THE BIG BLOW-UP

Dearest Friends,

In some ways my hubby and I are a lot alike. For one thing, we are both extremely non-confrontational. We'd do just about anything to avoid an argument -- our own, or anyone else's. In my case it was so extreme that just watching things like the Three Stooges or Abbot and Costello could make me twitchy. Part of this, I'm sure, is that neither of us has a glib tongue. John is a good listener, a great audience. I'm the one who thinks of brilliant rejoinders -- hours after the fact when it's too late to do me any good! Hence, we would surely lose in a battle of words, especially with someone who could think on the fly. Anyhoo, since we both hated arguing, and had not yet been taught how to handle disagreements productively, a lot of stuff was still getting swept under the rug in those days.

In other ways we were polar opposites. It was that classic half-empty/half-full scenario. No matter how bad things got, I usually managed to stay fairly cheerful. No matter how good things got, John still managed to stay fairly glum -- which created a nice balance, for the most part. While living the ex-pat life, however, it actually led to one of our biggest fights.

Miss Becky's nest in the Indo-house, where she did her thinking and writing.

You see, I did such a good job of making the best of things that, eventually, John would always forget that there was any down-side to my situation -- that I had given anything up, or made any trade-offs to be there. All he saw was that he had to go to work every day, while I stayed home with a maid and a driver. As if that weren't bad enough, I had the nerve to be all chipper when he got home each day, wanting to tell him about all the fun things the kids and I did while he was at work! Anyway, things finally came to a head one weekend when John went to make a peanut butter sandwich, and discovered we were out of bread. He blurted out something rather hurtful, on the order of "You'd think a woman who didn't have a damn thing to do all day could at least manage to keep bread in the house!", then grabbed the kids and headed off to the snack bar, leaving me standing there with my mouth agape.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, words finally came to me, but of course, I had no one to say them to. They didn't come in a gentle way, either. It was more of an eruption. I had no choice but to grab a pen and start writing a letter to my hubby. I don't remember exactly what was in that one, but I do recall it as one of my better letters -- one where I was able to open his eyes to a few truths, but in a humorous way. I think I started out apologizing for the error of my ways, and telling him he deserved much better. Perhaps he deserved one of the wives we knew who stayed drunk all day long, because it was the only way they could deal with the tedious monotony of their lives here. Or perhaps he should be with the one who was sneaking off to sleep with her hubby's best friend while he was at work. Then again, maybe he would prefer one of those who seemed to be back in the states or away on trips more than they were ever here on the compound, or, better yet, one who refused to come to Indonesia in the first place, even if it meant death to her hubby's career. Oh wait, here's an idea! Maybe I should trade in my part-time maid and the ordeal of fixing my whole family three meals a day, from scratch, almost every darn day, and get not only a live-in maid and a cook, like most everyone we knew, but also a nanny for the kids, like a few others had. That way I could devote every waking minute to his needs.

OK, maybe I didn't really say all that. I think I got a bit carried away there towards the end. Skip that last part and jump ahead to where I closed by saying something like "Silly me! I never knew I actually had a choice in any of this. I thought I had to quit my job at Chez Vous, say goodbye to my friends and family, and a home and a church I adored, to follow you to the ends of the earth. I thought it was my duty to make the most of the situation, and to stay as busy and cheerful as possible. I thought that was what you wanted! Was I wrong? If so, there is a simple solution. Book those tickets and we can be on the next plane outta here!"

His reply? "Damn, Becky! Did you have to go and make me laugh? Couldn't you let me enjoy my righteous indignation a little bit longer,  just this once?"

DASHED HOPES

Dearest Friends,

Of all our friends and relatives back home, the one who was most determined to come visit us in Indonesia was my 72-year-old mother-in-law, Theda. I think she had always dreamed of traveling to exotic places, but she made the mistake of marrying a salesman who was always on the road, covering his territory.  As you can well imagine, whenever vacation time rolled around, the last thing he wanted to do was travel!

She'd always assumed, though, that once he was retired, he would enjoy traveling to art exhibits and craft shows with her, helping her to hang her paintings and set up her booths. After a couple of those mini-strokes, he did indeed take early retirement, but never made it further than his easy chair, where he  spent his time traveling from one television station to the next, instead.

I guess Theda saw this trip to Indonesia as her last chance for a big hurrah, and she was determined to make it work. If George didn't want to come with her, well, they had great neighbors who would keep an eye on him, and she had a wonderful sister who was a professional caretaker, who might come stay with him for a while. She began making her plans.

In early May, just before John was to begin his plant shut-down, and the kids and I were to head off on our big Disney adventure, we got an emergency call from John's brother. George had had another stroke. A biggie this time -- one that left him paralyzed on one side. There wasn't anything more they could do for him at the hospital, so they were moving him to a rehab facility. The rest was up to him. If he was cooperative, and worked very hard, he could learn to walk again. If he was uncooperative, they wouldn't waste their time on him. He'd be sent home in a wheelchair, and there he would stay. I suspect everyone who knew him was asking themselves the same question right about then: Was George's hard-headed stubbornness going to be his salvation, or his ruin? And what about poor Theda?

MISS BECKY TAKES A STAND

Dearest Friends,

I have a confession to make. It is something I am not very proud of. Maybe if I give you a bit of background, you will find it in your hearts to forgive me.

You see, though there was much to be said for working for a large corporation like Mobil Oil, and we certainly liked working for them a heck of a lot more than John's previous company, there were a few drawbacks, the primary one being the amount of control they had over almost every aspect of our lives.

