Alabama. Our first rest stop in Alabama showed a marked difference in the temperature and landscape from our first two days. Pulling over for PB & J sandwiches for lunch at the rest area, we smelled the sweet piney woods for the first time. And even though it’s still only early February, there was a pond of frogs croaking in the background and paths through the trees cushioned with dry pine straw. For my husband, these sights, sounds and smells meant home. There was a marked difference in the sights outside the windows from the highway, too, with the piney woods replacing the gray and dormant deciduous trees of Virginia and Tennessee.  

Blue skies and pine trees - welcome to Alabama!

 

In Birmingham, we picked up the interstate that we’ll follow all the way through Texas and cut a diagonal line across northern Alabama towards Mississippi. As the first time I’d ever been in Mississippi, I had been excited to visit a new state and see what the real Deep South looked like. It looked like pine trees. The highway is bordered by these forests for the majority of Alabama and all the way to Jackson, MS, with only small glimpses through the trees to cleared areas where it looked like the trees had been harvested. No old men sitting on porches, playing their harmonics with their hound dogs by their side, or grandmothers hanging laundry on the line outside the weathered gray wooden cottages. It was just trees.  

Toby joined Dodger and Daphne atop our luggage and boxes in the Captain’s Seat, where all three snuggled down quietly to nap or watch the world go by. Once in a while, someone would climb down from above my headrest to sit on my lap, but quickly bored of it and headed back up the stack. Despite our making it available, nobody used the litter box, ate from the kibble bowl or drank from the waterer that keeps sloshing onto a towel in the back of the car. But at least they’re there… in case they change their mind. 

 

The modern Beverly Hillbillies and their cats?

 

Eastern Mississippi didn’t look too different from Alabama except for one unfortunate difference: the marked increase in road kill alongside the highway. Disturbingly, it wasn’t only deer, raccoons, coyotes and possums, but also dogs – people’s dogs everywhere! And all types of domestic dogs, too, tragically.  

We made it to central Mississippi, just outside of Jackson, by dinner time and pulled into a motel in Pearl in time to settle the kitties, unpack the car (*sigh*) and head out to find a spot for dinner and to watch the second half of the Super Bowl. We each pictured finding some local flavor, some divey fish fry joint with cold beer and a big screen. Instead, we found rows and rows of neon-sign chain restaurants with different themes and quirky decors, but chain restaurants all the same. The local flavor just doesn’t live alongside the interstate anymore; I guess we shouldn’t be surprised by the continued strip-mauling of America. We settled on Logan’s Roadhouse, with bowls of peanuts on the tables and shells on the floor and a sassy young waitress named Georgette. She couldn’t recommend what beer was best on tap, as she swore she only drank tequila and said she wanted to come with us to Mexico. The restaurant was lined with big-screen TVs for the big game, and big groups of big families taking up most of the big tables. And by “big,” I don’t just mean families with many members, I mean BIG families. And how can you not be big down here when it seems that every meal starts with baskets of rolls or biscuits dripping in butter, is battered and fried, is washed down with pints of sweet tea, and comes with a choice of two sides (like mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese or fried okra)? I ordered sautéed (in butter) seasoned shrimp on skewers and a side of cinnamon apples. Let’s be honest here: this is basically a big bowl of pie filling disguised as a dinner side instead of a dessert. Georgette later brought me an extra buttery roll so that she could show me how to make a quickie apple pie. Even stuffed full of shrimp and the first round of buttery rolls already, it would have been rude of me to not try her special recipe. After all, I’ve been burning lots of calories sitting still in the car for six hours a day, right? Urgh. But it was tasty. 

Mississippi had two other quirks that peeved my husband in particular. First, they don’t sell beer after 5pm on a Sunday, even a Super Bowl Sunday. Second, the hotel TV was programmed to turned itself off after about 15 minutes. Apparently it’s the hotel’s energy-saving methods at work, and one need only hit the remote to reactivate it, but I thought it would be better if it required the watcher to do some jumping jacks or go run around the block before it would turn back on. Probably just the apple pie biscuits nagging on my conscience.  

The five of us piled onto the lone queen bed in the room and tried to get some good sleep before the next day’s long haul into Texas. Unfortunately for me, the lightest sleeper on either side of the Mississippi – this didn’t happen. There’s always tomorrow night.

 

Next: More MS, LA and Eastern Texas!

Road Trip: Day Two

Day Two: Bristol, VA – Chattanooga, TN

Miles: 361-615

Weather: Blowing snow, icy, windy and mid-20s

Song: RockyTop or Tennessee Stud

This travel day was planned to be shorter than the others as we had a fixed destination: visiting my husband’s brother and sister-in-law, plus step-sister and her family in Chattanooga.  Having not seen them for years, we wanted to arrive as early as we could to extend the visit beyond just pulling in for dinner and then heading back to the hotel. The weather had other plans.

