My Experience: A Retrospective-Part II

THINGS I WILL MISS

In the beginning, I often questioned my decision to become a Peace Corps Volunteer and then slowly things fell into place. When that happened life took over. I am goal oriented and my work was always aimed at the finish line – sustainability. I would think about going home, but it was only during my last couple of days that reality hit. Two years seems like a long time but they went as quickly as Champaign glasses clink in the celebration.

Although, I do not miss trying to catch a bus at the worst part of the day to get to MOPO, I miss the ride with locals.  I miss walking down the path to Patience Combined School. I miss hearing the goats complain while chomping on the grass at the soccer field. I miss seeing the children pass by in their little uniforms while I walk into the school.

I miss the Saint Lucia weather. I miss sitting on my bed listening to a soft rain and hearing the wind whip through the village. At times the wind became so strong that it howled and reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe, whose poetry I read and reread as a kid. When the rain stopped and the windows were opened, the breeze circulated like a giant fan throughout the house.

Janyn's Second Visit

Tracy

I will miss visits from my family and being their tour guide.  I will miss watching my them fall in love with this island in a very special way.

Kevin and Jay

I won’t miss, “Hey white lady”. I’m not sure why people think that’s an appropriate greeting. I’d never say…well, never mind. I never would say it.

I miss the simplicity of life here on the island. Priorities are different here. They value family, church and celebrations in ways I haven't experienced in the United States. They work to live, not something I knew much about when I arrived.

I don’t miss Saint Lucia television commercials as well as Joey the Weatherman and his stupid parrot Bob. I don’t miss the cell phone carrier, LIME, trying to sell their company by offering contests with prizes that will enable you to “party like a rock star”. It’s no wonder I stopped watching television during these past two years. I can’t think of anything else I won’t miss.

I made a note on my journal toward the end of May on a Saturday night:  'The church is rocking. The funeral service began in the late afternoon and continues through the evening.'  I will miss the sounds of the church bells, the people singing hymns and watching the people who are dressed in their finest clothes walking down my street towards and going to the church.

Living in a small village where everyone knows everyone's business was amazing.  I am grateful I was part Micoud and MoPo Village.

My Experience: A Retrospective-Part I

MY JOURNEY

Thanksgiving 2009

This has been an incredible journey. I started writing notes for this post (which as it turns out will be several posts) last Thanksgiving. I wanted to ensure that each day left was enjoyed and that I capture everything that needs to be said in this one final post. This experience encouraged my own growth and understanding of a tiny piece of the world. I received more than I gave. I am lucky to call myself a RPCV, Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.


For those who have read my journal: Your comments and encouragement were appreciated. Writing this journal was therapeutic. One thing I appreciated about writing this blog, was the outlet it provided to laugh at myself. I will miss it, and although this is likely the last series of posts, I will continue writing for my own satisfaction.


There were times when I didn’t want to stay another minute. Those times were usually when I thought I wasn’t making a difference. Then there were times when I could not imagine going home. That’s when I knew that I had made a difference in some small way.


I spent two birthdays here. What better way to celebrate a 60th birthday than to do it as a Peace Corps Volunteer! I spent two Thanksgivings with my family of Peace Corps Volunteers. I left Saint Lucia with great memories of wonderful Saint Lucian friends.


As I settle into my life in the United States and our traditional holidays, I will remember the experience of Saint Lucian celebrations. Saint Lucian holidays are a time to party and celebrate; National Day, Christmas and Boxing Day and New Year’s Eve, Independence Day and Nobel Laureates Week along with other cultural holidays such as LaRose, Carnival and Jounen Kweyol. 


I will think of them each year with gratitude while pulling out each memory of this experience. And, perhaps I will pull out the Saint Lucian Flag and fly it in remembrance of the country I left behind.

FRIENDSHIPS

Before arriving in Saint Lucia, I listed reasons why I should become a Peace Corps Volunteer and reasons why I should not. My number one reason for not becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer is that I’m directionally challenged. I get lost easily; once I got lost in a parking lot. I panicked the first week I was here when I was told to find a bus from my host family home and get to Peace Corps in the capitol by myself – this was a two bus, hour and a half journey. The island seemed so big then, but I did it and developed confidence in the process. 


