Ottawa Winters

Winters in Ottawa are bleak, dark, lonely, and barren.  It's a bit quirky how people walk as fast as they possibly can when going from cars to buildings to different buildings, yet it's a slower walk than one would normally have due to the extra pounds and layers of down coats, snow boots, gloves, scarves, and "tucs" (beanies).

Growing up in the South, I've always been mindful of greeting people and holding the door open for them when possible.  But when the wind cuts through you at negative 5+ degrees, you couldn't care less about being polite; you just want to shut out that razor sharp cold as quickly as possible.  Now, I'm not saying that there aren't parts of the winter here that are beautiful.

Last night, after my boys had gone to sleep, I went outside and watched these beautiful snowflakes fall that were just little mists of shaved ice swirling around.  Snow falling: now, that is beautiful.  I find myself absolutely hypnotized by it without meaning to be.  On the other hand, the three inches of solid cracking ice that I have in my driveway right now are pretty much the antichrist when it comes to winter.

I know at what temperature the moisture in one's nose freezes, and I can tell more or less how cold it is by how much it hurts to breathe in deeply right when you walk outside.  If you cough instantly, it's time to turn around and pick up the hat.   One thing that is completely counter-intuitive during a "hard" winter is that it's the sunny days that are the coldest!  We find ourselves wishing for snow because snow means warmer temperatures.  Apparently, the clouds provide a layer of warmth/insulation from the cold atmosphere; so it's no wonder that you can find vitamin D drops at gas stations.

Another hard part about the winter is the lack of sunlight.  I mean, the sun comes up around 8:00 AM and goes down around 4:30 PM every day.  But during the summer, the sun rises at 4:00 AM and sets around 10:00 PM.  The two seasons are literally polar opposites.

The ugly side of winter comes down to slush and salt.  Everything from your boots to your coat to your car are constantly covered in a thick, dusty layer of rock salt.  It gets all over the house and on the floorboards of your car.  There's still salt on my coat from last winter; the stuff just simply won't come off!  

One very romantic thing about an Ottawa winter is when the Rideau Canal freezes.  It becomes the longest ice skating rink in the world, and it's not a rare occurrence to see men dressed in suits and carrying attache cases just gliding down the canal on their way to work. It actually becomes a mode of transportation for some  hardcore winter lovers.  I wish I could get into that type of thing; however, this Southern girl just wants to feel the hot sun on her skin.

Another Waiting Game

Well, the bidding season is over for another two or three years; and I can't say I'm sorry about that.  I have to say, though, that I'll kind of miss the unknown and all of the adrenaline rushes that go with it.  My husband was able to lobby his way into our number one choice: Albania!  We'll be there for two years with a one-year stopover in D.C. for language training.  I can't believe that he was actually able to do it.  Lobbying is tricky; there's no doubt about that, and he pulled it off spectacularly.

Now, I have to say that the first question we're usually asked--including by my own family--is, "Why Albania?"  Well, for those relatively new to government service--especially those with small children and a trailing spouse without his or her own career--just don't make much money.  For those who fall into that category, while London and Paris are the ideal, they are by no means practical.  For instance, I can pay a housekeeper around $20+ an hour in Paris, or I can pay $4 an hour in Albania.  Economics is/are economics.  There's no way around that.

Anyone who has ever known me knows that my biggest and longest-held dream is to live in Paris, France one day.  Well, why in the hell would I want to live in Paris now?  I couldn't afford a babysitter; therefore, I wouldn't be able to really LIVE in Paris.  So, hopefully, one day, I'll get to live that dream.  Until then, my hubby found a job that will allow us to live in Europe but not on the Euro.  We'll be a few miles from Greece by car and about 80 miles from Italy by ferry.  I can't think of anything more exciting!

Lobbying is a big part of the bidding process once you're no longer entry level; and lobbying might get you to Paris.  But I'd rather us go there when we can afford to enjoy it.

So--Albania!!!  I've been researching it a lot; and while it looks like the language is going to be a beast to learn, I truly believe we're going to have so many opportunities there.  Living in Canada has been amazing.  It's completely first world all the way, which entry level government workers are lucky to get in the FS; but it's just so expensive to do anything with the kids.  A round of mini golf for a family of four is $50; so we don't get to do that much.  I'm looking forward to cheap travel (Ryanair anyone?) and new cultural experiences.  I've loved living in Canada, but I am definitely at the FIGMO point or almost anyway.  For non government people, FIGMO means: F#ck It, I Got My Orders! :)  It's okay to laugh; we all do.

Language training means a whole year in DC, where my oldest will go to school in the U.S. for the very first time.  It's kind of weird to say that this will be his fourth school, and he'll only be in Kindergarten!  Then we have to think of daycare for the youngest, life sharing a small apartment, etc.  It's just going to be a whole new world for our family!  I'm planning, planning, planning; and, of course, I'm getting nowhere :).

