Kirkland sparkling water

Per the Foreign Service Act of 1980, this summer we completed our Home Leave “to ensure that employees who live abroad for an extended period undergo reorientation and re-exposure in the United States on a regular basis.” It took two weeks of DC concrete, two weeks of Colorado mountains, and two weeks of Missouri rivers to make it feel like Uzbekistan was a distant memory- but only just. The fun of home leave didn’t shake the heartache of missing my Tashkent friends and colleagues, but rather amplified it. I feel their pull of stories, laughter, support, and pranks, even as I write this from my new post in Astana. Only now, it’s the angsty pull of not just Tashkent, but the U.S. friends and family I reconnected with too.

In addition to seeing old friends from previous posts and lifetimes, highlights of Washington included our kids independently taking Metro down to the National Mall, visiting museums and monuments, and vibing at the Folk Life Festival while Mark and I went to trainings all week. Mark took a reassuring retirement seminar, while I learned how to get into a helicopter (pro tip: duck low) and drive a getaway car Fast and Furious style. After rekindling my love for music and rocking out with the Fowl Owls (or maybe it was the Foul Owls??) I bought a flute off Facebook and trialed it in a highly trafficked women’s bathroom at Nordstrom in Tyson’s Corner. We ate too much Costco “trash pizza” and drank cases of Kirkland sparkling water.

Colorado time was filled with daily bike rides but this time mostly on gravel. (Mark anticipates all season riding to work in Astana, so he bought a steel cross bike to manage his commute. School is a five minute walk from our house and our growing children (how do they do it so quickly?) so we got them cross bikes for their commute as well.) I only brought my road bike which meant they got 2 weeks of riding Centennial Cone trails, while I’d climb up and down Golden Gate Canyon. Then we’d meet for a family ride leading back to my parent’s house. It was pretty perfect. In between rides, we hiked in my parent’s backyard and schemed on stealing my brother’s poodle named Jed. Colorado evenings entailed Hazel Miller Band, Shawn Eckels Band, and Billy Joel, and SO many home cooked dinners, my favorite way to food and each meal paired nicely with cases of Kirkland sparkling water.

Fishing, hiking, and canoeing ruled our Missouri time. My father-in-law took us to Roaring River State Park, a place he used to bring Mark and Mark's brother Danny for trout fishing. They fished at Taneycomo Lake, a place “guaranteed for catches” and while the act of fishing was a success, they caught nothing. One try left, we canoed and fished the James River, something Mark would have never fathomed doing as a kid. Back then, the river was famous for being disgusting. So much so, Big Smith wrote a song about it called Dirty Old James. However, state conservation efforts improved conditions of the river so well that herons, eagles, and other animals have since returned. When we couldn’t get out of the city, the Springfield Conservation Center assuaged the need for bird watching and tree bathing. Other SPFD field trips included Buc-ee’s, a gas station of 24/7 Texan proportions with a vibe not unlike Black Friday, and the World’s Largest Fork (by mass) weighing 11 tons. Probably the same amount of consumed Kirkland sparkling water on this MO trip.

And poof! After hefting our rental car from Denver to Springfield and back and consumed ample amounts of Chipotle and Kirkland sparkling water in the world’s most monotonous 12-hour drive across Kansas, home leave time was up. In CO, we organized consumables, packed bags, and said a temporary goodbye to our bicycles before catching flights to Astana for the next round of Foreign Service life.

Kids on their own (credit: Margo)

Hiking with Grandpa Tom

Fishing with Grandpa David

On the James River, canoes from Hootentown (credit: Margo)

A big fork. SPFD.

Leaning into beaver culture if only for 20 minutes.

A rock we paid waaaaay too much money to see in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

Driving across Kansas with Window Peeper,
 the green monster puppet.

Pretending we are either 8 year girls, or 80 year old women at that Brown Palace for Tea Time.
The Great 2024 Bestie Summit: my college bestie and her North Dakota bestie.

Hiking in mom's backyard. (credit: Mark)

Mark and the kids with Grandma Kaye, Grandpa Tom, their cousins Isaac and Alina,
Uncle Gabe and Aunt Nettie with Jed the dog. (Credit: Mark)

Centennial Cone

More hiking in their wee backyard.

 Hazel Miller Band and so many people wearing
hats at 13,000 feet.