 Later, I confided in a few Peace Corps Volunteers who helped me gain confidence that I should overcome this handicap – or at least try to find various locations without a GPS System.


I will miss my Peace Corps friends, the Japanese Volunteers and others who have crossed my path during these two years.

Learning Chess

Lunch with the girls.

An overnight at my house.

William and his family

I met people because of this blog. Amy emailed me because she is nearing retirement and thinking about applying for Peace Corps.


William and his family came to my village while his ship was docked in Castries. 


I’ve sent postcards to several places including Samoa, the Phillipines and India, all of which were requested through my blog. 

My friend Greg helping me in IT Class

Greg and Karen are people who I would never met had it not been for this experience, my blog and Karen’s need to know more about the traditional Saint Lucia Formal Dress. A Google search turned up one of my posts and resulted in a new friendship that is very valuable to me. 


Rachel is a brand new Eastern Caribbean Invitee and will be here in late-August. I’m sorry I will miss meeting her. There are countless other contacts and comments from people who have read this blog.


Several people in Saint Lucia took special interest and helped me adjust and find meaningful work.  I will be forever grateful to Brenda, Elvinette, Cynthia Charles and Elizabeth as people who were there to point me in a positive direction. Other friends include Marylene and Melissa.

My friend Angelina

Elvinette playing Bingo at the Mexican Embassey

Cynthia Charles teaching the children

Brenda and Marylene at High Tea

John and Elizabeth with my boys Kevin and Jay

Melissa, my friend

Brenda, my friend and the woman who 'makes it happen in Micoud District

I will miss the friendships with the MoPo children and wish them continued progress on their journey to adulthood.

Me and some of my MoPo kids.

And finally, my special friend Julian.  A friend who I will think of often.  A friend who I am bonded to in a very special way.

Our friend Julian who I cannot say enough about

And so, here it is: the first part of the last posts about my Peace Corps experience - stay tuned.

We All Swear

Today we lost one volunteer and gained seven new volunteers.

Margo, our Country Director stands, looks at the Peace Corps Trainee’s and says, “I, say your name, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.” TITLE 5 PART III Subpart B CHAPTER 33 SUBCHAPTER II § 3331 The Oath of Office


This is EC81’s day and like us and every group before them, they have sworn to defend the constitution, so help them God!

So here I am, sitting in the third row. Everyone is dressed in nice clothes. This will be the last group of Trainees that I will watch transform into full volunteers. EC81 (Eastern Caribbean Group Number 81) as instructed, and in unison, raise their right hands and affirm that they are going to defend the United States Constitution against all enemies.

Really? We all take this same oath. This is a very serious oath and it warrants time to consider the promise each of us makes when we become a volunteer.

I had no idea when I arrived that this was going to be my job. The United States of America has entrusted me to defend our Constitution. Wow! Imagine me with such an important job! And, I thought I was here to help people. I look around the room and I have no clue if there is an enemy here. Everyone looks peaceful. Judging from the oath, Peace Corps Volunteers should be both suspicious and cautious. This needs to be examined. If there is an enemy in the room what will I do?

The Peace Corps did not issue guns to us and even if they did I wouldn’t know what to do with one. I could hit the enemy with my umbrella or go outside and find a rock to throw or go down to the sea and collect shells with which I could fashion some kind of weapon. Maybe I could gather a small piece of bamboo and find twine and tie a lot of shells on it to hit the enemy in the head. Do you think that would be effective? No, you are right, I need a BIG piece of bamboo.

As Peace Corps Volunteers we get hours of training. There is an initial two months of training; then every four months there is more training. There is also special training. We are ready and able. They train us to teach, give us technical training, safety training and health education. They teach us about the country's culture and history. They show us how to take public transportation and teach us about local foods. They tell us what to do in the event of floods, earthquakes, hurricanes and riptides.

But they never talk about how we should defend the constitution against the enemy. This is curious. However, as Peace Corps Volunteers we are expected to be resourceful and good problem solvers.