Bidding

Well, it's that time again:  bidding season is here.  Life in this type of lifestyle revolves around two things:  spending a year to a year and a half getting acclimated to a new culture, country, time zone, language, food, custom, weather, etc. and spending the other year to year and a half researching and planning for your next life with a new culture, country, time zone, language, food, custom, weather, etc.  The time spent in between the two is kind of like what I imagine Purgatory to be like:  a darkish, fast-paced existence where you're praying not to get sent to hell!  This "purgatory" appears to be our home base for the next couple of months, meaning nothing will be finalized until then.

When not busy at work, my hubby and I spend our days researching various places that are on the list of "possibilities."  Some of these places are completely polar opposites from where we are now--by that I am also referring to the polar opposite of this side of the world.  Right now, we're looking at mainly the South Pacific.

Two of the options are calling to us and both for completely different reasons.  Both are third-world countries; however, one is more more developed than the other.  I guess, compared to the lesser known of the two, choice number one would be more like "second" world:  a place where there are skyscrapers and shopping malls and cheap travel to other exotic locations,etc.  But the cost of living is still cheap enough to let us save a good bit of money if we don't, in fact, make very frequent use of that "cheap travel to exotic locations."  The reasons we most want to go to choice number one are the fact that there is no doubt I'll be able to find a job and there will be TONS of inexpensive things to do with the kids.

Choice number two is almost like the great unknown.  It's a newish, developing country that has seen hard times but is quickly (so it seems) overcoming them and in the process of developing a very new democracy. This place is not exactly the "Wild  Wild West"; however, it is intriguing.  We'd be on a small island in the Pacific.  The expat community seems small but very close-knit from what we can tell.  There are many small kids there, good schools, decent housing, etc.  There's supposedly amazing deep sea diving and snorkeling, etc. Cost of living is NOTHING.  From what I can find on the internet, hostels are like $5/night.  I wouldn't stay in one, but that is a pretty decent point of reference.  It's a consumables post, meaning I'd have to do two years worth of peanut butter, olive oil, and granola bar shopping before we'd ever leave the States.  It's also language designated, which means we would have to spend the better part of a year back in Washington learning a very difficult language.  Then there's the anti-malarial drugs we'd have to all be on, etc.  I know you're probably thinking, "Why would you even consider going there then???"  Yeah, I totally get that attitude; it would not be an easy tour for us.  There's the possibility we'd be absolutely bored stupid for two to three years.  And it's a fact that Ophelia and Tennyson, our cats, would have to be in quarantine for up to six months.  And it's a fact that we would have to obtain a right-hand drive car with 4WD.  I mean, the cons are quite numerous.  BUT...the kicker is...if we go and stay for three years, we can come home and  put a very significant down payment on a house.  You see, there are SIGNIFICANT financial incentives for doing hardship tours.  The harder the hardship, the more significant the incentives.  I have to say it is tempting.

So, I guess to bring my initial thoughts full circle, I'll say this:  in our case, going from "Purgatory" to hell won't be quite an unwelcome challenge.  There is so much good that can be done there.  So much.  But, choice number one is the one we're fighting for; it's what our family would really and without a doubt thrive in.  But I have to say that something about choice number two is just calling to both of us...

The Unknown

Trying to find your own way in life when you are a trailing spouse can be difficult and unsure much of the time.  I never know where we'll be going from one year to the next (like now), and planning for any type of job security can be impossible.  My life right now is completely uncertain:  where I'll be this time next year, what language I'll be speaking, where my kids will be going to school, how my kids will handle losing their Nana when we leave Canada, what our new house/apartment will be like, what kind of car we'll have or need (some places only allow right-hand drives), what kind of weather to expect, if there will be a job for me at the next place, if the kids will be able to adjust to a completely new life in a new place/culture, etc.  The list just goes on and on.  These "unknowns" are equal parts adrenaline and panic for me.  I've said before that I always feel the need to plan for the future or at least have an idea what to expect.   The next few months are completely out of my hands right now.  And add to that the fact that I am trying to get hired in my own right, which throws a wrench—a permanent wrench—into the whole equation.  It's a logistical nightmare, and it's the life I have chosen.  The hardest part right now is NOT being an officer/employee in my own right because I have absolutely no say-so in where we go or how to mold the process the way I want.  I have to leave everything up to my husband, which is hard for me.

However, I feel my heart race when I think about all of the possibilities, scary though they are.  Will it be Africa or Europe or even the south Pacific?  Only time will tell…but I wish it would hurry up.

Never Judge a Man Until You've Walked A Mile in His Shoes

Everybody judges everyone else; it's human nature.  We judge women's outfits and cleavage (or lack of it) and hair-dos.  We judge men on the kind of car they drive, the way they treat their women, and on what kind of job they have. Hey, we're all guilty of it.  But, just maybe, sometimes we need to look at the whole picture.  Not every book can be judged by its cover; and not every man, woman, or child SHOULD be judged for the basic surface elements.