Big Brother
 (image from tvacres.com)

It was bad enough back in the states, what with their telling us when to move and where, every couple of years, and with their having held an axe over our heads, with the constant threat of being laid off, since right around the birth of our first child. Also, I can't tell you how many times they'd screwed up vacation plans, no matter how much notice we gave them, and there must be something really critical about our anniversary date because, I swear, it was pretty much a given that John would absolutely have to be out of town on May 31st each and every year. (Hmmm, do you think my hubby might have had a hand in that?)

In Sumatra, however, we had the added bonus of their controlling the school, our medical facility, our transportation, our housing, and even which food was available in our commissary. Since the only people we had to socialize with all worked for them as well, perhaps you can understand how, after a while, and in such close quarters, it could all start to, well, chafe a bit -- maybe even start to feel a little like you were one of those miners they sing about, who "owed their soul to the company store." Please keep this in mind, when I tell you about the no-good, dirty rotten thing I once did to my poor, sweet hubby.

If you recall, we had decided to start this year's home-leave with a trip to Orlando, since none of us had ever been to Disney World, or even Disney Land, for that matter. It wasn't easy, but we had finally managed to piece together our jigsaw-puzzle-plans for the summer, even managing to get the flights we wanted and to get booked into our first-choice hotel on the Disney grounds, despite only planning three or four months in advance, rather than booking a year ahead, as was recommended. We lucked out because our kids got out of school slightly before most kids in the states, which meant we could get there the week before the hordes descended. The nearer we got to our departure date, the closer to fever-pitch our anticipation had become. John and I were every bit as giddy as the kids, because we couldn't wait to see it all through their eyes, to share the wonder of their very first Disney experience!

One day, just a few weeks before school was to let out, John came home with some news. Now, since most every decision made at the office could have such a profound effect on our personal lives, I had got into the habit of reading my hubby's face when he walked through the door each evening, and I knew this news was bad before he ever even opened his mouth. I followed him back to the bedroom, closing the the door behind us. "Uuhm, Beck? I really don't know how to tell you this, but, well, they've moved the plant shut-down back a few weeks...to the same week as our Disney trip. I have to be here for it."

That was it. That's all he said. That's all he needed to say. The rest was understood. If he couldn't go, none of us should go. After all, it certainly wasn't his fault. He too was crushed by the news. We should put it off a year, so we could all share the experience together, and I was the one who should convey this news to the kids, in a way that wouldn't break their hearts (like that was even possible!) and wouldn't make John out to be the bad guy. That was my job. I have always been the "bad cop" to John's good cop.  I mulled it all around in my head for a moment or two, and then I told him "I'm so very sorry to hear this. It won't be near as much fun without you."

JOHN SAVES THE DAY

Dearest Friends,

Do you remember when I told you that our friend's tragic car accident in Indonesia, so many years before, was one of two events that haunted me to this day?  Well, the second event occurred just six weeks or so after we arrived in Sumatra.

It was a Sunday morning, and I had just gone over my lesson plan one last time (teaching Sunday School still made me extremely nervous), and was about to head out the door with the kids.  John always met us later for the church service, since there was no Sunday School class for adults.  Just then the phone rang.  It was my friend/boss from the catering company back in Texas!  I was so excited to hear from her, since she was one of those who just would not write letters.  I immediately started jabbering away and asking her a bunch of questions, so it took me a minute to realize she was crying.  Turns out, this wasn't a social call.  In fact, she had some earth-shaking news.

Remember the pregnant girl I worked with?  The one who sort of hijacked my going away party?  Well, I guess the rumors were true, for as it turned out, that third baby belonged, not to her husband, but to our French chef D. --  the one my kids adored so.  I might have been able to forgive her eventually, if B. hadn't told me that she actually changed the blood type on her daughter's birth records, endangering her child's very life, just to keep the secret from her husband.  All for nought, it would seem.  Apparently he asked the doctor if there was any way that little girl might not be his, and the doctor's reply was "Son, there's no way she is."

I guess Chef D. really fell hard for this woman.  I'd always thought he and his wife were crazy about each other, but he was willing to leave her to be with this girl and his new daughter.  Who knows what she felt?  Maybe she just craved his adoration.  All I know is that when push came to shove, and her hubby said he was willing to try and work things out, she decided to stay put.  Knowing how deeply he had hurt his wife and betrayed the trust of all his closest friends, and that it was all for nothing, was more than D. could handle.  He checked into a local hotel, and the next day they found him hanging from the light fixture.

I was shaking so hard by the end of the call, I could barely get the phone back in the cradle.  Not wanting my kids to see me fall apart, I went into my bedroom and shut the door.  Once I started sobbing, I just couldn't stop.  Now, I can't think of anything in the world that my husband would rather not do than teach a Sunday School class full of four-year-olds -- especially going in stone cold, without even having a chance to look at the materials first.  That's the day he proved, beyond all doubt, how very much he loves me.  He tucked me back into bed, explaining to our very frightened kids that Mom was just upset because their friend D. had been in a bad "accident", then he picked up my basket of materials and headed off with the kids to teach that class.  He's a keeper, that boy is!

Me?  I was a different girl after that.  I'd lost my wide-eyed innocence and willingness to believe the best about everyone.  When I heard rumors about married people on the compound having flings with other married people?  I believed them, and I was not very forgiving.  I knew just how badly these things could end.

HOW NOT TO TRAVEL

Dearest Friends,

Our month-long jaunt through Europe, back in '77, is probably the most important journey we ever took.  Why?  Because it's the one that taught us how not to travel.  It was everything that "Slow Travel" is not!