Who knows why this is the promise we make, but strange as it is, everyone promises. Why do we promise to do something that we are not prepared to do? I bet you are thinking huh? Well so am I. So let’s look at this a little further.

Three days earlier I was at the primary school in the village. It was a rainy evening and as I walked up to the school, I could hear the crunch of gravel under my feet as I neared the auditorium. Music was playing and could be heard a block away. It's party time.

When I walked in the room, there were balloons and streamers. Angled-placed chairs replaced the desks that are normally in the room. The white sheet covered the portable blackboard on the stage and sitting on a desk just a couple of feet away was a computer and projector. The DJ was testing his equipment.

In the back of the room were three large tables for food and at the side of the room two more tables were holding a large cake in the shape of a key with writing "Andy Behl's Key to Mon Repos". The tables were decorated with traditional Creole material and the room was festive. There was a note artistically drawn on the other chalk board behind the food tables that read “Farewell Behl”. This was obviously a celebration and there were no enemies in sight.

This is an old picture of Brenda, but one that I love. Brenda is my IPP (Institutional Point Person). She was also Andy's IPP.

She walked into the room with pride that she had put this special event together for someone very special and who is leaving a legacy behind.

Hold on! I can't let this one go by. Lets go back a few sentences. Isn’t that a strange name – Institutional Point Person. This is another curious Peace Corps invention.

When thinking about this title, I picture a woman alone in a room wearing a white lab coat. The room has white walls and linoleum floors. The woman has no expression. She sits at a white table on a white chair. There is nothing else in the room. The door to the room is hard to see because it is also white and everything blends together making it difficult to see anything beyond white. It is very sterile. I walk into the room and over to the table hearing the echo of my footsteps...but wait, this isn't Brenda!

Brenda doesn’t look like an Institutional Point Person. She is wearing a short and flowing dress, sleeveless, sexy and full of color. She is warm and loving. She is beaming with a smile so broad across her face that she lights up the room. She is animated, happy and fun. She walks over to me and we hug. She tells me how happy she is. I don’t call her my IPP, I call her my friend. Doesn’t that sound better? Oh dear, I’m off subject again.

We celebrated Andy Behl’s nearly three years as a volunteer. Here is a picture of him with his group, EC77. He is the last one on the right. He extended his service to complete a project that has changed the lives of many Saint Lucians and will continue to change the lives of many more. He leaves a legacy behind that includes the introduction of pole vaulting to the island, a college scholarship and medals at the CARIFTA Games.

He took the oath when he became a volunteer. He never mentioned to me that he met any enemies on the island. Andy only has friends…a lot of friends and a lot of grateful people. Andy left the island at almost the same time EC81 was being sworn in.

We lost one today – and we gained seven. And, I believe, when each of our time comes to leave the island, we will leave many friends behind. I don’t think any of us will have an opportunity to defend our constitution.

We are “Peace” Corps. Surely the enemy is not any of the great and wonderful people I’ve been working with. I don’t see any enemies in Saint Lucia.

Should I go out a try to find some? Where are these people? Maybe I should go down to the beach and collect some shells just in case.

How does Peace Corps come up with this stuff? I don’t make this stuff up!

I Found my Groove

Did I ever say that I love this experience? Did I ever say that this was the perfect thing to do at this time of my life? Did I ever say that, for me, missing this would have been missing life? Well, I should have. This is a long post, but I don’t know how to shorten it…so I put a lot of pictures in it to make it more interesting.

Monday was the 31st anniversary of Saint Lucia’s Independence. The families and children of the After-School Program went to Latille Falls for a picnic. It’s a few miles from my house and I decided to walk there. I packed up my backpack filled with requested chocolate chip cookies and headed down the road.

The road is beautiful and I pass by one of my favorite trees, banana farms and greet farmers as I pass. A few farmers pass in their trucks and ask if I want a ride. I thank them and decline, not because it’s dangerous, but because it’s a beautiful day.

Sly, or “Rasta Man”, the owner of Latille Falls, gathered the families together to talk about history and wish everyone a good time. The picnic was nice and gave me time to spend with the parents of the children I am with four days a week. After a few hours, I walked home. Cardio exercise is never an issue here.