Golden Mill with musician Shawn Eckels,
cousin/football player/cycling shorts model/actor/producer/Bryan Harris, 
and Pennsylvania stoop legend and dear friend "Tuesday" Jenn Marti.

 Vintage bike dreams do come true at Golden Velo

BILLIE JOEL! (Credit: Amy)

My first time scootering. (credit: Amy)

Kansas Meme-ing.

Missouri Summer 2022

Cycling in the Missouri hills is a special kind of torture. Instead of slow, thigh burning climbs and long descents like we get in Colorado, we get short steep hills that result in disorganized pedal strokes and spiking heart rates without any real reprieve. That and armadillo carcasses splatter the asphalt everywhere make for some interesting gore to navigate around. However, since biking and more family visits were a must, onward we went to Grandmother's house.

Dismantling four bikes meant for creative packing in the car, but our efforts were rewarded by riding bikes with Grandpa along the James River, through the Battle of Wilson's Creek, and down nameless country roads. In between spandex shorts washings, we took advantage of getting into the water as much as possible because Missouri in July means sweltering heat, the kind that leaves you saying "that's gonna leave a mark" immediately after you leave the air conditioning. We canoed, fished, boated, floated, water-parked, and swam. We went camping where the temperature never dropped below 90F but still had to sleep in tents because Missouri mosquitos take prisoners. 

These trips in the great outdoors were especially fun because their Uncle Danny joined. Usually, he worked long hours at the bar he owned, or had projects that demanded attention: remodeling his house, planting his garden, or planning his next big idea. Danny always had something going on, so the fact that he took off some time to spend with his niece and nephew meant a lot. He taught them how to throw a proper frisbee. At least tried to. He glowed when Deets caught a huge fish and cheered on Margo when they avoided dumping their canoe over a river drop. The kids died of laughter when Uncle Danny showed up to a bonfire night wearing choo-choo train overalls without shirt, and we made ourselves sick eating s'mores.

Childhood friends of Mark's heard we had returned to the great Midwest, so they threw their kids in the truck and drove up from Dallas on a whim to introduce their kids to our kids, and remember the glory days of Oregon. These guys are the raucous kind who skateboard in random and dumb places, just because it is something to do. Natural thrill seekers, they grew up jumping from roofs, skipping over fences into private pools, and getting mullet haircuts purely based on a dare, and they probably parkour too. The children of Mark's buddies are the exact same. On this heart filled reunion, we all piled into the J.O.B. public house, Danny's bar, and an evening of chucking frisbees at each other began.  Even when a frisbee hit the one of the boys' faces, the debauchery continued with laughter, beer drinking, and making suicides from the soda gun. 

Missouri meant reconnecting with grandparents, friends, and neighbors who owned heavy machinery. The kids went to their first baseball game, drove their first backhoe, and burned their feet on the waterpark sidewalks after frost-burning their tongues on Dippin' Dots - giving them a pretty good sense of what it means to spend summer in Midwest America. 

Neighbor Steve's Backhoe

Battle of Wilson's Creek. The North lost. 

J.O.B. under David's plaque:
"This Spot Reserved for David Thomas Schlink,
July 7, 2031"

Morning mist on the North Fork

Camping when it was so hot. Too hot, probably. 
But we were too proud to admit it.

Gramps

Unca' Danny with the kids

Brothers gon' fishing

Rooftoppin' at the J.O.B.

Summer of Quarantine and Travel: VA to MO to CO to UZ

When arriving to a new country, the excitement of taking in new sights, sounds, and smells usually make up for the hassles of flying, jet lag, and bewilderment of navigating unfamiliar expectations. Exploring neighborhoods and wandering through grocery stores are among my favorite activities for not only finding calm and gaining independence, but also to help with the activation energy that is needed to overcome an eleven hour time difference. Instead, we were sequestered inside the walls of our new home (a wonderful home to be sure) for a strict fourteen days, relying on grocery delivery services, our shitty grasp of Russian language, and the good will of Mark’s work sponsor to be our connection to the outside world. 

