I HATE BUGS

Is there a country that has no bugs? If so, I would like to request to live there. It seems that no matter where in the world I live, everywhere is infested with bugs and I am not OK with that.

I was fine leaving the cockroaches of Singapore (though I only saw two while there…I think) to come to America and live my life in suburbia. Thanks to my aunt, Paul and I have the ability to rent a family home while we enjoy our time with family.

The place is quaint, which, in realtor terms, means really tiny, but it’s cute and I like it. And, it’s the house where my grandmother grew up. The oldest of nine children, my grandmother recalls the boys sleeping in one room and the girls sleeping in what is now the living room, leaving one bathroom (obviously put in later), the kitchen and a dining room that has recently been converted into a bedroom.

The back bedroom is now my aunt’s art studio and is secluded like another wing. There is a super creepy basement that has cobwebs all over the rafters and a secret room where the family bootleggers kept their still until the feds arrested my great-grandfather during prohibition. There’s a great story that ends with him staying in jail because his wife did not have her name on the bank account so she couldn’t bail him out right away. Good times.

The house has been rented in recent years and my aunt pops in and out but, for the most part, there hasn’t been a good, steady tenant in years. This is how the bugs came in. They just decided that if no one else would make this place a home, they would certainly fill it with all of their bugginess.

Then I moved in.

The bugs creeped me out. I hate bugs. I hate bugs of any kind. If I go outside and a caterpillar ends up on me, I freak out like a tarantula is attacking me. If a butterfly lands on me, I shoo it away and might gasp. I. Hate. Bugs.

The first bugs I saw were the typical large spiders with webs in the corners of the ceiling. I left them alone until they came down to my level and then they died.

Then I saw the stink bugs. Stupid stink bugs. They hitched a ride from Asia and overpopulated the Midwest. I hate them.

The stink bugs, according to some, should not be killed because they will supposedly stink up your house. Forget the fact that bugs totally creep me out for a second. Why on earth would I want to go anywhere near a live bug and carry it outside where it can continue living and procreating when I could kill it and just kill it? Wikipedia told me that the bugs smell like cilantro, so I didn’t think the smell would be that awful. I don’t really like the taste of cilantro but I guess the smell is O.K. So I killed them. I didn’t smell anything.

Not only did I find sting bugs but I found exoskeletons of stink bugs or dead stink bugs or something that looked like a dead stink bug. Don’t try to educate me or correct me here if you actually know a thing or two about stink bugs – just go with it.

After a few days, I had had enough. It was either me or the bugs. So I called an exterminator and made an appointment. He came last Thursday.

“Here’s the deal,” I said before he even stepped a foot into my door. “If you find anything bad, don’t tell me. Just fix it. I don’t want to know if you find something. If you have a report, you can give it to me in an envelope and I can pass it along to my aunt who owns the house, but don’t tell me.”

He laughed, agreed and then went to work on the house’s inside while his partner worked on the outside. I told him about the neighborhood stink bug infestations and suggested he take a look in the attic, which I had just learned about the day before when my fabulous uncle came over to do some handy work. I’m pretty sure the exterminator found something in the attic. He had only been up there a minute at most before he came down and advised that he had something that would better protect the area upstairs and then he left to get the stronger stuff.

As he was working, he explained in friendly terms what he was doing. He advised me that the chemicals he was spraying around the baseboards would not only kill the bugs but it would draw them out of their homes, so I may see them crawling around for three days or so.

I’m not joking when I say I immediately packed a bag and sent the following message to Paul’s mom:

“Good news! I’m coming to stay with you. The bug man told me the spray will lure bugs out of their home and into mine for the next few days so I'm OUT!”

She laughed and let me stay with her through the weekend. I was a little nervous to return to the house Sunday afternoon but I was surprised to not see dead bugs all around. The place looked normal and it was normal until about half an hour ago.

