LIFE IN LIMBO-LAND

Dearest Friends,

From the time we heard about those "possible openings" back in the states, we entered a state of limbo. Not knowing whether we were going on our usual home-leave as soon as school let out, or actually moving home, affected pretty much every thing we did, and rendered us completely helpless when it came to making any plans or decisions. Normally the month of March would have been a flurry of travel-planning and list-making. Instead, we sat there twiddling our thumbs, hoping for word. When we could wait no longer, the kids and I finally booked flights home for early June, not even knowing whether it would be a one-way or round-trip journey.

Lizzy and Lexie, in one of many school skits.

A letter home from John, dated 4/7/94:

Dear Mom & Dad,

Well, I don't know what to think of your Cowboys. Jimmy Jones must really be something else if he can't get along with a coach that took him from last place to two Super Bowls. I think it would be funny if the Cowboys fell on their fannies next year, but they have too much talent to do too badly. Not much is going on around here. We are finally beginning to plan our home leave for this summer. Looks like Becky and the kids will come home the first of June as usual, but I won't come in until July. There is a conference in Venezuela that I want to attend that starts July 17. Right now I'm not sure what my travel plans will be. I may go straight there before coming home, or may go to Dallas for a week, then Venezuela, then to Odessa for 2 weeks. I should know a little more later this month.

Mom, I need one favor from you. I need you to take $1,400 from the credit union and send to to Becky's sister Kathy. They are going to pick up a small computer for Becky to use in the kitchen, if and when we get to come home.

The kids are getting anxious to come home this summer. I think we have found a couple of good camps for them. In fact, we have sent in a deposit for a 2-week camp outside Dallas (YMCA) that they can both attend at the same time. Then there is a Cub Scout day camp in Dallas that is held in the park near Bill and Kay's house. All in all, I think the kids will have fun. Becky doesn't seem to have any special plans for this summer. With Carolyn trying to sell her house, it will make it a little awkward for Becky and the kids to stay there too long. I think Becky would prefer to move around a little bit anyway.

The weather here has been extremely hot lately. Thought for a while we were into another rainy season, then it stopped all of a sudden and got hot. I still say I should plan my home leaves around a trip to the mountains or some place cool. Each year I've come home you've had heat waves there! Well, I will be talking to you this weekend, so I'll go ahead and close. Give everyone our regards. We'll be seeing you soon. The kids can't wait to get their hands on Taz.

Love,
John

Austin and Ryan, on top of the world!

BOTH THE BEST, AND THE WORST, OF GROWING UP OVERSEAS

Back to School Open House

Dearest Friends,

Know what I love about this picture? Check out the two boys center front. Look at the way little Travis, one of the youngest kids in the school, has his arm draped over older boy Jamie's, as if they were brothers. In a community this small, our kids made friends with everyone, and they soon learned that friends were not a disposable commodity. If you ditched your friends whenever they pissed you off, you'd end up very, very lonely, so they learned how to compromise. They learned that they could have friends of all ages and nationalities, and of both sexes -- kids whose interests and beliefs weren't necessarily the same as theirs, and who wouldn't always agree with them on every little thing. They learned that people could like them just as they were, even if they didn't have the "in" toys and clothes. Heck, they no longer had any way of knowing what was in! They learned that it's actually far better to have a teacher who makes you work hard, but stimulates your imagination, than it is to coast along in utter boredom. They also learned that it was important to balance that hard work with plenty of physical activity and creative opportunities. They thrived on being able to move about the classroom, and interact with the other students, including those in different grades. Most importantly, they learned that the universe was a very, very big place, and they were not the center of it -- that our way of doing things was not the only way, or even necessarily the right way. All this was the best thing about growing up overseas -- and it was the worst thing too, for it was going to make it very, very difficult to go back to the old way of doing things, and all but impossible to go back to the old way of seeing things!

