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. 

Photography Diversion

To balance out free time spent playing Soccer Manager and Civilization, Mark created an account with Guru Shots, a site that calls itself "The World's Greatest Photography Game." In a nutshell, signup is free and players submit their best photos and votes are cast. Tinderesque, you swipe right for photos you like, swipe left for the ones you don't. Some contests last for days, others for only a few hours. 

The winning mechanism is a bit more complicated than winning the most votes. Players also have to put in the work, voting through stacks of photos, sometimes hundreds worth, in a wide array of categories to move up the ranks. Challenges change daily and like any good video game, it requires attention, strategy, and constant updating. The lazy ones can literally buy votes for level boosting, but you still have to depend on entering even semi-decent photos. Overall, the site advocates photographers of all sorts of talent to experiment with curating photos and it creates a like-minded, world-wide community. Mark likes it because it forces him to scour through his vast collection, edit, and also to reminisce. 

This morning's category was "Match the Cover" (https://gurushots.com/challenge/match-the-cover9/rank/gurus-top-pick) allowing only 8 hours of voting. The photo in question is displayed below. There's nothing like that in the burbs of Arlington, so David put together LEGO windows and walls, Mark photographed and uploaded it. The photo ended up earning an All Star ranking and placed 400-something in the competition. Not too bad for a few hours work and a few hours killed. 

The Challenge

The Match

The creation

The Competition

Mom-Margo Interview

Margo and I decided to interview each other for one of her writing assignments for whatever counts as school these days. While she asked me questions about childhood pleasures (like, what was my favorite book? What was it like when I lost my first tooth?) she shared her stance on living the quarantine life and came up with useful advice to give her past and future self. 

Mom: For this interview, what title would you like to give yourself?

Margo: Please call me Margo Amelia Schlink Sparkle Unicorn. Yes. You can call me that.

Mom: Can I shorten that to MASSU?

Massu: (laughs) Sure!

Mom: Since we've been living quarantine life, what has been your favorite thing to do?

Massu: I love getting to spend time with my family.

Mom: What was your favorite thing to do prior to this?

Massu: I loved playing on the playgrounds and having water fights without being worried about catching coronavirus. I miss being able to hug people. 

Mom: Let's talk about things you don't miss doing. Is there anything you can't do now, and you are glad because of it?

Massu: I don't exactly miss that people tell me that I can't do things. Like, when we used to pick up packages from the front desk, the lady would tell me it was too heavy and wouldn't let me bring it back to our apartment.

Mom: What are you most excited to do for the rest of this year?

Massu: I can't wait to get into our new house and moving to Uzbekistan and seeing my grandparents. I also can't wait to make new friends. 

Mom: Is there anything you'd like to tell your younger self, like any advice you would like to pass on?

Massu: Don't let other kids take you over!

Mom: What would you like to tell your future self?

Massu: I would remind myself that I always love my mommy and daddy and David.

Mom: You have accomplished a lot of activities with home school. What are you most proud of?

Massu: Oh, learning my multiplication facts. 

Mom: Which one is your favorite?

Massu: My favorites are 11x11 and 12x12 because you were so surprised that I knew them in a snap!

Mom: That's definitely true, I was shocked! My favorite has always been 8x4 and I have no idea why.

Mom: What have been some of your favorite books to read and why?

Massu: I love the Hank Zipzer books because they are so funny. I also love I Am Jazz. My grandma sent it to me. I like it because it shows that you should be whoever you want to be.

Cutting Some Slack

Day 57 

I've started this posting about 5,000 different times, and of those 4,999 attempts, different emotions have gotten in the way. One moment I am fine, resigned to the status we are in. I make peace with the waiting and unknown. In other moments, I am hopeless, mad, hysterical, anxious, sad, or embarrassed, though usually all of the above. Or I feel nothing at all. Worst of all, I know I am not the only one with these ups and downs. The fact that "we are all in this together" gives me no comfort. Instead, I feel even more angry and helpless on behalf of every single individual's suffering, whether you are a friend, stranger, neighbor, or family member. It sucks and I hate it. 