Early the next morning, I finished making yet another batch of chocolate chip cookies I mixed last night when I got home. I had to get up early to do this because they need to be frozen before I pack them up and take them to the school. If they aren’t frozen, they will end up a melted mess. Oh, the things I’ve learned during my time in a tropical climate.

I made a cup of the new Instant Starbucks Coffee; it’s better than any fresh brewed I can make here. It’s mango season and my breakfast of choice.

One of the facilitators arrived for private computer class. I’m teaching her Microsoft Office and also the art of blogging. I am hopeful that she will take over the blogsite I have just set up for the After School Program.

I straightened the house, made the bed, did a few dishes, got dressed and packed up the cookies. I picked up the materials for the Junior Achievement last lesson and headed for the primary school in my village. Since this is my last class, I will hand them certificates and a small bag of cookies.

I arrived after a ten minute walk feeling like I needed another shower. We are in a drought and it’s hot. I greet the children and walk down the isles and they all touch my arm or my hair and some give me hugs. Some squeeze so tight I wonder if I will survive it. They are all screaming “Miss Karen”.

I went over the last few weeks and what we learned. Then we went through the lesson. When I was done and the certificates were handed out, they surprised me with a party. One little girl read a poem written by the children. Another sang a song for me. She wrote it: “Thank you for being our teacher. We love you and don’t want you to leave. Thank you for being our teacher.” It was a child-like song with little melody and lots of love. It was touching. They gave me a gift bag, with a t-shirt and a card.

Then the teacher brought out a large platter of cheese sandwiches. She proclaimed, “we used the mass production method you taught them to make the sandwiches”. We took lots of pictures together. They love pictures. Before I left everyone wanted a hug. There was a line for hugs. One child nearly knocked the wind out of me with his bear hug. The party they planned for me was amazing and something I will always remember. I assure them I will be in the village for the next few months and this goodbye is only a Junior Achievement goodbye.

My next stop is a bus ride away to the after-school program. At the picnic, I promised a child’s father that I would work with his child. He explained to me that everyone on both sides of the family, with the exception of one daughter, is illiterate.

His son is ten years old and can’t read. I will assess his skill level and then put some materials together for the boy’s sister to help him. I will work with him as much as I can, but he needs help at home too. So many people here are illiterate.

I arrived at the village and walked down the road to the school. I found the Kindergarten teacher, a friend, and she helped me make some flash cards and other things to help him.

Then I learned the IT Facilitator is ill and I needed to teach IT. So much for assessing the boy today. This will have to wait. Now I have to figure out what I will do with this class. Fortunately, the facilitators are submitting Lesson Plans. I ask for the plan, read it and remember the Jelly Belly’s and flavor guides that are in my backpack. A perfect day for a behavior tool!

I began the session with a discussion on how they were feeling. I have found many children cannot identify feelings beyond anger. I talked to the children about what we had learned about Saint Lucia Independence.

During the break, Brenda and I talked. She asked if I would put a PowerPoint presentation together to showcase the After-School Program successes. Of course I agreed, although I was thinking of the four full-day workshops I am currently designing late each evening.

When the children returned from break, I asked them to write five questions down. What is the capitol of Saint Lucia? What is the national bird? What is Saint Lucia’s Motto? Who is the Prime Minister? What is the tallest peak on the island? They were required to go to the computer and find the answers. They had fun with the exercise and wanted more.

As a reward for a job well done, the children and I sat down, flavor guides in hand and commenced to tasting the bursting flavors of Jelly Beans.

When they became hyper, bouncing off the ceiling and so active that they were becoming obnoxious, I declared the day had ended and sent them home to their poor unsuspecting parents.

I'm exhausted by now...does it show?

I jumped on a bus back to my village. I called “stopping” early, getting off at the far end of my village to walk the long way home. Once home I ate another mango, turned on the computer and finished Brenda’s PowerPoint slides shortly before midnight while watching the Winter Olympics.

This morning I’m finishing up a load of laundry, writing this journal piece before I flag down a bus to the next village to meet with teachers to continue creating individual assessments for the forty after-school children.