ONE LAST FLING

Dearest Friends,

By the time we left Doss, John was running out of vacation. We headed back to Dallas so he could regroup before heading out on one last little adventure -- a father-daughter road trip! He was sooooo looking forward to spending some one-on-one time with Alexis, something he hadn't had much opportunity for since their Indian Princess campouts together when she was five or six. His primary goal was to deliver her to the aquatics camp she was to attend at Texas State University in San Marcos, but he figured it wouldn't hurt to swing by UT first, maybe do a little brain-washing while he had the chance. (Alas, that plan backfired big time -- she ended up choosing Texas State over UT!)

Lexie's roommate Lizzy, a friend from Indonesia

Once he was back in Dallas, he barely had time to pack his bags before having to return to Indonesia. I think he sort of dreaded going back alone, for there would be no furry friend there to greet him this time. While we were in Odessa we had got a phone call from our next door neighbor Judy in Indonesia. Apparently our housekeeper Asnah had come to her in a panic when she noticed there was something wrong with our beloved dog Munchkin, but she wanted us to know that she had called in the vet, and they were doing everything they could.

A few days later she had the onerous task of informing us that Munchkin had passed on. I have never been so torn. On one hand, I felt devastated over not being there to comfort Munchie in her final days. On the other, I felt guilty relief over not having to see her suffer. It had certainly been a summer for facing hard truths. Not only had we lost our beloved pet of almost fifteen years -- our first child, really -- we also had to face up to the fact that John's father was never going to get better, and his mother was teetering on the edge. Then we had to face up to the dwindling size of the school on our compound, and that by the end of the coming school year, there'd be almost no one left in Lexie's age group. Could we send her to boarding school? I don't think so. All of this meant, of course, that we needed to return to the States much sooner than planned, and there would be no point to, and no money for, buying a vacation home in the Hill Country just yet. Once the seed was planted, though, it never died. The following week, when my sister Carolyn and I returned to fetch Alexis, we took our time. We traveled the backroads, checking out little towns like Boerne and Comfort. Just in case. Some day.

Sister Carolyn in our room at the Crystal River Inn, in San Marcos

MAY MAYHEM

Dearest Friends,

Anyone who refers to the "merry" month of May has never been an expatriate mom. Those of us who have know that it is anything but. It was not merry, it was mayhem, bedlam, and I doubt if my hubby has any clue how close I came to edge a few times -- especially when we'd get everything worked out, only to have him come home and announce a change in plans. Here is just a sampling of what I found written in my agenda for the last few weeks of the school year in '93:

• hosted/attended at least 16 lunch, dinner, and cocktail functions, over and above the usual weekly things like Shanghai group and Girl Scout meetings
• planned and carried out the infamous Girl Scout campout
• prepared for and taught the littles in Sunday School each week
• stressed out over the care of my sons eczema, which had flared into some icky infection
• went to choir rehearsals and performed on Mother's Day
• made hotel reservations for the stops on our trip home, confirmed flights, and updated friends and family on our plans
• held a scout leaders meeting to make our plans for the following year, and to figure out what supplies needed to be purchased in the States while we were there
• prepared and sent out invitations for a special murder mystery party I was planning to host the following fall, since guests might want to gather "parts" for their costumes while home
• held a teacher appreciation luncheon
• withdrew enough money to pay our staff salaries while we were away, and took it to my next door neighbor, along with instructions
• met with the school principal to tie up loose ends, since we needed to take the kids out of school a few days early in order for John to attend a school in Cincinnatti
• bought last minute hostess gifts for all the people we would be staying with over the summer, including Marie Biscuits and cans of the coffee-flavored candy that everyone loved
• made shopping lists of everything we might possibly need in the coming year, that we couldn't get in Sumatra
• tried to figure out what to pack for a family of four, three of whom would be away all summer, and two of whom would be going off to camps and such, so that we would have everything we might need, but still have plenty of room left in which to bring back all that stuff on the above shopping lists
• left instructions for our staff, and prayed that they would take good care of our puppy dog
• Oh yeah! There was another play to help out with too!