I thought I might actually be bug free and then I found a non-friend. It was my own fault, really. I started doing laundry this morning and left one delicate load until the evening. I considered washing the final load so I placed the items in the washing machine and then I talked myself out of it. Since I had washed three loads just prior, I decided to leave open the lid on the top-load washer so that the dry clothes would not get disgusting before I actually washed them. Don’t mess with my logic.

I thought about closing the lid but I was confident that all the bugs were gone and I did not have anything to worry about so I left it open. This evening I returned and decided to go ahead and do that load. I don’t remember why, but I reached into the washer and immediately pulled back at a sudden sharp yet at the same time soft feeling and the sight of a pretty sizable white spider content in the web that he or she had spun all around the top of the machine.

My bold, brave, adrenaline-rushing self walked into the kitchen, grabbed two heavy-duty paper towels and attacked the spider and the web that had formed over my delicate items. I could not be sure that I got the spider but I figure the thing would have drowned if I had somehow missed it so I should be good.

This house has turned me into a person who swears I see a bug no matter where I am – my house, someone else’s house…I see a smudge and I swear it is a bug. Freaks me out every time. 

I’M SO TIRED!!!!

Let me start by saying that I am getting so much LESS sleep in America than I ever did in Singapore. It’s crazy. I have been telling people that I will be here likely through the end of June (which was confirmed yesterday – at least for now; you all know how things in PNG go), so I have been taking my visiting life pretty easy. 

After four days in Ohio, I took off for D.C. with my best friend, Katie, and Paul’s sister, Alexis. I love Alexis but she made me realize all of the reasons why I divorced my 20s – Katie and I are so unbelievably happy to be 30. Ha.

We had a great time with each other, eating lots of food, hanging out at a baseball game – I say hanging out because I was the only one who actually watched and knew what was going on. Alexis may have been seated for two innings and Katie was good for about half of it. By the end, they both realized why people like going to baseball games and said they would do it again.

For anyone unfamiliar with one of my favorite in-person sports, baseball commences in the spring and plays through the championships in the fall. For $75 a ticket, we had access to the club level, which had its own bars and food vendors in an air-conditioned room. We had great seats that were covered in case of inclement weather but we were still outdoors.

The weather was perfect. It was sunny, breezy and the air smelled of ballpark favorites like hot dogs, popcorn and, Nic’s favorite, candy floss. I won’t lie, I love baseball games because I can sit with friends, talk openly, drink beer in big, plastic cups and eat popcorn and hot dogs until I can’t fit into my pants anymore – baseball is one of my favorite things. That is, when the home team actually shows up.

Poor Nats. The Washington Nationals had been hailed as one of the year’s best teams and were expected to do very well. They didn’t. It was pretty much a beating by the Atlanta Braves.

When the game ended, we parted ways. I headed back to NEOH (Northeastern Ohio) and just continued to do what had to be done.

Since I arrived, I have been running – signing up for a gym membership, taking Gran where she needed to go, chauffeuring my mom to doctor’s appointments, running my own errands to get things I needed for my new tiny house and, every other free hour is spent at the restaurant.

Paul’s parents own a small place that serves lunch and dinner six days a week. Annabell’s Restaurant, to me, is like Cheers, so I love it. There are tables for two and groups as many as 15 come in on a regular occasion. We have people who eat here two meals a day most of the six days we are open.

Then there’s the Counter Crew. We have a few men who range in age from 30s to 80s. They have their assigned counter chairs like people have their assigned pews in church. The staff members know them by name and usually know their orders before the men get situated in their chairs.

It’s a very blue collar group but the food ranges from diner style to gourmet, all with a homestyle flair. Tim hides in the kitchen, where he manages his staff and Suzi typically spends half her time with the customers and the other half making sure that the books are done and their people get paid.

The prices are incredibly inexpensive, especially for my Singaporean brain.

In order for Suzi to get a break (because I can’t really do Tim’s job), I have been helping with the customer end of things, restaurant management and some of the back office work. My worker brain still is not grasping that showing up to work at 11 or later is OK but, when we don’t leave until 9:30 or later in the evening, I realize just how long that day actually is.