Hopefully, I will find the time to assess the little boy’s reading ability today and then get back in time to work on some of those workshops. As I speed down the road to the end of my service, my plate is full. This is the way I like it. I’ve got my groove on.

Peeling Onions

PART I

Dunstan St. Omar, a celebrated local Saint Lucia artist, said it the best: “The curse of the Caribbean is that our poverty is picturesque”. This island is not the most poverty-stricken nation in the world, but poverty exists here.

Before I was invited to Saint Lucia, my impression of the Caribbean islands was created from the Sandal’s commercials shown on television.

People who visit the island and stay in an all-inclusive hotel or get off a ship for an afternoon are whisked away in an air-conditioned taxi to see the island: the beautiful Pitons, Sulphur Springs, the crystal clear aqua Caribbean, the incredible interior with dense rain forest.


There is a dense population of taxi drivers and competition is stiff. When he is alone, he drives with the windows down and the air-conditioning off to save a few pennies in gas money. Few tourists have time to see beyond the beauty and most aren’t looking for it.


As a volunteer, these are the things I first saw when the plane landed and I boarded a clean air-conditioned bus for the hour and a half trip across the island.



I saw vendors roasting corn by the roadside and selling local fruits which they farm. I saw my first sight of Castries. I stayed in a retreat for a few days and was well fed. I sat in air-conditioned rooms while being oriented to the island.



After a few days, training begins. I was invited to live in the home of a middle-class family who struggles to make a living. They have cable TV, electricity and running water – although the water was not hot. There was no internet.


Although they have three children at home who attend school and one in college, internet is a luxury they cannot afford. I used public transportation and was given just a couple of dollars a day for “walking around” money. Although many people stared at me, ask me for money or think I am a tourist in need of a taxi, at times I began to feel Saint Lucian.


It didn’t take more than a few weeks before I saw things that many Americans might describe as hardship; the lack of electricity in some homes and public wash facilities in the villages where I live. Of course there is no air conditioning, but I never expected that anyway.


The layers of the onion are peeled away as I mark my calendar with what little time I have on the island. It takes awhile longer before I began to see the depth of Saint Lucia poverty; the families that live off the beaten path on dirt roads in sheds or the families who are camping behind the trees in the bay by the sea, the children who don’t go to school because they don’t have the money to buy school uniforms; the illiteracy and sometimes hopelessness that abounds. And, then there are the children who don’t have enough to eat.


Then things happen that make me wonder, “Do I really understand the depth of poverty?” Or, are there more layers? I hope I don’t experience anything more that gives me content for the subject of this post. I want this to be my last post on this subject.

PART II
******************

It is Wednesday morning. I walk down the road towards the primary school. I pass the secondary school and notice the principal, usually dressed in business casual is wearing a suit. I walk up to the classroom where I teach primary school Junior Achievement and the teacher confirms what I already know, “yes, we are closing school today at noon." We will do the Junior Achievement lesson next Wednesday. I remember I need a few things from the store and I need to get them now as it appears the entire village will shut down at noon.



I pick up a few staples at the market and bread at the bakery. I walk up the stairs to my apartment and look out the window at the parking lot of the Catholic Church. There are children playing games with their teacher. They are laughing and having a good time.


It is 1:00 now. Secondary school children are still in uniform walking down my street towards the church. In a few minutes, a hearse will drive through the village with a procession of mourners walking behind it. At 2:00 the mood at the church will be somber. The church will be overflowing into the parking lot. I will hear gospel singing. Cars will line the nearby streets.

PART III
******************

The only hospital on this side of the island was destroyed in a fire three months ago. I now understand the devastating impact it is having on people. A make-shift hospital in an athletic stadium, with little equipment and doctor’s on-call, is the only choice on this end of the island. The girl, who was stabbed, died in that make-shift stadium hospital.


There is one ambulance here and when it’s down for maintenance, people must wait. The ambulance carrying the girl had to drive slowly to the stadium because the tires were bald. It took time to bring a doctor to the facility.

It makes me wonder who is at fault:

• Is it the culture of reaction to infidelity?
• Is it the ambulance driver who refused to drive faster?
• The ambulance company who allowed the vehicle to use every thread of tread before replacing worn tires?
• The government for not ensuring the hospital is re-built?
  