Because we had no way of knowing whether we would ever make it back to Europe again, and because we had those free plane tickets that allowed multiple stops, we ended up going to Athens, Rome, Florence, Zurich, Innsbruck, Salzburg, Vienna, Copenhagen, Paris and London.  Ten cities in 29 days.  Of course, you must then subtract all the time we spent traveling on trains, planes and busses, waiting in airports and train stations, waiting or searching for luggage, plus packing and unpacking, to get a true picture of how very little time we had in each city.  Also, don't forget to consider the time it took us to find a place to stay in each town.

Because we wished to be "flexible" -- to have the option to stay longer in some places than in others if we so desired -- the only place where we actually had a hotel reservation was in Athens, our first stop.  Everywhere else we went, we would consult our copy of Europe on $10 a Day, then take a bus or train to wherever was purported to be the best area for bargain hotels.  Of course, we weren't the only ones trudging around those areas with that book tucked under our elbows, toting our non-rolling bags.  Sometimes it would take another half-day just to find one with a vacancy, and then it would be on the 4th or 5th floor of an old townhouse with no elevator, and we'd be sharing a bathroom with everyone else on that floor.

So, how did we spend the couple of days that we did have in each city?  Why, we crammed in as many tours, galleries, museums, landmarks and cathedrals as we possibly could, of course!  We ate a few good meals, and a lot of bad ones, shopped every flea market for touristy knick-knacks and postcards to send home, had to check out every bar or pub with an interesting name, spent a whole lot of time being rather disgruntled with one another, and...well, in spite of all that, I wouldn't change one single thing about it, for here is what it taught us:

1) Being together 24 hrs. a day, for an entire month, is a lot to expect from a couple who'd each become used to spending a lot of time on their own.  By spending a bit of time apart each day, doing things we are separately passionate about and don't wish to be rushed through, we enjoy our time together all the more.

2) Our internal clocks are very different.  I am an early riser, he is not.  When I am ready to call it a night, he's getting geared up to go out and party.  After many tiffs, we finally learned to compromise.  I get up with the birds, wander out to a cafe, and get my fill of people watching, journal writing and tea sipping, while he sleeps in.  If he wants me to party down in the evenings, he makes sure I get an afternoon nap, which gives him time to wander around with his camera.

3) When you try to cram too much into too little time, it all just turns into a blur, one place indistinguishable from the next.

4) What do I remember from all those landmarks, museums and cathedrals?  Virtually nothing.

Here's what I do remember from that trip:

• laughing ourselves silly over our lopsided bed in Paris
• wandering the streets at night in Athens, hearing laughter and that distinctive Zorba-the-Greek-style music drifting out to us wherever we went (what is that instrument called -- a bazooki or something?)
• my first taste of retsina at a wine festival we just happened upon (it tastes like pine sap smells)
• arriving at the airport in Athens with time to spare, then discovering we were at the wrong airport
• lying in bed at our Roman pensione, listening to the sounds coming from the movie theatre next door, which had cranked open its ceiling to let in the cool night air
• a picnic lunch of wine, cheese and bread, eaten at a little pull-down table in our own private train compartment aboard the Alpen Express
• another train trip where we were stuck out in the freezing passageway, with a passel of young people, all. night. long!
• watching a motorcyclist spin out and crash, after coming too close and bumping into my elbow - possibly trying to grab my purse
• trying to watch Fellini's Satyricon in Italian, with German subtitles (what the?)
• a funny little old Tyrollean gentleman in a feathered hat, who took a shine to me in an Innsbruck bar
• the best hot chocolate of my life, piled high with whipped cream (schlogg?), at a cafe in Vienna
• happening upon a lovely pavilion in a Viennese park, where we spent a Sunday afternoon sipping more chocolate, whilst listening to a small group perform Strauss, along with the locals
• touring the Carlsberg breweries, and finding that the workers are allowed to drink beer while on duty (Denmark has no age restrictions either, but virtually no public drunkenness - other than the Swedes who come over to get blotto, because they can't get it at home)
• eating Smorgasbord at the railway bistro, then ending up at Vin & Og, a Viking beer hall where I had so much fun, I lost my voice
• being turned away from dining at Simpson's on the Strand in London, because John had no tie
• getting caught in the rain in almost every town, then running across a gorgeous raincoat I just couldn't live without (it swirled when I spun around!) at our very last stop 
• turning to one another in the back of a big black London taxi, at almost the same time, and saying to one another "I think I've had enough.  It's time to go home." 

So what is the final lesson I have learned, just from making this list here?  It's that our very best memories come from slowing down enough to soak in the moment, to be fully present and participating.  As for the very best stories?  Why, those most often come from things not going at all according to plan!

P.S. It turns out all the pictures from this trip were made into slides, which we have now located.  Unfortunately, the scanner that could turn them into bloggable photos is broken.  We tried to buy one in Austin yesterday, but ended up having to order one, so it will be a while before I can post any pictures. Of course, now that I think about it, what constitutes "good" trip pictures is something else we have never been able to agree upon (John's never include any people!), which is why we now take two cameras.

THE LONGEST MONTH: AN ULTIMATUM

Does this girl look the least bit threatening to you?

Dearest Friends,

When John headed out for his last (hopefully) gig offshore, things really went a little nuts.  First of all, I got word that Mom was headed to the hospital for emergency surgery.  She ended up having her gallbladder removed, which these days is usually a simple "bandaid" surgery, but back then was still a major-scar-leaving ordeal.  I felt so helpless, and guilty for not being there for her.  I really needed my hubby to be there at my side, saying "It's ok Becky.  She understands."