I don't really recall what the play was about. All I know is the kids wrote the script themselves, and somehow managed to include wizards...

Kitty Kats...

Vampires...

and the cutest big red ant ever!

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?"

JOHN AND THE KIDS WRITE TO PAPA GEORGE

Dear Papa,

How are you? I'm fine. I miss you a lot. I can't wate until summer so I can see you. This letter was written by a girl with lots of hope. How is Theda? I hope she is okay. I have lots of friends and a tutor. I think you have been thrugh enough alredy so this letter is full of love for Theda and you. Don't get mad, do as people say and you will get better. The whole family is woried about you. so pleas get well SOON! Give everyone hugs and kisses.

Love,
Alexis Lane





May 4, 1992

Dear Dad,

I hope you are doing much better by the time you get this letter. I have been thinking about you every day, wishing I could be back home with you. Mother will send me your schedule and I will try to give you a call. I tried calling you this weekend but you had already moved to the SNF section. The woman who answered in your old room didn't know where you had moved to. It's hard being so far away, not being able to do anything for you. I hope you work real hard on the therapy and are able to be at home when I come home June 12. We can still go out and play a little golf if you want. I thought I could rent a cart and you could ride around with me while I play 9 holes. I was also thinking we could go over to the doughnut shop each morning for coffee, to hang with your friends. Alexis and Austin are asking about you. They are looking forward to seeing you this summer. Don't worry too much about seeing them, they will be around all summer and will be able to come to Odessa a few times.

I won another golf trophy last weekend. Every time someone leaves here they hold a 9 hole scramble. We tied for 1st but ended up with 2nd place. Our team captain lost the putt-off. Oh well. That makes two trophies I've won this year. Keep this up and I will have to leave some furniture behind in order to make room for the trophies when I move home. I played with Becky's clubs this time. I decided I like her clubs better than mine.

Austin's good buddy is moving back to Alaska this summer. I don't know what he's going to do for a playmate next year. We pray that one of the new teachers coming in next year has a kid Austin's age. Several people are leaving this year and we are losing about 8 kids out of the school. That's quite a few considering how small the school is to begin with.

I guess that's about all the news for now. I'll write again later. There is a fellow going back to the US Wednesday, so I will get this letter to him to bring home with him. Anytime someone goes back to the States they usually end up with half a suitcase full of mail from everyone here. Take care, and I just want you to know we are thinking about you. Can't wait to get home to see you.

Love,
Your son John

Dear Papa,

how are you? I miss you. Sorry you have a stroke. get well soon I will see you very soon

Love Austin

Austin included a picture of a smashed snake he saw in the road because, well, what better to cheer people up? Right? (I think those are supposed to be tread marks going over the snake.)

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."

THE MISERABLE LES MISERABLES

Dearest Friends,

My Indo-bud Mel moved back to Jakarta not long ago.  I keep track of her via facebook, and she recently posted something there about taking her college-aged kids on a sentimental journey back to Singapore over the holidays, the place where her son was born.  When she mentioned an excursion out to Sentosa Island, I quickly typed a reply, saying something like "Ooh!  We spent a whole weekend there with the kids once.  Had a blast!"  It wasn't until much later, as I sat sifting through memories from that weekend, that I dredged up one that wasn't really fun at all. In fact, it was pretty much a nightmare, and if it had happened anyplace other than Singapore, the least "seedy" city I've ever been to... well, I don't even want to go there.

It all started when I was flipping through one of those "what's going on" magazines that had been left in our hotel room, and discovered that the broadway hit Les Miserables -- the musical I had heard so much about but never seen -- was playing in Singapore that very weekend.  Oh how I longed to see it, but tickets would be expensive, if we could get them at all, the kids were too young to appreciate it, transportation from the island would be a problem, etc.  My reasons for not going were numerous, but one by one, John shot them down, securing tickets, suggesting pizza delivery and a hotel sitter for the kids (my friends used them all the time, though I never had), and even placing a request for a taxi to come out to the island (via a causeway) to pick us up.  So off we went.