We knew our arrival to Uzbekistan would be super isolating but it was still a surprisingly hard adjustment. It didn’t help that one of our computers crapped out and the internet went down after the first day. Jet lagging exhaustion came in waves and it took all I could muster not to pass out on the couch, so I took running the stairs or pacing the hot tiles of our inner courtyard. Nothing seemed doable in the fog of nausea and there were only so many movies, games, and reading material we could stomach and rewatch for the tenth time. Every afternoon we’d take a strict, one hour nap. Getting up afterwards was brutal and for rest of the day we all looked like we had raging cases of pink eye. We’d pick at dinner and crawl into bed, hopeful that this time, we’d get to sleep an extra hour… five. Only to have our bodies bing us awake at 2:30am, 4:00am, and 4:40am like some sort of effed up clockwork.

We are lucky. We have our own beds and space in which to reacclimatize to Tashkent’s timezone and quarantine. I was told the repatriated citizens who were on the the charter plane with us from NY would be required to do the same at a state run facility. I keep this in mind when I get a case of the whines. 

Getting here at all took a lot of heavy lifting by the embassy crew. I am humbled by the travel team who waited hours long lines to add us to the long waitlist. I am grateful for the team who prepared our home, left us food and drink, and delivered our weary bodies to the doorstep. Boredom and jet lag are a small price to pay for us being able to move our lives forward after months of waiting, cancellations, and the annoyingly all-too-common anxiety of not knowing what’s what with life these days.

Speaking of gratefulness, I would be remiss not to mention all the joy and valuable family time we got to spend in Missouri and Colorado. Mark finished his training at the end of June which meant our lease was up in Virginia and we had all of July and possibly all of August to take home leave. At the time, we couldn’t find any airlines flying pets so we opted to rent a car for our travel. Aside from Margo vomiting into the wind while we were driving on the highway causing apple-pastry scented spray-back throughout the car, the drive was unremarkable. It took us many wipes, towels, and attempts to clean it up. Even the dog needed a bath. 

It took us 15 hours in one go to get to Missouri where we spent our days road biking, canoeing, and boating. Mark often complained that cycling in Missouri meant never finding a rhythm because of all the short and steep hills, but I loved it. I did well with the short bursts of energy needed to climb and descend. Deets all but lived in Grandpa’s garage woodworking, and Margo was her Grandmother’s wee sidekick, making cookies and swimming in their hot tub. We blew up fireworks, watched Hamilton, and ate blackberries from their backyard.

In Colorado, we enjoyed our first ever family reunion with my parents and my brother’s family. It was such a special experience introducing the cousins while we hiked until our knees gave out and grilled all the meats. Road biking CO-style brought back brutal memories of Mark effortlessly prancing up long-ass climbs while I heaved for every breath in the saddle. Visiting my home state made us remember how much we loved living there. Mark and I decided that Salida would be our backup retirement location, should the Slovenian mountains not pan out. 

I use the memories and hugs, photos and mementoes, and laughs and tears we collected during this time to carry me through the sadness of moving away from the U.S. I wasn’t ready to leave, especially under the circumstances that no one knows what’s going to happen next. It was a gift to spend the summer with my MO & CO family, and not just because they willingly accommodated 4 people, 1 dog, 1 kennel, 8 bags, and all the miscellaneous crap/essentials we thought with us. It was also a gift to know that regardless of what happens or where we go, we will always have more than one place to hang our hats and hearts. 

A Good Home Leave Part II

The second half of home leave brought us to Springfield, Missouri where my in-laws could enjoy quality grandchild time. This was also their opportunity to show me their favorite parts of Missouri. But before we could kick back and relax in the "Queen City of the Ozarks," we took a road trip to St. Louis for a mix of birthday parties, mini family reunions, and good old American sight seeing. We got to enjoy the radiating humidity at the St. Louis Museum of Transportation and the muggy drip of the St. Louis Zoo. While they stole the kids for a day at the air conditioned Magic House, I treated myself to an oppressive steam bath by wandering the colonial streets of St. George. HUMID. But enjoyable too. 

Back home to Springfield, the kids left little time for relaxation. They were too excited to ride Grandpa's speed boat, work in his wood shop, and camp in the back yard. They were keyed up for Grandma's tea parties, movie dates and MANY trips to the parks. Deets and Margo obsessed over their Uncle Danny, eating their way through his cooking. 