The world has a palpably negative vibration and enduring it is exhausting. Processing feelings is exhausting and for a while I was pretty good at avoiding it. One day, I looked into a mirror and saw nothing but a sour, dark eyed hag with a pinched, butthole-mouth looking back. My emotional poker face fools no one. But, now I write to hold myself accountable to my feelings. Every day I work to maintain a separation of self-worth from the brittle ups and downs of the unknown. I remind myself they are not one and the same.

Some days are productive and positive. Some days are only meh and blah, while others are sorrowful. These woes don't even include the news which packs such an unjust and emotional punch, that it makes it hard to sleep at night. I feel like I don't have the right to write (rejoice or complain) about anything in my life because others have it so badly. But I realized I can and should take care of my own soul and still do my part to make things right. So, I write.

The reality is, of course I am fine, and will continue to be fine. Our short term plans are like everyone else's: stay at home, continue with school and training, and keep our fingers crossed and our faces masked. My kids are fabulous and brave. They seem to be handling the seclusion from friends and stress of having me be their teacher quite well. I have gotten to know their strengths and weaknesses as writers, readers, and mathematicians, as they have gotten to know my displeasure of understanding poetry and discerning fractions from decimals. Margo taught me Common Core however, which to my surprise, actually isn't that bad. 

Mark is my rock. He's my planner, doer, and positiver. When I am tossing and turning, and grinding my teeth through the night, he stays up thinking alternative game plans for our future should prior plans not work out. He is endlessly encouraging and when I am berating myself, he lifts me up. Sometimes I ask him why he loves me. He tells me that I don't need to know why (although he would give me a rundown if I asked), but that I need to simply accept that he does. 

Self care: when I am not teaching the kids, I doodle and sketch, and collect CEUs, continuing education credits, to maintain my nursing license. I am required to complete 24 credits every two years, and right now I have about 80. I have a nursing job waiting for me in Uzbekistan so with luck, I will get to put the knowledge to use this fall. Or maybe I don't want to- because it would mean I'd be dealing with STDs and fungus infections and diarrhea and of course corona virus, none of which I would wish anyone to have. I have really missed patient care.   

Long term wise, things get more complicated when Mark completes his training in June. We were told to plan as usual, which is to go on Home Leave (government mandated vacation) and onward to our post at some point. Ideally it would be July, but due to well... life, no one knows the when or how. We have friends and colleagues waiting to return to the States upon completion of their tours and others waiting to move abroad. Some families are waiting here to go back to their previous lives overseas. The entire system is navigating blind and making adjustments along the way, all the while with manpower scattered around the world holding their breaths like we are. In short: it is complicated, so we wait and fake embrace the icy cold-warmth of the unknowing and settle into whatever counts as patience these days.  

Forest Bathing 

Yellow Smock, Blue Dress, Black Suit

I have a deep appreciation for my husband's sense of humor and patience. Today he let me dress him up in tights and fashion his likeness to a knight from the Middle Ages for the Getty Art Challenge where art lovers recreate famous pieces of art using only what we have on hand. Mark was modeled after Jacques de Lalaing, a guy who was good with a sword and lance in the Middle Ages. Apparently, Jacques regularly fought and won in tournaments and was considered be quite chivalrous during a time where it was normal to stab people with poleaxes and call it a day.

The kids were also enthusiastic participants for this weekend craft project. Margo dressed up as the Getty's "Young Woman with a Fan," a pastel painting done by an Italian artist who was a high roller for royalty portraitures. The girl's eyes caught my attention and reminded me of Margo's uncanny ability to look into my soul- for better or worse. 

Finding David's likeness was bit more challenging so I had to expand my search beyond the Getty's online collection. I won't lie. It felt very creepy to google "famous art with boys" because I wasn't sure what foxhole I would find, but it ended up being super fitting. I found a piece that would show his creative side and his smoldering side. David could legitimately be a model. He posed in "Hat Storm" by Yann Faucon, a French artist who creates barren, yet oddly full collages as his expressive medium.

Tomorrow brings us Monday- another day full of worksheets, writing, teaching (attempts at), Russian, and daydreaming about what we will do next weekend... inside.

Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing

Young Woman with a Fan

Hat Storm

Situational Associations

During Ms. Prester's Advanced Algebra class my junior year in high school, an announcement came overhead: there had been shooting at Columbine High School. Ms. Prester remained seated on her metal teaching stool and calmly applied another layer of Cetaphil to her hands. She always kept a bottle of it on her desk.  A number of students stood up in a panic but she insisted none of us were going anywhere until fifth period was finished. 

Known as a stern and unbendable teacher, everyone begrudgingly slid back into their seats. As she rotated back to the blackboard and picking up where she left off, my mind tried to process the seriousness of what would ultimately become (at the time) the deadliest school shooting in history. I had a realization. What I thought had been a weird habit of coating her hands in soap, the same one I used at home to wash away oily teen angst, was actually lotion. The association of Cetaphil and guns now are permanently fused in my brain.

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings of my sophomore year of college, I started with anatomy class at 7:30am sharp. Forty-four minutes prior, I watched two planes crash into one of the Twin Towers on my 12" TV that had a built in VCR while in my basement apartment. I tried to wake my roommate but to no avail. She was too sleepy and wasn't having it. Not knowing what else to do, I went to class. My professor was an old codger who insisted that the invention of lotion was nothing more than a pharmaceutical money making scheme. He also wore a lab coat at all times, even in the lecture hall that held several hundred students. Despite the devastating national news he insisted class should continue.  Lotion, guns, and airplane crashes are linked in memory bank of terrible events.

This time it's not lotion, but rather hand-sanitizer imprinting my personal experience of our current viral calamity. Of course, I've been following the spread and have had countless "what if" conversations turn into "if then" conversations. I have seen our grocery store empty and restock and empty again in unpredictable waves. But for me, it all got real a few weeks ago when I was at a park with my daughter and saw a mom lose her mind over her kid dropping his turkey sandwich onto the ground. Like any normal kid, he just picked it up and kept on eating. Appalled, she whisked it from his hands and slathered so much Purell on him it was dripping all over the place. She hissed "Well now you're going to catch the coronavirus because of what you just did!" He was no older than two. 

The smell of the hand-sanitizer was as intense as her stress level as she threw away the rest of his lunch and hauled him away crying. As the flowery-alcoholic smell wafted in my direction, I received THE email: Arlington Public Schools announced its official closure due to coronavirus. From here on out, my small, self-centered life would get a whole lot smaller.

I faced a lot of indecision about whether I should or should not write about what this new, smaller life of mine has been like. I reasoned, who would want to hear about my routine when the most exciting part of my day is choosing which direction to walk the dog every morning- clockwise or counterclockwise? But then I received emails from a friends in different places sharing how the virus has changed their lives, and I read them with great interest. So maybe sharing my own monotony might be interesting to others? 

Life at home has become monotonous but surprisingly, also incredibly busy. I quit taking Russian and took over our kids' schooling. Mark continues his lessons on Skype with his two classmates and instructor for five hours a day. Since I have control over so little right now, I keep a schedule for the kids as we churn through assignments that school sends every morning. They are lifesavers to help pass the day which is a cycle of forty-five minutes of class time followed by a 15 minute break. We do school from 7:45am-2:30pm. They get story time with Grandma and Grandpa to break up the day full of worksheets and writing taskts.

On our breaks, I feel like a sadistic Simon Says, but the kids have taken a liking to my shouting out drill exercises. We are the daily weirdos doing bear crawls, push ups, and zombie walks on the sidewalk. Though they will last only a day or two more, seeing the blooming cherry blossom and magnolia trees has made our walks feel extra special. 

I work out for about 40 minutes every day after school, using Nike Training Club (free at the moment), online yoga, and my current old favorite YouTube channel for women over forty, Fitness With PJ. She's sassy and super knowledgable. Plus I like that she curses. Because let's face it: working out sucks. We live on the first floor which means everyone can see in. There is a particular attention deprived child who, on her daily constitutionals loves to hang onto the window sill and watch my un-glorious grunt show. I have now resorted to closing all the blinds which makes the living room even more claustrophobic.