• Was it the girl who stabbed her?
• Was it her friend who gave her the knife?
  
• Or, could it be the doctors who didn’t get there in time?

PART IV
******************

The other end of the island is met with another story. A friend of mine has a little boy who was hit by a truck shortly after Christmas. In critical condition, he was rushed to the public hospital. When his father realized that the scissors the nurse was using weren’t sharp enough to cut off his boy’s shirt he was horrified. The hospital did not have the resources to buy a pair of scissors.


The boy was fortunate because his father has insurance and he was immediately transferred to the only other hospital on the island; a private facility and nearby. The portion of the bill that will not be covered by insurance will undoubtedly leave the family in debt; but medical debt is an American story too. Happily, the boy is doing fine and will recover. More layers of the onion are peeled away.

PART V
******************

I have a mantra about money that I have carried with me for thirty years: Money is only important when you don’t have it. Right now money is important to that little boy and his family. Money may have made a difference in the little girl's destiny. This makes me angry. It makes me sad. It makes me ask questions for which I previously didn’t know I needed an answer.


Is it just an entire system of broken processes and infrastructure? Or, was Dunstan Omar right when he said, “The curse of the Caribbean is that our poverty is picturesque”?

(If you stayed with me during this long and drawn out angry post, I promise something more uplifting next! Thanks for listening.)

Infidelity

Mostly, there is infidelity. Mostly, women raise their children as single mothers. Mostly, people do not get married. Today, there is hushed silence in the village.

Women fight for the attention of wondering men. Women are jealous of other women.

I’ve seen women argue, threaten, push, shove and scream at other women over a man. It’s loud and everyone knows it when the wronged woman approaches the "other" woman who has been with her man.

I find it to be a strange sense of amusement most of the time. These are the adults. Since last week and as I reflect on the conflicts of the past, it's not amusing anymore. The woman who fight over their men are the role models for their girls. The wandering men are the role models for the boys.

The village, usually filled with music and lively conversation is different today. Whispers among small groups of consoling people, a few birds chirp, roosters crow and the church bells slowly ring. The air is thick with disbelief.

It is shocking and families in my village were forever changed in a moment of heated passion on a recent Sunday afternoon. A confrontation between young teenage girls. A knife fetched by one girl and handed to her friend.

Young children open their doors and witness commotion. Blood and chaos are seen by those with previously innocent eyes.

The ambulance with worn tires is late and limping. The hospital is temporarily set up at George Odlam Stadium after the fire three months ago. The doctors are on call.

One teenage girl is dead. Another left with the lifetime memory of plunging the knife into the stomach of her perceived enemy. And, then there are the innocent witnesses and the stunned people in the village. The reason: a boy.

What's Next?

Almost every volunteer here sold their house or gave up their rental, sold their furniture and most possessions, gave some things away and put a few memories in storage.


When I left for Peace Corps, I sold my car, packed up a few things in a big rolling duffle bag, put a backpack on my shoulders, closed my bedroom door, kissed my dog, my children, my grandchild and my daughter-in-law good-bye and left for two years.


My family is taking care of my house, my dog and my things. When I come back, I will greet all of them, open my bedroom door, unpack, and sleep in the same bed I left behind.


It was too easy. I’m not sure how I feel about it. Within hours of touch down, I found it easy to fall into the life I left. Why did I volunteer for Peace Corps if it is so easy to find the life I left behind? What did I expect anyway? This experience is suppose to change the way I live life, yet I found myself falling into the same life pattern I left.


I was only there for three weeks during the holidays, but that three weeks showed me a lot. I wonder if it would have been better to do Peace Corps as the others did. They have a built-in guarantee that life will be different upon return.


There are differences. The most important is this: Ava is three years old now, her hair has grown to her waist and she likes anything pink or princess. She talks, thinks and has opinions. We’ve lost the bond we had before I left. It makes me feel sad.

When I go into a grocery store, I look at it differently. Everything can be had under one roof. The abundance, cleanliness and vast amount of space are noticeably different and Trader Joe’s is within my reach.