Not only was he not there, I'd gone eleven days without a single word from him!  Finally, several letters showed up at once, only, instead of saying "I should be on the next boat outta here", as I was expecting, he said "Looks like I'll be stuck here at least two more weeks."

The next day I awoke to find my refrigerator had conked out on me , and pretty much all my food was spoiled.  I spent the whole morning down in the souk, trying to find one to rent or buy, but to no avail.  Nothing in the newspaper or at the furniture store, either.  Nellie loaned me their big ice chest as a temporary fix, and another friend's hubby dropped off a bunch of ice when he heard of my predicament.  Then another fellow, who was fixin' to ship out, brought me his little dorm-style fridge.  Unfortunately, it had the wrong type plug on it, so I went in search of an adapter.  No luck on that front either.  According to my diary, I eventually "tried changing the plug out myself", which was quite a shock to read.  Not only do I have no memory of doing that, I wouldn't even have a clue how to go about it if you asked me to do it today!  I suppose it was a successful effort, for there is no further mention of refrigerator woes.

The high point of my month was going to a big farewell bash for one of the VPs.  Again we were at the infamous Pearl Restaurant, but this time, fortunately, we did not all end up with the Hershey Squirts. (yea!)  One of the construction foremen from offshore happened to be there as well, and he went out of his way to seek me out and tell me what a good engineer my hubby was.  Of course, I'd always suspected as much, but it's ever so nice to get confirmation from an unbiased third party!  I walked around with a stupid grin on my face the rest of the evening.

When John had been gone right at a month, I think I may have run into his supervisor, Dennis Chow, at a baseball game.  He was somewhat sleight in stature,  and I may have teasingly grabbed him by his lapels, and may have jokingly made some silly little threats about what I might do to him if my hubby wasn't on that next boat.  He was.

THEY GOT RIFFED!

Dearest Friends,

As it turns out, Paula's and Nellie's husbands had both fallen victim to a Reduction in Forces, or R.I.F.  The platform that John and Tim had been assigned to was complete and ready for start up.  It had been turned over to the crew that would be operating it, and the construction barge our hubbies had been living on was being sent elsewhere.  The only reason B&R still wanted John out there is that Aramco (the owners of the platform) had suddenly decided there must be a small crew on stand-by throughout the start up process, just in case something went wrong.  Since B&R's team didn't actually have jobs to do, however, they just sat in their quarters all day, everyday.  Talk about boring!  This start-up just happened to coincide with our scheduled home leave, which is why it got cancelled.

Such is life with an engineer, and the one thing about our marriage that I never really came to grips with.  It always seemed like every time we'd try and plan a vacation, or do something special for our anniversary, I'd get a sheepish call from my poor hubby at the last minute, saying "Um, Beck?  I don't know how to tell you this, but..."  Fifteen years later, when we returned to Indonesia with our kids, I finally got fed up with the situation, and summoned up the courage to take a stand!  But that's a story for another day.

Of course, at this point I was still pretty clueless about what all was going on.  All I knew was that S&BD were leaving for sure in mid-May,  my other two best friends might not be far behind them, I hardly ever got to see my husband, and our only option if we wanted to go home was to just quit this job, without having anything else already lined up and waiting.  Well, that would be really difficult, because that was something we had both been taught growing up, that you just...don't...do!

Soooo, that's when I started to get stressed, and as I mentioned before, when Miss Becky gets stressed, shit happens.  According to my diary, on April 27th there was a "little accident with a car in the souk", then on the 30th, I stopped by the office to check for mail, where I found two letters from John and a lovely linen tablecloth sent from one of our Irish boys who had returned home, as a thank you for all the home-cooked meals at our place.  From there I went straight to the grocery store, but instead of following my automatic routine of shutting off the car, putting the keys in my purse, etc., I paused for a moment to rip open and read the letters from John, then proceeded to lock my keys in the car.  Of course, I couldn't call my hubby to bring me a spare, could I?  And, since this was one of the first new cars not to have a knob thingy that a coat hangar could grab onto, we ended up having to bust out a window.  On May 1st I wrote that "I almost got arrested with Beth", on May 5th I "got really pissed off with my boss" and then I came down sick.  What the heck was going on here?  This was so not the usual Miss Becky.  For one thing, I almost never get sick!  Could this really be a result of simple stress, or could it have something to with that stupid "Ski Team Diet" I had been going on each time John went offshore.  Or, maybe I'd just fried my brain, with all the sunbathing we did over there!

COMING APART AT THE SEAMS

Dearest Friends,

Looking back from this distance, I can see the beginnings of a pattern that was to stick with me for the rest of my married life -- the habit of "divorcing" myself from a place and everything in it.  When I first arrive somewhere new, I always put on my rose-colored glasses.  I am determined to see only what is good about it, in order to convince myself that we will be happy there. 

Bahrain, when we first arrived.

As soon as I start getting vibes that we are to move again, however, the glasses come off, and I begin to focus on what I don't like about it.  I guess it makes it easier for me to say goodbye.

Bahrain, 18 months later.

In early April I noted in my diary that John had sent me a telex saying I was to go in and talk to a guy about our house on the company compound, but then I never mention anything else about it.  I'm thinking that perhaps, when I told Paula and Nellie the good news, they must have hinted that, if I was moving out to the compound just to be near them, I might want to reconsider.  Between that news, our cancelled home-leave, and John's dissatisfaction with being stuck offshore, well, suddenly I'm wondering how I ever could have liked such a desolate place!