It could be worse. We are healthy, if perhaps bored and overly frustrated with having no idea what will happen next. Mark has a job that keeps us housed and fed and that alone helps me swallow my humble pie. This week, I ran into an acquaintance who worked at the school's extended day program which got cancelled when everything else did. Luckily she has a second job to help pay the bills, because that's what it takes to survive these days. Plus she's a single mom who has to leave her child at home. Even more eye opening, she lives twenty miles away (where rent is more affordable) and relies on public transportation. However, Metro shut down several metro stops and cancelled many bus routes leaving people virtually stranded, unable to get to the jobs they so desperately need. Ironically, the few routes that were operating, the buses were packed like sardines- everyone was taking their chances of exposure. I saw her at 6pm as she making her way to her 11pm shift at a nursing home, experimenting with safer routes to limit exposure to not just for her family, but the residents too. She's a legitimate hero.

If I ever complain about how hard this is, please punch me in the face.  

Fresh air.

Vocabulary development. 

Medical training.

Listening to the story of White Fang.

Still here. Still studying Russian. Still a nurse. Still writing - sort of.

The Russian language motto: say what you know how to say, not say what you want to say. Memorize, repeat. As an amateur writer and professional feeler of feelings, and one who loves to indulge in the dramatics every now and then, the motto is painful. It makes me feel indignant and stupid. But, it is essential. Russian requires paying attention to all endings of words (especially adjectives and nouns) because they determine the structure of a sentence and its meaning. I could give examples, but after two glasses of wine, I can only say that remembering which ending goes where, becomes a difficult task especially when shooting the shit. Unless you are a case-ending nerd with no life, it's really hard to reproduce on the fly. 

Anyway.

My point is, I have been diligent, sticking to memorizing rules and set sentences to get me through the beautiful pit of Russian language. It really is a cool language to study and I am blown away by its sophistication. I want to be one of those people who can string together coherent, intricate words and I study like it's going out of fashion. Then I open my mouth and it feels like I never cracked open even one of the 25 text books I have amassed so far. The process is humbling and annoying and I am trying to enjoy it as much as possible.

I study and make tiny chips into the Russian granite, leaving no time for other diversions, such as writing blogs, stories, or anecdotes. I miss using my true voice. 

Rewind to December 2019: my friend Remy (and though he doesn't know it, mentor,) wrote me an email asking if I was planning to submit a story to Doek! his online literary magazine published in Namibia. It is his baby. Through Remy's insistence and overwhelming vision, he put together a first edition, and just TODAY, a second edition of stories written by a menagerie of personalities and talents mostly based out of Namibia. There's fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and photography. When I lived in Windhoek, I was part of the first tranche of aspiring writers. We met a few times a month, usually over wine to share and critique pieces of ourselves like that of a cheese platter. 

I moved away, but my heart never did. God - I loved living in Namibia. The writing group was one reason why. In the group, I didn't write about travel much like I do here. Instead, I revisited rusty memories from my nursing career and I forced myself to reveal parts of my life I was horribly proud of, fabulously ashamed of, and a few other emotions in between. 

I was part of Remy's first publication of Doek! where I wrote about a tough nursing decision I had to make (read here, it involves Vicodin) and now the second publication about dealing with my own realization of what real nursing care meant to me (which you can read here, it involves a butt hole - not mine). 

Perhaps more interestingly than my typical notion for bald forthrightness and slapstick humor, are the stories my fellow writers have to share. Their stories and poems gave me the feels of loss and vulnerability, wonder, hope, and creepiness. I highly suggest reading them. The photography of course is bold- they are stories told by a couple of photographers that showcase corners of Namibia that you would never know or see as a tourist. They are... awesome and unique, for lack of better words. Check out Shawn's Dry Dock series here. It totally "gets" what Walvis Bay is all about.

I am so proud of the group and I am proud to be part of it. Please check out the stories and share. Also, Remy successfully wrote and published a book, The Eternal Audience of One, which is something I have never done. Buy it and read it. 

I will keep writing here and elsewhere. For now, I return to obsessing about a different kind of writing - the kind of writing I fantasize about to knowing its Russianic curves, deepness, and punch lines. But probably never will, because the language is so damn hard! Спассиба.

Light reading.