Fashion has changed; skinny jeans are back. And the clothes people are wearing at the ski resort? Well, there are no words and the only way it can be expressed is through a picture. That's a guy is the black and white outfit!


I saw women in the strangest outfits at the mall; fish net stockings with garter belts showing and silly pink lacy socks lining spiked heals while others wore knee-high boots. All this and short thigh-high skirts and shorts to round out the look. What’s a girl to think?


I saw men in the tightest skinny jeans leaving nothing to the imagination which created a longing to see them in over-sized jeans allowing easy identification of the color and brand of underwear they are wearing. I silently began guessing what they were dressed for, but decided that I was thinking the way “old” people think, so I let those thoughts disappear.

There was a major fire that swept through my neighborhood in the mountains just before I left for Peace Corps. The Little Red House, a landmark in my tiny resort town was destroyed and the women who own the property vowed to rebuild, posting a small cardboard sign on their property. Now a new Little Red House stands in its place. A few new homes stand where burned out remains once were, but most of my neighbors took the insurance money or didn’t have insurance and will not rebuild. I lost my neighbors, but I gained an incredible view of the city beyond the mountain.

Have you heard of Red Box? What a great business! Red Box is giving Blockbuster Video Rentals a run for their business. Imagine renting a newly released video for $1 from a vending machine.

Technology has passed me by. I have trouble remembering how to operate the television and microwave oven. I’ve been told my old cell phone plan which is being held for me is now just that – old – and useless. I will need something called data for the new smart phones. I had to ask others to dial numbers for me because the new cell phones are so confusing. I joked with them that I have a flip phone; it was then I discovered that no one has a flip phone anymore. And, there is a new phone that has a peripheral that can be attached to the cell phone to add a projector! And I thought I was cool because I know about the Kindle and I even know a volunteer on the island who has one. Go figure.


These are just some of the things that make me feel different…a bit lost and detached from my old life. But, there is so much that makes me feel part of it and allows me to quickly assimilate into my past life. Ava and I will find that connection again. It just takes more than three weeks to bond. I love technology and will adapt. I already appreciate my city view in the mountains and the convenience of Red Box.

I will likely criticize the new fashions the same way I criticized the old styles before I left. I will smile to myself as I grocery shop because I will think about my Saint Lucian honed skill of hunting and gathering when I’m confused and frustrated while trying to make a decision in the 30 feet of isle space dedicated to nothing but shampoo and conditioner.

I may even apologize to the manager at Ralph’s who I steadily chastised before I left because he consistently ran out of Fruit and Nut Balance Bare Trail Mix Nutrition Bars; my pre-Peace Corps breakfast staple. It turns out he doesn’t have to worry about my return. The company discontinued them. I secretly wonder if the Ralph’s Manager rallied to make that happen.

But the big question for me is this: What will I do next? It seems easy to fall back into the same lifestyle I left. Is this what I want? Humm. I have another nine months to contemplate this question.

My Vacation

It’s strange to think that I spent my three week vacation at home. When I left, I told people in my village that I was going home for the holidays. When I returned, I told my kids it was time for me to go home. Home is in both places now, but I think my real home is still in California. That’s where my family lives. Family makes home…well, home.


So, here’s a pictorial recap of my life at home.

Holiday Boat Parade in Naples





Picking up Ava at Pre-School and marveling at all the learning resources































Ava’s Birthday Party













Hanging out with Barkley at the Bark Park

The beautiful views, culture, artwork and children's activities at The Getty


Hanging out with friends and family

Enjoying the "magic" of straight hair which is not possible in a tropical climate


Decorating the Christmas Tree

Baking and decorating cookies for Santa


Watching my grown son play Barbie Dolls with his daughter.


The mountains, the place where I can take a deep breath and leave everything behind





















A last dinner with friends and family



And, not to be forgotten, the Chicken Taco I was craving - it was great.

I tried smuggling Barkley into my suitcase, but it didn't work.

Leaving…it’s hard, knowing it will be another nine months before I return. But, then I’m excited to get back to my village and be with the people I have grown to love and care about.