First, the cats had to be persuaded to come out from under the bed once again. Persuasion might be the wrong verb, but I’m not sure which one to use that accurately describes the escalation in force which begins with begging, bribing with treats, pleading, threatening to leave them behind and finally pressing our cheeks flat against the hotel carpet in order to reach said putty-tat by the scruff, turning them sideways and not-too-graciously dragging them out from underneath the furniture. Besides asking about government rates and easy car-to-room access when making hotel reservations, I’m now inquiring about the weight of the beds and sofas, and whether or not these pieces can be lifted to fetch reluctant fur travelers. Frankly, I think a petition should be started requiring hotels to use platform beds, thus saving us all a lot of time and effort in the stressful packing-up and moving-out process.  But that’s just me.

Once loaded into the car, they quickly settled, and by the time we got up to a steady highway speed, Daphne and Dodger had found their perches on the mounds of luggage behind our heads. Toby, not known for either his jumping or climbing skills, caterwauled for a while and then resigned himself to nesting in the litter box. Really Toby, have some pride, man!

Leaving Bristol, on the VA-TN border, it was 23 degrees and the small amount of snow that had fallen the day before wasn’t going anywhere.  We drove for a ways and then at the first break, I took the wheel. Shortly outside of Knoxville, TN the blowing snow started. It wasn’t the big, fluffy flakes that hypnotize me when I look up into them (thankfully), but rather the driving, pelting granules that formed a glossy sheen on the highway. Soon the line of traffic ground to a stop and we realized there must be a wreck ahead, and not surprisingly either.

“Honey, do folks from Tennessee know how to drive in the snow?” I asked my husband, who’s from the South, and thus the subject-matter expert for all inquiries for the next three days’ drive.

“Sure, it should snow some here every year.”

This lead me to conclude that the 10-car smash up we passed shortly afterwards was either a freak ice storm that took otherwise perfectly prepared motorized by surprise, was involving only people from other states making their way to the Super Bowl, or just a case of plain bad luck for all involved. The dozen or so other cars we passed littering the ditches, wrapped around trees, flipped over in the slushy roadsides or simply slid off the roadway put to rest any question about their winter driving capabilities.  My brother-in-law later told us, “Oh heck no! People in Tennessee can’t drive in the snow!”

We crept our way between Knoxville and Chattanooga, and by the time we got to our hotel the streets were simply cold and dry, but no longer slushy or snowy.

After the first night’s hotel room, sharing the bed with the Tabbies, we opted for a suite at Hotel Two with separate living and bedrooms. It was super nice, actually nicer than our Oakwood Apartment, and once released from their carriers, the kitties immediately set out exploring all corners, undersides of all beds, behind each dresser and the topside of each pillow. We left them in peace for the evening, and shared a lovely dinner and night of catching up with my husband’s family.

Tucking into bed last night, my husband admitted that it would be nice to stay here a few more days. It’s only Day Two, and already the packing-unpacking-packing routine is getting old. However, with having a hotel suite instead of single room, we were able to give the cats the living room and then close the bedroom doors to give us some relief from the feline parade that generally starts about 04:00 a.m. and doesn’t cease until all humans are awake and preparing bowls of food for the true masters of the house.

We spent the morning visiting family again for breakfast and letting the cats explore their beautiful suburban home, complete with screened-in porch with view of a pond, a brook, birds in trees and real grass. What could be better, right? According to Daphne, it would be better if they got rid of those terrifying raptors suspended from the ceiling in each room, spinning and preparing to attack unsuspecting kitties. She was smarter than that, and promptly bolted under the love seat.

Yeah, she has a point; and we realized that we’ve never had a ceiling fan in the house before. Poor love.

Next Phase: TN, GA, AL to MS!

Road Trip: Day One

Distance: Miles 0 - 360

Location: Falls Church, VA to Virginia - Tennessee border

Appropriate Song: Country Roads

We woke up this morning to a flurry of light snow falling on our moving day. But it really wasn't falling, in the sense of going from up above to down below, because of the swirling winds, the snow was going every different direction other than down giving us our own little inside-the-snow-globe effect. The Tabbies weren't fooled by any of our packing up, and as soon as they finished their breakfast, retreated to under the bed. As if we'd leave them behind...

By 11:30 the car was stuffed to the gills, including the rooftop carrier, and the cats were in their carriers in the back-back of the car. Two hours down the road, we pulled into a gas station for bathroom breaks and to open the carriers for the kitties, giving them free range over the back of the car. I kept an eye on them for Worst Fear #1 - cats diving under the accelerator pedal in the fast lane of the interstate, but nothing near that happened. In fact, it was better than expected, with Daphne immediately making herself comfortable in what I now refer to as the Captain's Seat: her bed on the pile of suitcases, coolers and boxes behind our seats at headrest level. Instead of wild-eyed and freaked out, she was quite relaxed and enjoying the scenery. After not too long, she was even asleep.