It was fabulous.  It was magical.  It was everything I had imagined, and more -- until about 3/4 of the way through the play, when it started to rain.  And thunder.  The rain turned into a roaring deluge that went on and on, drowning out the singers' voices, and making us extremely nervous over the odds of our taxi driver's having come back just to fetch us, as we had requested.  We were right to have worried, for as in any huge city where few people own cars, the harder it rains, the more scarce the taxis become. By the time we made our way out of the the theatre, there wasn't a one to be had.

We wandered the streets for a good long while, doing our best not to get lost, hoping we'd find a stray taxi once we got away from the crowd at the music hall.  No such luck.  Of course, we had no cell phones back then, so we couldn't call for one, or even call our sitter to warn her that we might be late.  Very, very late.  Eventually we managed to find a bus that was still running, despite the hour, and it got us a lot closer to the start of the causeway, but then we had to cross it on foot -- a rather risky thing to do even at the best of times, but especially in blackest night, during a thunder storm!  Our only saving grace was the lack of traffic at that hour.  It was probably only a mile or two across, but without umbrellas or raincoats, wearing high heels, and worrying with the sound of each approaching car whether we might get clipped, well, it felt more like fifty. We eventually made it safely across, but then had to hike up a long, climbing driveway to reach the hotel.  It must have been well after 2:00 a.m. before we finally made it back to our room, looking like drowned rats.  The sitter looked ready to burst into tears when she saw us.  No telling what she'd been imagining.  Knowing my hubby, I'm sure he made it worth her while, and got the concierge to order a taxi for her trip home.  As for our kids?  Well, they had konked out shortly after we departed (they'd had a very busy day!), and woke up a few hours after our return, as cheerful as could be and rarin' to go, completely oblivious to their parents' mad escapade.

You know, most of our misadventures have made for the very best, most humorous stories in years to come.  But this one?  This one still just gives me the creeps.

BAD JU-JU IN JAKARTA

Dearest Friends,

When my oldest sister lived in Saudi Arabia for five years, she got into the habit of bringing really nice gifts home to everyone in the family, each time she came to the States.  As our first home-leave grew ever closer, it suddenly occurred to me that my relatives were probably expecting the same from me.  Well, shee-yutt!!  That was not a happy realization, for 1) unlike my sister, who loved/lived to shop, I pretty much hated it, and 2) even if I didn't, where was I supposed to find all these treasures?  We were living on a company compound, in the middle of the jungle!

So, when my friend Peggy, the most organized, efficient person I know, invited me to go shopping in Jakarta with her, and said she even had a friend we could stay with, who would loan us her car and driver for the day, how could I say no?  To tell you the truth, I don't remember much of anything about our time in Jakarta, or what we bought while there.  I do, however, have vivid memories of the trip home.  I bet Peggy does too.

You see, we had to get up around 4:00 a.m. that last day, in order to get to the airport and catch the co-plane back to Lhok Seumawe.  There was no time to eat breakfast before we left, but I did remember to take one of the pills I had just been prescribed (I non't remember what for).  John had picked them up for me on his way home from work Friday, and thrust them into my hand as I headed off to the airport.  Anyhoo, on Sunday morning as we stood on the porch, saying goodbye to our dear hostess, I suddenly caught a whiff of dog-poo from somewhere in the garden, and that was all she wrote.  A wave of nausea hit me so hard, it almost knocked me over!  I ran around the corner of the house and barfed.  My two friends were very concerned, and tried to usher me back into the house.  "No, no.  I'm fine.  I always get a little queasy if I don't eat breakfast.  It was just the smell.  Besides, we've got a plane to catch!"

The traffic in Jakarta is just what you'd imagine it to be in most ginormous, third world cities.  There is a lot of speeding up for a few seconds, only to slam on the brakes again, with continual whipping back and forth between lanes.  In no time at all I was pretty sure I was going be sick again, but there was no way for our driver to pull off the road.  Lucky for us all, the ever-prepared Miss Peggy whipped a giant zip-lock baggie out of her purse.  By the time we reached the airport, I had filled it up.