Last Friday, I decided to take a break from the gym (I had gone the four previous days and had a gym date planned for Saturday morning). I decided not to set my alarm. When Suzi asked how late I intended to sleep, I said probably 7:30 because I had been waking up between 6 and 7:30 every day since I landed. 10:45. It was 10:45 before I awoke.

Because I never gave myself a chance to experience jet lag, I refrained from napping and I drank a cup of coffee if I needed it during daylight hours, I sort of forced myself to adjust. And then, at my first opportunity, I crashed. I slept 11 hours and it was great. But since Friday, I have been dragging. I need naps but I can’t because I am either working or watching my cousin’s kids, which I love. I won’t lie, though, there was a point yesterday that I wondered if I could get away with just a 15-minute nap while one child slept and the other was watching television. Just 15 minutes…..

No, I decided we both needed to go run around outside in the crisp air in order to wake ourselves. So we did.

Being back in Ohio and learning about the great things Salem has to offer (the Community Center, the Natural Solutions Salon, Friends Roastery, which is pretty much the best coffee place ever, now importing teas as well), I am starting to like it.

I am actually having a hard time figuring out where home is. Salem feels pretty good. But so did Singapore.

Don’t worry, though, I am sure the PNG people will be telling me where I need to live in three months. 

HOME SWEET SALEM

After three flights over 30 hours, when I landed in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, I was so done with flying! I was done with airports, I was done with airplanes, I was done with people. Luckily, I landed at 4 p.m. local time so I didn’t have many hours left before bedtime.

I had a grande latte in Boston around noon that kept me awake the rest of the day. By 9 p.m., however, I was fading. I don’t remember when I actually went to bed that night but I am sure it was around 11. I got to see Paul for about an hour before he went to bed and then he flew out for training the next morning.

For those following the PNG saga, yes, Paul is actually in training. He got the call Sunday, not Saturday as I previously reported (that brain lapse I blame on jet lag), proving him two days to again schedule a flight, book a hotel and a rental car and be on his way. Bye, Paul. It was nice sleeping next to you. See you in a month.

Surprisingly, I have made it through the first four days extremely well. I have been awake during the day and asleep during the night – it’s weird. Normally I would be napping during the day or pumping coffee into my veins like an addict in order to stay awake. This time, however, I am sailing through with just little bits of “oh, I could probably nap….but I have too much to do.” Keeping myself busy daily likely helps. Next week, when I have a more open schedule, I might just crash. We’ll see.

I have spent half my time staying in Paul’s parents’ house and half my time in a house we are renting. The Bubba House, as my family calls it, was where my grandmother grew up. It’s a tiny, tiny place on a hill near a small lake. The house is very old but my aunt has done a lot to fix it up and make it homey. She has placed carpeting in a couple rooms, renovated the kitchen and she is in the process of renovating the bathroom.

My grandmother lives just up the street, which is a big reason why I love this house. She just popped on over yesterday morning for some coffee while I was waiting on the Internet man to come and bring me the interweb. I had an 8 a.m. appointment and was completely ready for my time slot. Around 8:15, I heard some noise on the porch so I walked over to the door and, to my surprise, there was a starabubba – the Serbian term for “old woman,” and the name that I call Gran.

She had pushed her way over with her cane and her wheely walker, carrying the day’s papers and a pair of slippers. She was donning a fall coat and a scarf on her head. I was on the phone with Paul at the time. “There’s a grandmother at my door,” I told him and I opened the doors leading into the small kitchen.

I got off the phone and greeted Gran, stating that I wasn’t expecting her until much later. Since her sister died last fall, Gran has been sleeping in later and later. She takes a while to get up and get out of bed. Oftentimes if I call her at 10 a.m., she tells me she is just getting up; this is a change from her usual up and sorting laundry by 8 a.m. routine.

“You said you had an appointment so I came to keep you company,” she said in her shriveling voice. I laughed and started a pot of coffee.