OUR DOWNHILL SLIDE WITH B&R BEGINS

Dearest Friends,

What I discovered after John's first shore-leave was that, no matter how many great friends I now had, nothing could make up for having to put John back on that boat after so few days at home (especially knowing how unhappy it made him), and nothing could make me panic like going too many days without a letter from him.  One time I went a whole week without a letter, and was just about convinced there'd been some terrible accident offshore, when finally a pile of letters showed up all at once.  Whew!

On April 14th,  I got word that John would be home on the next boat, putting him in right on time.  Woohoo!  The next morning, however, it was still dark when I woke up, which was weird.  Then I realized it kinda hurt just to breathe.  What the...?!  Turned out we were having a doozy of a dust storm.  Luckily it was a Friday, so I didn't have to go to work in it.  Instead I settled in for a bit of sewing, to pass the time until John arrived.  When he still hadn't shown up by 4:00, I decided to go call the office.  They told me the boat was here, but it couldn't pull alongside to unload due to the bad weather.  I sat around feeling sorry for myself (and for John!) the rest of the evening.  At least I had t.v.  There was absolutely nothing to do on those boats.  I'm not sure if they even had beds for everyone!

The next day, after worrying about him all night long, I got word that they weren't sure if he was even on that boat or not!  Sure enough, his boat was still out at the construction barge, unable to leave because of the storm.  He finally made it in late on the 18th, two days before the grand opening of my boss' new shop, which meant I got to work overtime the whole time he was there.  He'd only been home four and a half days when we got word that his boat was leaving the next morning.  Talk about depressed!  Fortunately for us, the weather turned bad again, and this time it worked in our favor.  He got one more day at home.

FURTHER READING: ADELLE DAVIS

Priscilla, Megan and Geoff, with Dear Hubby's Granny out in California

Dearest Friends,

What other books, you may be asking, did I wag home from the Family Bookstore?  These three might surprise you: Let's Eat Right to Keep Fit and Let's Have Healthy Children, both by Adelle Davis, and another book called Nursing Your Baby.  You can blame all three choices on my sister-in-law Priscilla.

Though she might not admit this, despite time spent at both Yuppie U (aka SMU) and as an airline stewardess, Pris had the heart of a hippie hidden deep inside.  The first time I met her, when John and I were just dating, she was absorbed in a book by Adelle Davis, a nutrion guru whose advice about choosing real food over manufactured, and urging the use of supplemental vitamins, seemed to be taking the counter-culture by storm.

Pris was pregnant with her first child when John and I got engaged, and was the first person I'd ever known who wanted to use natural childbirth techniques, and have her hubby (John's brother Mike) in the delivery room with her.  I had one friend who had natural childbirth there in Bahrain, but it was not by choice, and she had no training for it.  It was the only option there at the local hospital -- a good reason not to get pregnant yet.  Priscilla had even joined La Leche League, and was planning to breastfeed!

When we went to visit them in Houston, just before moving to Bahrain, she was newly pregnant with her second child.  Shortly after that they moved to California, where her inner hippie came into full bloom.  Despite her mother's pleadings, her second child was born right there at home, with a midwife in attendance, Pris became the leader of her La Leche League group, and she nursed baby Geoff for a full three years.  She was quite the pioneer, for her day and age.  I wasn't nearly that brave, but having a personal role model and fountain of knowledge made it much easier for me to step out of my comfort zone, and to blaze a new trail from the one I had been raised to follow.

Between her influence, those books, and my broadened view of the world, I suppose it's only natural that I would start to question my original career plans.  The more time you spend in third world countries, the harder it is to justify putting all your energy into convincing people that they must toss out last year's wardrobe to make room for the latest fads.  I had come across some amazing textiles in our travels, however, and the textile labs had been my very favorite classes at UT, which may have led me to consider the possibilities indicated in this hilarious "10-Year Plan" I found tucked into the back of one diary:

• '77 - Bahrain, John offshore
• fall 77 - return to States, go to work, buy house (24 yrs. old)
• winter 77/78 - pregnant
• fall 78 - 1st child born (25 yrs.)
• winter 79/80 - pregnant
• fall 80 - second child born (27 yrs.)
• fall 82 or 83 - begin graduate degree in Textiles
• fall 83 - first child in school (30 yrs.)
• fall 85 - second child in school, get job teaching at University (32 years)

 I seem to remember feeling very strongly that you must have all your children before you were 30, for God forbid you should be an ancient 50 by the time they got out of school!  What a joke that turned out to be.

BAHRAINI WOMEN

Dearest Friends,

One thing I was beginning to realize was that I am not adverse to prying.  In fact, I am quite nosy!  I wanted to know how couples met, where people grew up and went to school, what made them tick, and how they had become who they were today.  Correction: I didn't just want to know.  I needed to know!  I guess I'd always been that way to a certain extent, but being in a place where their backgrounds were so very different from my own had kicked it up a few notches, and sent my curiosity to a whole new level.

The Guest Palace

The three women who piqued my curiosity most were the women I worked with.  First there was M., my boss, and owner of both the shop and salon.  As I mentioned before, she was from a branch of the wealthy ruling family, was married to a second or third cousin and had a couple of kids, however the husband was never around.  One of my friends had been a stewardess before she married and went to work for B&R.  When she was still flying, she got invited to some of the sheikh's parties, and had met the mysterious husband.  She was fairly certain he was gay, and spent most of his time in America, which I could fully understand.  What I couldn't understand was why my boss, who was a strong, smart, college-educated woman who had travelled the world, was willing to settle for that arrangement.