Once inside, Peggy took care of checking us in, and I headed straight to the restroom, such as it was.  Every time I'd think it was safe to come out, the nausea would hit me again.  Peggy came to check on me, asking if I was certain I didn't want to return to her friend's house.  "No!  I just want to go home.  Leave me here until they start boarding the plane, then come get me."  By then there was nothing left for me to hurl, except maybe my intestines, and I was so exhausted that I just passed out on the plane, barf-bag clutched tightly in my hands.

When I finally made it to my house, I stumbled past my family and fell into bed.  The next morning I felt much, much better, though I looked as if I had been in a bar-room brawl.  Apparently, all that heaving had caused some blood vessels in my eyes to rupture, and the whites were now ruby-red.  As I was telling John what I had been through, he began to get a very strange look on his face.  "Uh, Beck? You didn't, by any chance, take one of those pills on an empty stomach, did you?"  "Why yes, I did.  Right before we left the house.  Why do you ask?"  "Well, I guess maybe I forgot to tell you what they said, about how important it was to only take them on a full stomach, huh?"  I probably didn't speak to him for a week.

MUST BE THE SEASON OF THE PISSED

Dearest Friends,

Although the temps in Indonesia stay the same year-round, we most definitely had seasons on our Sumatran compound.  And, though I wasn't aware of it at the time, we were heading into the "stormy" season.

Even our easy-going Mr. Austin got his grump on this time of year -- especially when momma was forced to take away game privileges.

I suppose it is inevitable, when you take a disparate group of people, toss them into an enclosure (no matter how luxurious) and lock the gate on them, that, sooner or later, nerves are gonna fray.  Add to this that you have mixed together people from different countries, with different beliefs and customs; that we had no one else to socialize with other than the same people we worked with everyday, so it was impossible to get away from shop talk and rumors; that the teachers and doctor had no choice but to fraternize with their students' families and their patients, so they were never off duty; that gossip spread faster than the slash-and-burn fires which the farmers set, up on the hillsides above us, and that there was always lots going on to gossip about, and, well, it's easy to see how stress could build up after seven or eight months, and tempers would be lost.

On top of all that, we were all very homesick by then, and desperately looking forward to taking our annual home-leave as soon as school was out, but sad because we knew that some of the families would not be returning, and our kids might well end up in a class the following year with no one even close to their own age.  Most stressful of all was trying to work out the details of one's home-leave, and making all the arrangements.  In fact, as you will see in upcoming letters home, it was a bit of a nightmare!

Though we had nothing to compare it to at the time, our first spring on the compound was even more stressful than usual.  It turns out that the new school principal had actually be brought on board that year to "clean house"-- to make sure that the school received the desired accreditations -- and word had just leaked out that two of the current teaching couples (they hired only married couples) were to be let go at the end of the school year, and be replaced over the summer.  People who were good buddies with these teachers were livid at the news, and declared war on the principal and his wife.

I did my best to stay neutral, but was actually reduced to tears on one occasion.  I had planned a nice spring luncheon for everyone, before I even knew what was going on, and it turned into a major fiasco.  Half my guests refused to come if certain others were going to be there, and those who did come ended up arguing with one another.  By the time it was all over with, I was ready to be rid of the lot of them, and home leave couldn't possibly get there fast enough for me!

What I didn't know at the time was that this happened every year, and that after two or three months of me and my kids schlepping from one relative's house to another, trying not to overstay our welcome or get on their nerves; my trying to get the kids enrolled in camps and activities that they couldn't get overseas, and then having to figure out how to get them there; trying to shop for all the clothes, gifts, household items, etc. that we would need for the entire year, while staying within budget, and then managing to fit it all in our luggage; and trying to see everybody we needed to see, while balancing the amount of time we spent with each, so that no one got their feelings hurt, why, by August, I 'd be feeling pretty much the same way about all my kin folks as I had about my Indo-friends before we left, and I'd be running back to that compound with open arms!