We spent the next two hours together, sitting at the table for two against the kitchen window. We had coffee and munched on zeppolis I had purchased at Olive Garden the afternoon before.

She read the paper and told me about people she thought I knew, even though I was 2 and living in Florida when the person graduated. She talked of how she wanted to have her hair done but the local cheapo salon didn’t do the greatest job (duh). I called to make her an appointment at my new favorite downtown shop, Natural Solutions, but their stylist was out for the day. We made an appointment for the following week and Gran wheeled herself back to her house on the hill to wash and pin-curl her hair.

I decided to go to the local community center – another fantastic find on my first day in town – for a bit of a workout. Before Christmas, I was taking pilates and yoga classes six days a week. When we returned to Singapore from the holidays, I had excuses for not going as often – adjusting to the time change, not feeling well, busy schedule, kidney infection. To sum it up, I went to yoga a max of two days a week over a month.

Spending my last few days in Singapore with marathon-runner Megan really got me motivated to being a more steady workout schedule. So, on my first day in Salem, I headed over to the Community Center and inquired about a membership. I got a tour of the complex, which includes a lap pool, hot tub, kiddie pool, gymnasium, elevated running track, a workout studio for classes, a spinning room and a full workout floor with machines and weights.

I was 2.5 minutes into my warmup when I noticed an older couple coming onto the floor from the elevated track. I got excited, paused my machine and ran over to give my neighbors a hug. Jim and Sandy were in Florida for Christmas so I didn’t get to see them the last time I was home. It took them a good 10 seconds to recognize me because they truly were not expecting to see me.

They told me about the center’s Silver Sneakers program, which allows senior citizens to have memberships through Medicaid. They have special classes and get to use all of the facilities in order to promote an active lifestyle.

I spent most of the rest of the day at Annabell’s Restaurant, my third home. Paul’s parents run the restaurant and we help out whenever and wherever we can. In the last two weeks, we have been able to launch a website, www.annabellssalem.com, and a Facebook page for the restaurant (if you are going to like the restaurant page, you also have to like the And Then I Moved to Singapore Facebook page!).

Annabell’s is like Cheers. The same people come in every day, sometimes twice a day. They have their seats picked out just like people in church. They have their favorite wait staff and their favorite dinners. Some people come in on specific days because of the daily dinner feature.

Everyone is friendly and everyone is there to have a good time. Tim runs the kitchen so he hides back there most of the day but Paul’s mom often comes out from her office to say hello to the customers. She does her best to learn everyone’s names, especially if they start to become regulars, and she really tries to remember them.

For the first time since moving to Ohio in 1995, Salem doesn’t suck. I am actually enjoying my time there and feel quite at home – and I NEVER thought that would happen.

TWO YEARS, SEVEN DAYS

It has been two years and seven days since Paul and I first landed in Singapore. When we arrived, I had a ton of emotions (excitement, wonder, anxiety) and now, within 30 minutes of leaving, I felt almost nothing. I blame PNG.

Paul’s job plans have changed so many times over the last few weeks that, after last week’s admitted freak out, I have lost absolutely all emotion. Twice since Paul accepted the offer, he was advised that his job may fall through. We made travel plans around his training schedule, then cancelled those plans when we were advised he was not authorized to commence training. Saturday evening, we received word that training was back on so Paul is flying out tomorrow, only hours after I arrived in Salem. Instead of rearranging my schedule again to be with him, I am staying put because I don’t want to deal with it.

Two weeks ago we were certain we would continue to call Singapore home; seven days ago, certainty faded. Saturday evening I should have been frustrated and angry about the idea of rearranging travel yet again but I realized that I wasn’t – I wanted to be angry but I just wasn’t. The latest news just didn’t faze me. I felt nothing.

I got a little emotional on the way to the airport when the cab driver drove passed my exit. Though we had moved out two days prior, it was as if this gaze through the trees would have been my last. When my plane took off, I kept my eyes on the Singapore lights shining through the hazy midnight sky. I quietly said good-bye to all of the ships and barges that infested the waterways and blocked any hope of beautiful views.