Her business partner S. managed the salon for her, and may have been a cousin as well.  I can't remember for certain.  She too was married to a man who lived elsewhere, and had a baby boy whom she rarely saw.  That I really couldn't understand.  It turns out she had been very unhappy in her marriage right from the beginning, and the only way she could get out was to leave her son to be raised by her husband and his mother.  "But, why?"  "You don't understand.  That's just the way it works here."

Then there was young R., M's little sister.  Like M., she had been sent to the University of Beirut, but midway through her studies the civil war broke out, and they were forced to shut the school down.  The students were then divided up and sent to various universities around the world.  Where did R. end up?  The University of Texas, right here in Austin.  My own alma mater!  Not only that, she happened to be living in an apartment down on Riverside -- party central!  It was pretty hard to keep a straight face sometimes, when M. would tell me that R. wouldn't be home over this or that break, because she had some exams she had to take, or a project she had to work on.  Yeah right!

When they did manage to drag her home, she'd come help out in the shop, and I always enjoyed visiting with her.  I couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her, to swing back and forth between that world and this one, where the men and women in her family could not be in the swimming pool at the same time, at their own house!  And where she could try on the cute little tennis outfits that her sister sold there in her shop, but she could not wear them, even on their own private tennis courts.  Instead she had to wear one that covered her knees.  I didn't think there was any way that she would ever come back to Bahrain full-time, after having been given that taste of freedom, but, eventually, she did.

I guess it's true.  Being a princess isn't quite what it's cracked up to be, is it?

THE PENDULUM SWINGS

Dearest Friends,

I have never been able to decide which is worse -- being bored to tears because absolutely nothing is going on, or being totally stressed out, because too much is going on.  For me, it has usually been a case of "be careful what you wish for."  If I complained about being bored, someone up there was sure to send the pendulum swinging all the way to the other side of the spectrum, which is what happened in Bahrain.

Ha!  Bet you didn't know I used to work in a "saloon"!

No sooner had my boss returned from London, than she announced that she would be leaving on a buying trip to Paris within a couple of weeks.  Handling the correspondence with our French suppliers had been a real struggle while she was away, so as soon as I heard that she was leaving again, I got myself down to Alliance Francaise and signed up for a three-afternoons-a-week French class.  Unlike my high school classes, AF believed in speaking nothing but French in class from the very first day.  Although I ended up being the star pupil when it came to vocabulary, my accent caused my teacher to shake his head in woe on more than one occasion, whilst muttering something about "You Texans!"  The hairdresser I worked with, George, was from Lebanon, and spoke French fluently.  When he heard I was taking lessons, he started trying to hold conversations with me as he did my hair.  That's when I probably should have realized that there is a short circuit between my tongue and my brain, and that the only way I would ever be able to communicate would be via the written word.  It took my trying to speak several different languages, including English, before I finally figured that out.

John's job was undergoing some changes as well.  First of all, they took away his half-day off each Thursday, and he was back to working ten hours a day, six days a week.  Then he came home with news of a company-housing compound that was nearing completion, and he said perhaps we should consider moving out there.  "Why on earth would I want to do that, when I've gone to all this trouble to fix this place up, and we live in walking distance to my job, the American club, a movie theater, and everything else."  "Well, um, because it looks like I'm gonna be spending a lot more time off-shore, and I thought you might be more comfortable having people around who can help you out when I'm away."  Well, crap.  But I still wasn't movin'!

Not sure why he was taking pictures of the engine.

On top of my refusal to budge, John had the worst day off ever, right about that time.  We tried to go to the beach, but our car broke down.  So we walked to our friends T & L's house and borrowed their car, but it broke down on us too!  We then caught a taxi over to S & BD's house, so that John could borrow some tools to work on the cars with.  I guess that was the straw that broke the camels back.  The next day we were at the Honda show room, looking at brand new Civics.  He probably figured he'd never have a moment's peace off-shore, unless I had reliable transportation.  Now all he had to do was wait for ours to arrive (which would take at least a month), then pray that our marriage would survive his having to teach me to drive a stick-shift!

It was a bright, lemon yellow, as I recall.

A FATEFUL MEETING

Well, no wonder I got offered the job at Beaute' so quickly this time, when they never even called me back the first time I applied.  There was more to it than just my learning to type!  My new boss was a Zayani, one branch of the wealthy ruling family, and a mere two weeks after she hired me, she headed off to their London pied a terre, for two months, leaving me completely on my own!

In the meantime, John had roomed with this one guy while he was offshore.  Everyone called him Toad.  The offshore gang were big on tough, manly nicknames like Tex and Toad and Tiny.  Tiny was John's other roomie, the head cook.  He weighed 300 lbs. and liked to sleep "nekkid".  Bet you're glad there are no photos of that!

The net around the helipad, in case the pilot misses his mark.  People are NOT supposed to be on it.

Though you may find it hard to fathom from these photos, Toad (a former fire-fighter and EMT) was the safety guy offshore, and probably the most clean-cut and conservative of the whole lot.

Playing cards with this gang can be a very scary proposition.

Anyhoo, just as John had asked his friends to keep an eye on me while he was gone, I suspect someone in the office probably asked Toad to keep an eye on my hubby.

As it turned out, Toad also had a young new wife from Texas.  I guess she was pretty lonely too, since her only friend had gone home to Scotland for the summer,  her new job as a kindergarten teacher at the American School wouldn't start until fall, and her hubby was one of those who only came home for one week a month.

