Living as Nomads

I have to give my kids credit: they’ve really been on good behavior for the last week. Other than racing down the hotel hallways to fight over pressing elevator buttons, doing flips on the king-sized bed, and conversing about 1500 decibels louder than our Japanese neighbors in the hotel, they’ve been angels. They haven’t maimed or broken anything or anyone. And we’ve been keeping them on a pretty punishing schedule. Every day we’ve left the hotel about 9, after a morning swim, to spend hours in the rented mini-van that only seats seven. (Don’t tell the police or my grandma. We’ve driven by the gate guards at the base multiple times without comment on double bucklers. Since the fastest speed limit here is 45 mph and in most places it is 25 – 35, if we’re in an accident at least we aren’t going very fast.) Then, depending on the day, we alternate between shopping for cars and shopping for a rental house.

Our feet and bums are tired, and my head hurts from all the decisions that need to be made and all the money we have to spend. So far we haven’t found anything that screams “Drive me!” or “I’m your new home!”  A week can make a big difference in perspective.  For instance, we were planning to buy a cheap second car when we got here. The only problem is that all the cars under $5000 are held together with duct tape. Also, the fact that we spent close to $4000 fixing old cars before we left Mississippi has made us skittish around used vehicles.

Then we thought we’d find a mini-van to seat us all, but the ones in our price range were pretty well worn, to put it generously, and we found that with gas around $4.67, we’d be spending a fortune driving around town. My husband came up with a spread sheet that calculates the yearly cost of each car we’ve considered based on purchase price, gas consumption, estimated repairs, and resale value. Based on these numbers, it looks like buying a new car is just as economical as a used car, if we’re willing to spend more upfront. Then we debated paying a little more for a car with name recognition (resale $$) or the less expensive brand with more options. But as we were sitting in the office of the sales manager at the pricier car place, ready to sign a purchase agreement, we both got cold feet. My husband pointed out that we were going to have a new driver in a year and a half. Were we going to let him behind the wheel of this sporty new car?  And we realized that the extra cash we’d be spending upfront on a new car could be invested and make a tiny bit of interest, a value not added into his spreadsheet. So we got up, shook hands with the dealer, and went back to looking at used cars.

Why does this make my head spin? I hate cars. We may spend a few dollars more here or there on one car over another, but after looking at so many, they all seem to have problems. And we have a gender issue: my husband doesn’t want to drive a little junker efficiency car. I don’t want another gas-guzzler. Which one is the lesser of necessary evils?

Next decision: housing. We drove around with two different agents, because the first guy didn’t call us back. He could probably tell we were an indecisive bunch on whom he would lose money.

 

Although they do not love being dragged around to look at cars, the kids love house shopping.  They love going into bedrooms and claiming them, flushing toilets, testing out railings, etc.  So far we have not found the perfect house. In the back of my mind, I keep hearing that Melinda Lambert song, “This is my temporary home,” every time I think we might be able to make this or that work.  If only we could exchange the nice house in the bad neighborhood with the bad house in the nice neighborhood.  Tile or marble floors are the rule here, and when we looked at a carpeted house we could see why: carpets in this climate must stain and become dingy looking and slimy feeling quickly.

A funny thing: the bigger houses are less child friendly: they have loose second story railings or slick marble stairs or are just off a busy street. You’d think the big house would be the family showcase, but so many big houses are just for show. (Big also is a relative term: it’s hard to find anything larger than 2000 sq ft, although every time I look at anything with more space than that, I begin to calculate cleaning time.)

One benefit of driving around is discovering the beauty of the east side of the island. It is hilly and green and secluded. I’d enjoy the quiet life, I like to think, if it were just me, but then I get back in the car with the kids and remember how much I don’t like driving around for hours, as we drive around for hours looking for a home.

We spent another day registering the oldest two kids at the Department of Defense school. Yesterday we attended orientations. My first impressions are mixed. The middle school and high school are relatively small but seem to offer a fairly challenging curriculum. Nevertheless, a couple things bothered me: for example, the principal of the high school used poor grammar. The high school orientation began with a video about the inevitability of social media and the need for students to learn to use it responsibly. I agree that responsible use is important, but I don’t see the need for ANY use while at school. Last night I went to work researching Catholic high schools online.  Only one offers AP classes, and it is expensive for one child and out of our price range for two.  The second option, the boys’ school, would require a 30 minute commute if we do end up living in base housing. The third doesn’t offer any honors courses. I’d be better off home schooling, or using an online curriculum for the older boys if we didn’t use the DOD school.  Since the diocesan school year already has started and my second son is adamantly against being home schooled, I am probably going to follow the ball that is already rolling, and steel my self-discipline to school them in theology and values at home.

In the evenings and poolside, I’ve been reading Anne Lamott’s  Traveling Mercies. In one section, she talks about a movie she saw about gypsies called Latcho Drom, which means “safe passage.” This quote caught my attention:

“Those faces: the gypsies are all born old…. The middle-aged mothers look just like me and my friends – tired, baggy, in some need of repair. Their faces are exhausted from all that it takes to raise children on the tightrope of gypsy life. When you’re on the high wire, you have to use every ounce of grace and skill and awareness and loyalty you can muster just to get to the other side. But that’s the gift, to have to use that kind of attention and focus, and it shows up around your eyes.

They seem always to be walking. As with all nomads, if you don’t keep walking, you die – so you figure out how to keep walking.  This also shows up on the mothers’ faces, the exhaustion of exposure, of making sure that the old people keep moving and that the babies are carried safely.”

She goes on to comment on the beauty of the young girls and the freedom of the old women, and how fortunate it is for the middle-aged women to hold both of these personas inside.

I crave a settled life when confronted with all these decisions. But I also am happy that I have had to the chance to experience life on the east coast, the west coast, the midwest, the deep south.  Despite my fears and misgivings about the unknown, I know that I’ll leave this Pacific island with happy memories, even with the unidentified struggles this life may bring.

Whew, I’m tired after all this blathering about decisions to make.  I’m sure I’ve lost any readers except my mom.  I hope to call soon with an address, Mom. The good thing is we have fully adjusted to the time change – it took about 5 days before we weren’t carrying sleeping children from the car to our room after dinner at 7 p.m.  Now they want to stay up watching Discovery channel until 10. This hotel has fewer television channels than any we’ve stayed before.  My favorite is the Japanese language channel for business travelers. I’ve learned you only say “Sayonara” when you are going to be gone a long time. You say “Mata Adote” when you mean “see you later.” So Mata Adote, Mamasan.