I watched the city lights until they were embraced by the clouds and then took one final deep breath that either symbolized the conclusion of an amazing two years or the relief of knowing that the drama was over and I could now focus on the next chapter.

Two years ago, I remember being unsure of the culture, unsure of the food and unsure how Paul and I would settle in more than 9,500 miles from the place we used to call home. We were unsure how we would handle being around each other, how we would handle our new employment and lack-of-employment situations. We weren’t sure exactly how to find what we needed and we didn’t know anyone who could tell us. One thing we did know was that Singapore seemed to be very similar to Florida, substituting Asians for Latinos.

Two years later we are considered experts by our friends. Paul has established himself as the go-to-pilot in Southeast Asia and I am a new expat wife’s best friend. We have a much better understanding of Christianity thanks to the amazing New Creation Church. We have tremendously grown as a couple because we had the opportunity to learn how to navigate this new life together, side by side.

We found work connections that gave us experience and the ability to help others. The friends we have made will not quickly fade and I certainly look forward to seeing them all again. 

THE BREAKING POINT

Everyone kept asking when this move or upcoming unknown would break me. When was I going to freak out? When was I going to give up? When was I going to show any signs of stress?

Initially, I thought we would have a plan by the end of 2012. At that time, we would know what Paul’s new job was going to be and where we were to be living in 2013. When January came around, I thought I might freak out in February. February came and went and my friends time and again commented on how calm I was. I told them I might freak out in March because February was clearly not the month to have everything figured out.

I spoke to my throughout March about my calm state and how I had just been resting, knowing that there was a plan and that I just had to follow it when it appeared. And then came April.

Welcome to the month when Rachael went crazy. I’m talking seriously, all-out, off-the-charts-for-me crazy. Poor Paul. I keep apologizing.

It started Sunday, which was technically the last day of March but deal with it. I was up early, I impressed myself with my ability to prep for Easter dinner, bake a two-tiered cake, prepare a beautiful lamb in the crock pot, clean my kitchen, do a load of dishes, set the table with cloth and real napkins and all, polish the silverware and then still have time to shower before we needed to leave for church. I had never been that productive and on time in my life!

Paul and I left the house and, as we entered the train station, I said to him, “I don’t know if the lamb is actually cooking right now.” I had definitely turned on the crock pot but I never set the timer and I wasn’t sure if that would affect the temperature or not since I had always used a timer. I also realized that I hadn’t actually eaten breakfast or packed anything to take with me. I was able to grab a croissant at the mall before church and, thankfully, when we got home, the lamb was cooked perfectly so it all worked out, not that I was at all truly concerned about either.

The next day Paul and I had things to do so we got up, had some breakfast and showered. As I was drying my hair, I realized that it felt gross and slightly greasy. “I didn’t wash my hair!” I gasped. How could I have forgotten to wash my hair? I do it every day, sometimes twice a day or more. I didn’t have time to shower again so I just pulled my hair into a tie and we left.

At the end of the day, we decided we would walk to a local favorite and have a date night because I didn’t feel like cooking the almost nothing that we have left in the house. Paul was only going to be around for another 25 hours so I wasn’t putting much effort into grocery shopping – I can live off of ramen noodles just fine, thank you. As we walked out of the building, I suddenly realized that I hadn’t put on any sort of antiperspirant – that’s twice the same day!

I have been very moody – very mean-girly and very snappy – the last few days. I joked with Paul about how I was so forgetful and completely hormonal and then I realized that last week I was very sick without a fever and it hit me – on April Fool’s Day – uh oh.

At least if I was pregnant that could explain the crazy but, no, the test was negative. Yes, I took a pregnancy test to see if there was a defined reason for my crazy. Turns out I’m just crazy.

I keep apologizing to him, day after day. I’m sorry for being moody. I’m sorry for being a B word. I’m sorry I’m so negative and rude. I have no excuse other than the inevitable – I think the stress is finally getting to me.