Of course, I didn't know any of this at the time, but I'm guessing that Mr. Toad told his little wife that she needed to meet me, 'cause not long after he got back from the platform, John came home from work with an invitation.  We had been asked over for hamburgers and homemade ice cream, to the house of some girl that neither of us had ever even met!  I thought that was kinda strange.

Little did I know, it was to be one of the most important meetings of our lives -- the one that would lead us to our very best friends of nigh on 35 years now, our wonderfully fun, crazy, quirky soulmates, Paula and Tim!

AT LAST

Dearest Friends,

Early the next morning, our friend JH showed up with the shipments.  I couldn't believe they were finally here! (well, all except the dining room set)  That same afternoon, he stopped back by to hook up our stereo, so I could have music while I unpacked.  From that point on, either he or my friend BD's husband would stop by almost daily, to bring mail or phone messages.  I had a feeling my hubby had asked them to keep an eye on his poor, defenseless little wifey while he was gone!  Did I mention that BD, my best (and pretty much only) friend, had gone back to the states to have surgery, and might be gone a couple of months?  Needless to say, I was one lonely girl, and was thrilled to death to have all this unpacking, arranging, and nesting to do, to help pass the time while both John and BD were away.

The day after the shipment arrived, I spent several hours out at the naval base/American school, talking to prospective employers.  The jobs all sounded dead boring -- nothing I would ever have considered back in the states -- but I was getting pretty desperate by that point.  Plus, there were certain perks that came with a navy job.  For one thing, you could get and send mail via their APO system, which was waaaaay quicker and more reliable than our usual method.  Even better, you could shop at their commissary on base, which occasionally got very cool stuff, like Dr. Pepper!

When I was about halfway through my typing classes, I noticed that the sign was back up in the window of that salon/boutique I had been so interested in.  Guess the first person they hired didn't work out.  I sent them my new, improved resume', and crossed all my fingers and toes.  A few days later I was asked, not only to come in and talk with them, but also to come back and discuss a job in the counselor's office at the school.

John finally made it back after a full two weeks offshore, and man oh man, was it good to have him back!  He seemed pretty darn happy to be there, too.  I'm not sure he was really cut out for the offshore life, so was quite happy that it was a one-time thing for him, and not his regular gig.  I couldn't imagine living in a foreign country by yourself, and only getting to see your husband one week out of every month, the way some women did.

The next morning I went back to the school, and they offered me the job.  Such a quandary I was in!  I desperately wanted the job at the boutique, but wasn't sure they were all that impressed by my interview.  What to do, what to do?  I turned the school down.

A few hours later, when John came home for lunch, I was a nervous wreck about telling him I had passed up a sure thing.  Fortunately, he had a message in his hand, asking me to stop back by the boutique at my earliest convenience.  I was over there in two seconds flat.  Not only did I have a job, I was to start the very next day!

THE LETTER

Dearest Friends,

We'd been in Bahrain for about two weeks when John finally came home with a letter from one of our friends back at SSFY (the fab yard in Indonesia) -- this one from Young S.  I was ecstatic to finally be hearing from one of them, but when I noticed a strange look on John's face, I suspected the news wasn't all good. When he insisted that I sit down, before handing the letter over, I realized it had to be terrible.

Apparently SSFY had held a big going-away party for someone out at the Anyer Beach restaurant, which usually meant lots of drinking.  Then again, the road back to Cilegon was so twisty and dark at night, there being no streetlights of any kind, alcohol may have had nothing to do with it at all.  It may well have been that I & I just never even saw the big truck that was pulled off to the side of the road, until they came around a corner and plowed right into it.  He did manage to get her out of the wreckage and into a passing minibus, which took them to the nearest expat's home, but without paramedics, hospitals, or even a decent doctor anywhere nearby, there wasn't much they could do for her.

I wish the letter had ended with that, for I could have come to grips with the fact that she died.  Tragic accidents are a part of life.  Unfortunately, Young S. felt the need to share a bit more with us.  She went on to say that I's final words were on the order of "Didn't I tell you...your driving would be the death of me?"  Of course, we had no way of knowing if that was even true, but just the possibility of that -- that she may have lain such a burden of guilt upon someone she supposedly loved, knowing that it may well have wrecked him for life, and consequently, their children as well?  Well, that I have never been able to deal with, and it's one of only two things that still haunt me to this day.  The second would occur some fifteen years later, just after our return to Indonesia.

TO MOVE, OR NOT TO MOVE?

"You mean to tell me this isn't wallpaper?  It's all been roller-painted on?  In every single room? No wonder the rows are so wobbly!"

Dearest Friends,

As soon as John went to sign the lease and pick up our keys, we got down to the business of trying to make the place livable.  One thing we had picked up while in the states was a waterbed mattress (remember, this is the mid-seventies we're talking about!), so the first order of business was to find lumber and build a frame for it.  John borrowed tools and we worked on that in the evenings, and I divided my days between scrubbing down the entire place, waxing terrazzo floors, and getting taxis to take me around to various shops, trying to find the things we would need just to get by.  I think most families stayed in the hotel at least until their air shipments arrived, but I had a feeling that would never fly with my hubby, and that I'd best get my rear in gear!

JH and his wife V loaned us a folding table set, so we'd have a place to eat, and we bought a hideous but cheap sofa and chair from some bachelor who was leaving, just to have somewhere to sit.  We figured we could always pass it on to the next set of rookies, once our own stuff arrived.  We must have bought some used appliances as well, for my diary mentions having them "moved over", and it mentions my sanding down a refrigerator and painting it bright yellow!