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.

THE LONG GOODBYE

The Reeh's at the company beach

Dearest Friends,

John spent about a month in Indonesia, shadowing a guy named DM (who, almost 20 years later, would come to work with John at the company he helped start in Houston).  When DM and his family left, not only did John step into his position, we pretty much stepped into their lives, inheriting most of their staff, and possibly even their house (can't remember for sure).

A beach picnic

Not only were there different kinds of houses for Mobil families and P.T. Arun families (P.T. Arun being the Indonesian company that Mobil was partnering with for this LNG plant), there were different styles of housing in each side of the compound, depending upon a person's pay grade.  Since none of those for John's "class" were vacant at the time, we were to take a different one, with the option of moving when a better one came available.  John met and had dinner with a family who would be living next door to us, so was able to send pictures, not only of what our house looked like empty (not a speck of color anywhere!), but also of what it could become with a little TLC (whew!).

The clinic.  I believe the supermarket was right next door, in a similar building.

Our side of the compound was called Balik Poppin, and the Mobil side, where the Reeh's lived, was known as Bukit Indah.  Their  houses were a bit more Americanized than ours, with central air and some carpeting, which I was a little envious of at first.  But, as it turned out, ours were better suited to the climate, and would end up having less problems with mold and mildew.  So, as they say, "When in Rome..."!  Anyhoo, Peggy was kind enough to go around and take lots of pictures of the compound for us (the ones you see here) as soon as I sent that first letter to her, and they went a long way towards easing our concerns and helping us make up our minds.  I had purchased a new backpack for each of the kids, and had gradually been filling them with anything I could find that might entertain them on the long trip over, plus a few wrapped "very special" gifts (their first Gameboys?).  They were allowed to peek, but not touch, until we were actually on the airplane, so they were both rarin' to go!  We no longer feared what lay ahead, but we did have a few concerns about what we were leaving behind.

The School Yard

The Pool

John did indeed make it home in time for the final pack-up; in time for a slew of final weight-adding-get-togethers hosted by friends (we'd surely lose it all as soon as we got to Indonesia, right?  What with all that outdoor activity, and no fast food anywhere?); in time to help me host a giant pre-birthday/going-away bash for our kids and all their friends at the roller rink; and most importantly, in time for one final Hill Country fling with the Sanfords!

Rafting in New Braunfels

Our main worries now were our families, and our dog Munchkin.  Taking a dog to Indonesia was probably not the best idea in the world.  Indonesians do not keep dogs as pets, and are mostly afraid of them.  There was a vet there, but dogs were definitely not her specialty.  Plus, your dog could not fly over with you.  They must be shipped over after you have arrived and are there to accept them on the other side.  Our Munchkin was no spring chicken.  She was at least 12 or 13 by then, so the question was, which would be harder on her?  To make that long journey alone?  Or to be deserted by the only family she had ever known?  We opted for the journey.

My sisters were already planning their trips over to see us, but our parents were no spring chickens either.  My folks couldn't believe we were taking their grand-babies away to some godforsaken country that they had no intention of ever setting foot in, and John's parents, well, that was our biggest concern of all.  Over the past several years, John's dad had been having some episodes where he just wasn't himself -- hiding stuff from us all, forgetting how to do things that used to be second nature to him, getting lost, etc. -- but he refused to admit anything was wrong or to see a doctor.  Finally we had to force the issue, and found that he'd been having "mini-strokes".  He had a more serious one, that caused temporary paralysis on one side, the year before.  Though he was mostly recovered from that, our biggest fear was that he'd have another while we were gone, and Theda would be left to handle it all alone, since John's only sibling lived halfway across the country.  But, amazing person that she was, Theda insisted that we go.  She knew that if John passed up this opportunity, he might well end up out of a job.  "Besides," she said.  "I've always dreamed of traveling to exotic places, and I can't wait to come visit you and the kids!"  So, we went.

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.