After all these years, I finally had my in-laws to myself. Obviously I ached for Mark's hugs and company, but I never had quality one-on-one time with my in-laws.  It was a great chance to get to know them better and watch them shine in their hometown element.  I hope it was a good opportunity for them to know me better too. My time in Missouri left me wanting "just a few more days." I felt empty and anxious as the kids and I passed through airport security for our first of 3 legs over 48 hours to get to our new home. But I left feeling totally supported and loved despite the massive miles between us. That's what I call a good home leave. 

 

Transportation Museum, St. Louis MO
Knobs and dials too hot to touch. 

Doing science experiments with cousins at the hotel.

Sharing a St. Louis Zoo popsicle that matches the pond.

Gloriousness of boating in Table Mesa.

Trying not to pee my leggings.

The sweetness of reunions!

Playground master. 

I tried not to look up, fearing what was crawling up there.
I looked up.

My best friend putting me to work.

Two men and their rope.
Firefighting training center.

Taking lead for a fire rescue.

All day long. Seriously.

Beer with a view- at THE Bass Pro.

More please.

Just a small woodcarving habit.

 Outside Uncle Danny's restaurant.

And inside his bar. The pic is of Deets at 3 months.
This exact seat is reserved for him July 7, 2021.

Biding our last minutes few minutes together.

Saying Goodbye Sucks

For Independence Day, I learned what southwest Missourians consider macaroni salad: noodles, hard boiled egg, black olives, pickles, mustard, mayo, and a pinch of paprika for color. It was a food I'd never tried before. We had the good fortune to join another family for dinner tonight because Mark had to leave town for a family illness where ironically, he flew to southwest Missouri. The whole dining experience was priceless because the girls who made the macaroni salad used a family-created recipe and they eat it every Independence Day, along with something called "raspberry salad" (tart raspberry gelatin, raspberry fruit, marshmallows) and my favorite vegetable: pork ribs- dry rubbed and roasted. It's pretty hardcore, but there's nothing like a good dose of comfort food when the going gets a little sad.

Mark's grandmother has been ill for some time but very recently stopped eating and drinking, spending very few moments, if any, awake. Thankfully hospice has been managing her care at home which means the family can keep her company and allow for a peaceful transition. Not that any of this makes it any easier to deal with the death of a loved one, but... it's something, and from what I know about my grandmother-in-law, this is how she rolls.  I am relieved that Mark could make it back in time to say his goodbyes and also to be the amazing pillar of support that he is to all of us. 

Needless to say, life here has been more serious and somber than usual. I feel selfish even mentioning other other aspects of my life in the same blog post of a dying relative, especially since I try to keep my writings upbeat and oh hell- a little bit funny. Then I realized that since I've avoided writing anything going on in my life, I don't sort out my thoughts and feelings well. Effectively, I become a different and cantankerous person. For this I owe my husband a big fat apology.  It seems then- the sad, boring, and unfunny parts are just as important as the ones with levity and joy.

So let's catch up in less than 100 words: Portuguese continues to challenge me mentally and emotionally. Physically too- when I get up from my chair, it's as if I've been riding a mechanical bull. I have five weeks left, and I will drag myself to the finish if I have to. Mark passed his Portuguese exam and started on the management leg of training.  We seem to be eating a lot of chicken lately. Oh- and the kids are copacetic. I spend my evenings reading stories, building space shuttles, and chasing after a girl who thinks clothes are always optional.

As I sit at my computer, listening to the fireworks explode and smelling the sulfurous smoke drifting in,  I've resolved to reflect on these past few weeks and settle my anxieties about crap that really doesn't matter in the long run. It's a sad yet momentous Independence Day and I am glad Mark's grandmother can spend one last 4th of July with the people who matter to her most. What I can do in return for her, is to remind her great-grandchildren about how crazy she was about them, and share memories of their earliest years: Time spent running around her house in circles while I had a heart attack they might break something (they did- she didn't care one bit), playing hide-n-seek in the closets, and enjoying the toys and $2.00 bills she always sent them for birthdays and holidays. There's definitely comfort in that too. Sweet Fran, you will be missed. 

Fran and David L. Schlink
Schlink wedding (3.12.2010)

Favorite gift from Great Grandma: rabbit for stew.
(4.2.2012)

Three generations of solid Schlink lineage

Plus one more great grandchild for trouble.