This is when I first began to realize that I enjoy anticipation much more than my hubby does.  I savor the period building up to a holiday or event, while he prefers to just jump right into it.  Well, at least that's how he was back then, before I converted him to my way of thinking.  Anyhoo, I was having a great time puttering around at the apartment and scouring the markets, but I also enjoyed coming back to the hotel each afternoon, to soak in the tub or sit out by the pool.  I especially enjoyed getting to try out the various restaurants that were available, since we hadn't had any to go to in Cilegon!  The night we found the apartment, we celebrated by trying a Chinese restaurant we'd been told about.  It was surprisingly good, even if they wouldn't serve anything that was made with pork.  Another night we went to check out the restaurant in the only other upscale hotel in town, the Hilton, and you'll never guess what we found there!  As soon as we walked through the doors, we heard someone calling "Mr. John!  Mrs. John!"  We turned to look, and there stood several of the waiters from the Singapore Hilton -- the very same ones who had waited on John the whole time he lived there, and spoiled me rotten on our honeymoon!  I couldn't imagine why anyone from Singapore would think it was an exciting adventure to come work in Bahrain, but then again, there are probably lots of people who long to visit America, and who wouldn't understand why we'd had the urge to go off and live in the places we went to, either.

My husband, on the other hand, was not enjoying himself nearly as much as I was.  If you recall, what with home leave and all, we'd been living out of suitcases for over a month at this point.  He was fed up with that, with eating at restaurants, with trying to juggle a new job and everything else that needed doing, and with finding ways to get back and forth between all these different places, when we didn't even have a car yet.  He just wanted to come home to his own house each evening, and he wanted some simple, home-cooked meals.  I couldn't really blame him, so, against my better judgement, I let him talk me into moving out of the hotel just five days after we signed the lease on the apartment.  The frame for the waterbed was built, but we still hadn't found any blocks to set it on, so we couldn't fill the mattress with water yet.  "But," he asked, "how hard would it be to just sleep on the floor a night or two?"  Well, when you're talking about terrazzo floors, and you've got nothing but a sheet and a thin blanket, it's not just hard.  It's impossible!

OUR BAGS ARE PACKED, BUT ARE WE READY TO GO?

Dearest Friends,

The last of our straggling birthday and Christmas packages from the states finally arrived in early February.  A good thing, since that's when we received a telex from the office in Bahrain.  They had a position for John, and they wanted him there by April 1st.  What is more, they wanted us to go ahead and take our annual month-long home leave before we got there.  I did the math in my head, and when I realized that meant we only had three or four weeks left in Indonesia, I almost collapsed.  Yes, I was excited about possibly going back to work, meeting new people, and furnishing our first real home, but was I really ready to leave this place, and these people, forever?  I'd only been here eight months, and there was so much I'd yet to see and do!  Though John had been there once, before we got married, I'd still never been to Bali!  Imagine living in Indonesia, and never even going to Bali.  Heck, I never even made it out of Cilegon!

I. Plays Host

The next few weeks were a mad blur of taking inventory (how did we ever accumulate so much, in such a short period of time?), cleaning out trunks, and in deciding what needed to be sent ahead in our air freight shipment (I ask you, which is more important, cooking equipment or electronics?), what needed to be bought in Singapore and sent by sea, what we would need to pack in our suitcases in order to get by during our month of travel, and what could be given away.  If only I'd known how many times I'd have to go through this throughout our marriage, would we have bought so much stuff? (my hubby would give a resounding "Yes!") Would we have let ourselves get that close to people, that fast? (less and less with every move)  Oh yes, and there were parties to be attended!  Lots and lots of parties!

Kicking back with I & I, after an amazing good-bye dinner.

The movers came to pack up our air shipment (we never could agree, so we sent a little of each) on the 19th.  On the 24th Miss F. had a big luncheon for all the women, as a going away for me, and a welcoming for Miss P., who'd just finally returned.  On the 25th there was a pizza dinner at Young S's house, and on the 27th we went to an unbelievable dinner at the home of I&I.  If I'd known what an amazing cook she was, I would have been hanging out at her place every day, to see what I could learn! Ere then, I had no clue that some people actually heated their dinner plates in the oven, before placing the food on them, and chilled their salad plates!  And that dessert!  I remember it to this day: multiple thin layers of crunchy-sweet meringue, with pillows of whipped cream and syrupy fruit sandwiched between!  Oh, and the soundtrack I still hear from this? It's definitely Gloria Gaynor.  I & I were mad for Gloria Gaynor.  On the 28th one of the bachelors, Infamous A., actually cooked dinner for us (equally impressive in its own way) then had the entire community over for a party afterwards.

The next day the packers came to get the rest of our stuff, and I went to card club for the very last time.  They had a special prize for me, even though I didn't win that day -- a small brass paperweight, shaped like one of the little green lizards that watched over my bed that very first night in Indonesia, and which I'd eventually grown rather fond of.

 The following morning we were delighted to find that I. had sent his air conditioned car and driver to take us all the way to Jakarta, where we would then catch a plane to Singapore.  Much better than being on one of those VW busses, I assure you, but hard to appreciate when I was so distracted by thoughts of what I was leaving behind.  What if I never saw any of these people again?  What if I never, ever lived anyplace near as beautiful as this again?  Had I made the most of my time while I was here?  For three hours, I listen to the soundtrack in my head - Gloria Gaynor singing Never Can Say Good-Bye...