To check on how the boys were doing in the back, I had to crawl belly-down over the pile of stuff and scooch as far back as I could to reach them. I could barely scratch behind their ears, but could easily see that they were pretty quietly curled up either in their carriers, or right in front. Awww. Better than expected!

We soon came to realize the one big problem with a six-day roadtrip heading south-west: the sun. As in, driving off into the sunset. It seems the last four hours of our day were spent squinting through our sunglasses, and the last hour wishing we had extra pairs to layer on. See what I mean:

Bright horizons sound good, but this is ridiculous!

We pushed on 360 miles and our nearing our first state border. The five of us are now snug in a hotel room and the Tabbies are no doubt thinking, "So... this is the new house you've been telling us about? Man, you must've lost your job, mom!" But as long as they eat (yup), use the litterbox (yup), drink water (we're watching) and don't howl all night (Toby!) - this trip might just go okay. 

Meanwhile, we'll all watch the scenery unfold outside the window. For now, it's rolling hills, farm houses and barns in frosty hollers, and stands of dead-looking winter trees, huddled against the 23-degree day.

Exito!

Spanish definition of "exito" = success.

Spanglish definition of "exito" = the way out, a way to leave somewhere* 

Therefore, I'm happy to note the equation: exito = exito

Yup, the 3/3 is in the can. More than just the culmination of over a year of Spanish training and immersion, this also means that I'll be off language probation, a requisite for making tenure as a FS Officer and being able to keep my job. Therefore, the relief is enormous.

Honestly, most of the test is a blur, and the details are protected under the "don't tell anyone" clause I had to sign before stepping into the testing chamber, I mean, suite. However, I can offer some general impressions:

In retrospect, I spoke to about 75% of my abilities, with the other 25% swept out the window in a wave of adrenaline and nervous chattering. I think this is normal, as it seems a rare few of us perform better than normal under one-shot-at-the-goal pressure. Bunches of silly errors went unnoticed by me, and the testers were kind enough not to visibly cringe as I made them (but clearly noted them in our post-test review). Other times, I self-corrected or found second or third ways to say what I was stumbling for. They gave me credit for that under the umbrella of "you can make yourself be understood," which was kind. Fortunately, my nervous-talking-thing also played a somewhat positive role, as the testers told me they enjoyed my energy and enthusiasm and the fact that I really wanted to make myself understood. Yes, I do! Thank you for noticing that, kind tester guys. 

By the time I got to the reading portion, fatigue was setting in was making it hard to focus my eyes and the pages were getting a bit blurry. (Oh, by the way, this has nothing to do with being over 40. Nope, nothing at all, so just stop that crazy talk right now, 'kay?) Besides, I'm kind of a "big picture" gal, meaning, for example I may remember that I saw a bunch of friends at lunch and they seemed happy. Don't ask me to name each one, or who was wearing the blue sweater, Officer. I like to refer to my memory and understanding of what I perceive as "impressionistic." But for the reading section, they are looking for more, shall we say, pointillism? We have to note not only the main gist of the piece we're reading: "The author writes about having lunch with friends," but also all the supporting details:

"One was eating soup, but she didn't seem to like it and tried to pass it on to someone else. There was also a man in his early 30s who was eating a greasy pizza, and while he was enjoying it, it was obvious that he was feeling a deep sense of guilt for not having ordered a salad instead. This was evident by the furrow of his brow and his occasional glancing around the table to compare his lunch to what others had chosen. A tone of general conviviality was present, as the conversation was lighthearted and exhibited occasional bursts of laughter or good-natured teasing among those seated at the table."  

See what I mean? 

After giving my big-picture regurgitation, they then asked for this level of detail, and that was tough. Because you can't use the same words that the author uses; you have to put them into your own words - in English, thankfully. So "friends having lunch" becomes, "a casual group of peers, perhaps neighbors or coworkers, are sharing a noontime meal." Paragraph by paragraph, this went on for at least an hour. 

After the reading section, the examiners released the victim, uh, me to the waiting room to, well, wait. And wait. One woman was told that after quite a wait, they would email her at the end of the day with the results. My guess was that they were having to review the tape (yes, it's recorded) to come to a conclusion. Poor thing. My wait was only about ten minutes, fortunately, and then they ushered me back into the room for the results. I saw their noted score on the page before they could tell it to me and it was all I could do to keep from kissing them, or crying. I imagine crying frequently happens in these rooms; and I doubt they'd have been too surprised. 

So that's that. I celebrated with homemade cookies from my classmate. She had written a congratulations message on the baggie even before hearing the results, and promised that she didn't have a consolation baggie stashed away in her purse somewhere. 

We'll point the car for the border late next week after completing our pack-out and the lengthy check-out process from FSI. Then I have to say goodbye to friends and teachers and Hogwarts.

Yikes - it's all coming.

*You know I just made this up, right? I don't think there is a Spanglish dictionary. Yet.

Next: The Long Drive South

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.