Someone very close to me grew up under conditions that would make any "normal" person cringe to hear about: a childhood filled with drug addicts, beatings, neglect, and abuse.  When someone grows up that way, you not only expect them to grow up lawless, drug-addicted, and worthless (and with every right to do so considering how they were raised), but you're positive that's how they'll be.  Sometimes, though, those people find a way to become productive members of society: a good job, loving spouse, kids, etc.  But, I've recently learned, sometimes all of those things are just a sham.  In fact, sometimes, while they seem like they're the exact opposite of taking copious amounts of drugs and alcohol to numb/hide the pain of an unimaginable childhood; they're actually the way of hiding the pain--until the pain gets too deep.

This person I am speaking of grew up in a living hell but learned a trade, started a family, and did well for years.  Now, (s)he is just out of the hospital after a second suicide attempt, and I am watching as they fall into the abyss of what they know, rather than what they've created.  And it's easy for me to judge; it's so easy.  But I didn't grow up that way; in fact, I had the exact opposite:  parents that loved me and protected me, food every day, a safe home full of laughter.  And I keep telling myself that you can never judge a (wo)man until you've walked a mile in his/her shoes.

But I am so angry that this person, whom I love so much, is fighting the hard fight to eventually become a statistic.  If (s)he'd never done anything, never made it to start with, I wouldn't feel so angry and disappointed.    But, then again, who am I to judge?  Because I have never (and, hopefully, will never) walk a mile in those shoes.

And neither, hopefully, will you.

Family, Friends, & Good Southern Food

One of the things that I miss about the South is the emphasis on family.  Almost everyone that I knew when I was growing up still gets together with their family once a week or so.  These "get-togethers" inevitably revolve around good food and often around some type of seafood boil or fry.  Every holiday or birthday party that my family shared together when I was growing up took place around a newspaper-covered picnic table outside of someone's house.   Actually, they still do; only I'm not around anymore to take part.

There are crawfish boils, crab boils, shrimp boils--you name it!  I remember the men in my family carrying large, steaming baskets of these delicious delicacies to the picnic tables with various boat oars and dumping them out in gigantic piles.  I can still taste the potatoes and corn on the cob boiled right there with the seafood, burning your lips with cayenne pepper and crab boil.  Often, we'd have some kind of freshly-caught fish frying in a giant fryer outside; and they'd be dumped out into large, paper towel-covered Pyrex dishes and passed around.  I can still hear my Dad or my brother or even my Grandpa telling us that another batch was about to come out of the water.  We all knew what that meant:  dump the heads and shells in a trash can and put down some extra newspaper so we could start all over again.

After everyone got their full of whatever they'd been peeling and eating, the kids would go off to play some type of game, ride the 4-wheeler, or hunt for eggs while the moms and grandmothers sat down to finish peeling the rest. You see, none of that food ever goes to waste; it's peeled and packaged in individual ziplock bags so that they can be distributed to those who want to cook a fettuccine or gumbo or what have you.  Then, everybody'd come back and wrap up all the newspaper and break out the desserts.

Most cultures show their love for their families and each other through good food; so I am not writing about any kind of out-of-the-ordinary custom.  I just feel that South Louisiana is a bit different.  People there are so close to each other; they understand each other.  They/We also share a beautiful, centuries old custom that will last for centuries more.

When Souls Collide

I do realize how silly and naive this is going to sound, but I truly believe that when people fall in love--real love--that their souls collide.  I suppose that's where the term, "soul mates" comes from.  I was thinking about my husband this morning and about how we started out.  I felt like we'd known each other forever or even before.  I can't believe how comfortable I felt around him from the first.  I just KNEW him.

Now, I was raised up in a Christian faith, and I am not going to try to deny those teachings when I say this; but I do believe that some (if not all) people have past lives.  I believe I'm one of those people.  I don't know why I have always been completely obsessed with Paris, France, but I have.  I've always wanted to live there and be there and be "of" Paris if that even makes sense.  The first time that I went there, I was 17 years old.  I've said in other blog entries that my life was never the same; something changed in me--in my soul.  I was on a school trip and without my parents; but from the moment I arrived, I felt home.  I knew where I was.  I knew how to get around.  Everything was familiar to me: the food, the smells, the sights, everything.  Why is that?  I believe that at some point, my soul was there; and it remembered.

That's exactly the way I felt when I met my husband:  I'd been there before.  Call me crazy if you want or laugh; it's perfectly fine with me.  But I know that when my soul collided with his, it finally felt at peace.  Now, maybe some day, I'll get to have my husband and Paris together.  What a collision that would be!