Merry Christmas

And the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. . .

Another holiday season to celebrate with friends around the world. How amazing it is to feel the warmth and good cheer across the seas and oceans. May all who read this count among their blessings the bonds that draw us close.

Post Election Hope

Obama won the election; he won resoundingly, and I am glad. But now, the anxious moments begin. Will he be able to accomplish what his supporters hope for? Will he present a new face of America to our world neighbors? Will the economy, under his leadership, end its nosedive? Will America, once again, be a beacon of hope in the world?

We are still mired in a war that will not end easily; we have a lame-duck president who persists in pushing his own agenda; we have a divisive political faction that seeks to ignore the calls for unity.

And, we have so many people--of many colors, backgrounds, and dreams--who hope that Obama can be (or already is) superhuman.

The only thing I know for certain is that I was proud of "us" at the end of election day 2008. The voters chose a new face to be the President of this country. Obama's bi-racial heritage comes closer to representing America as it is: a mix of cultures blended into one. His intelligence is obvious; his political instincts are extraordinary, and, we hope, his character is impeccable.

Change, for the sake of change, is not always good. But, change that brings with it the hope and will of a nation, is certainly inspirational.

A Little Night Music

My neighbor Theresa and I had tickets to hear Joshua Bell play his Stradivarius on Tuesday evening. In Southern California, the Hollywood Bowl is not just a music venue, it's a social event. Planning for the trip is extensive--bus tickets from Lakewood Mall; a trip to the deli for food; careful selection of appropriate wines; a picnic satchel with tablecloth, plates, napkins, glasses, and wine opener; snacks of aged cheddar and pita crisps; the list goes on.

In fact, it mattered not what the program was that night nor where our seats were located. We were headed to the Bowl, to dine, to wine, and to hear beautiful music.

Young Joshua Bell did not disappoint. His fingers flew over the strings, or paused gently, holding notes to those exquisite musical moments between harmony and ecstasy.

Of course, throughout the evening, I compared this experience with similar evenings in Cyprus. No, it wasn't the Abby at Bellapais, on a cliff above the Mediterranean Sea near Kyrenia. No, it wasn't the concert hall in Strovolos.

And, there were no stars above Los Angeles (the city lights erase the heavenly ones in this area--a fact I only noted when I gazed at the sky one evening on the Karpas Peninsula and actually saw the Milky Way!).

But, it was a beautiful evening, fun, friendly--an occasion shared by hundreds of Bowl-goers, one of many concerts this season from this historic place at this particular moment in time.

What's up with the car thing?

Recently I read that people who pose pictures of themselves with shiny, expensive "toys" have issues. I know I have issues, and that comment made made me wonder, "What's so important about my new car? Why did I buy it in the first place? What does it say about me and my priorities in life and for the planet?"

Those are heavy-duty questions. But, my answers to all three are repetitively non-complex: I like Mercedes.

Blame it on my older brother Norm who drove home one evening in the sixties with a new, dark green, diesel-driven MB. "Do you want to go for a ride, Nance?" he asked.

The smell of leather, the sense of power, the luxury of the new car--the first new car I had ever ridden in during my first, impressionable 15 years--it was too much. I fell in love. The car, a 1962, I think, had little fins. In fact, it looked like a big, green, metal box with little fins. Maybe it had no appeal at all. . .except prestige and class. . .and my brother and I had neither. But now, he had "the car."

Years later, when my husband and I could afford our first really nice car, I talked him into a navy blue, 1975 Mercedes. Soon, he added another--a used '69 navy blue mercedes--a matched pair. Somewhere along the line we traded for another. . .and then another. I drove our last MB for 12 years, and separated regretfully from it before I left for Cyprus.

On my return, I promised I would buy a hybrid. I tried. I knew I should think more of the environment than of my image--whatever that might be.

But, once I settled into the seat to test drive the Mercedes, adjusted the mirrors, glanced over my shoulder, felt the steering wheel. . .it was all so familiar, so nice, so new, so "me." I couldn't resist.

For the first two days it sat in the driveway, undriven. I was embarrassed I had succumbed to vanity.

Then, I took it to the supermarket, parked it in the lot, took its photo, and smiled.

It makes me happy. Maybe it's just the familiarity. Maybe it's just a connection through my past. Maybe it does expose my "issues" to the world. Oh, well.

At least it gets 30 mpg, is easy to parallel park, and has a sun roof.

It also blinks its lights at me in the parking lot. (It's in love with me, too.)

Settling In

I'm back in California after three weeks with my daughter's family in South Carolina, including the new baby boy Walker and her 17-month old son Foster. Wow. What activity. I taught Foster to climb up on the couch by himself. We all were sorry after that. . .now, he is on top of everything!

My biggest challenge in the last week here in CA has been purchasing a "new" car. I finally decided on a 2006 C230 Mercedes. I tried to buy a Prius, but prices in CA had escalated beyond reason with the current gas crunch. Besides, those of you who know me understand how attached I am to my car. I've driven a Mercedes since 1975; I know how the car handles, and I feel safe. Besides, it has a sunroof! :-)

Settling back into my office at the university is even more difficult. I miss my Cyprus routine and my friends there. But, it is ever-so-nice to be recognized on my campus here. I feel welcomed back!

Fortunately, too, the California weather has been incredibly fine. 70s/low 80s. Beautiful place this is!

Perhaps another adventure I've had recently is my venture into the E-Harmony world. That is a stitch--and worthy of a blog entry all its own.

Another accomplishment in the past two weeks: I passed my motorcycle skills classes and can take the written exam for my motorcycle license in CA. That has been on my "to-do" list for at least five years. I'm not a Harley-girl, but I love the openness of the big bikes on the road. Yes, yes, yes. I will be careful. I will not ride on the freeways. I will not weave in and out of traffic. First, I have to get a helmet, then a bike, then some good boots. Oh, yes, and the black leather pants (how could I forget those--it would be my only excuse EVER to wear black leather pants!). And, I promise, no tatoos.

I'm thinking about buying a Honda Rebel. . .I read on-line where it's the cycle of choice for women. I rode a Suzuki in training. Who knows. As I told one of my classmates, I have to find an old guy who's willing to ride with me before I take off on adventures. Most of my friends think I'm nuts. But, for the record, I have two older brothers who have motorcycles--and they still ride. One even races. Who put the age-limit on fun?

Looking West

Tomorrow I return to California. I'm not sure what I will find there. My son has been living in my bungalow since I went to Cyprus in January. I think he considers it "his" home now. What are the rules about squatters' rights?

I do know that my return to my busy life there will be without a car (disaster last December), without a working cell phone (it blew itself up this week), and without a verdant garden and yard (water-rationing and son-neglect have turned my green views brown.) That, plus a needed hair appointment, dentist visit, three weeks of mail, and four boxes shipped from Cyprus to unpack--my days will be full. Oh, yes. Did I mention the dogs? Charlotte and Brady will need to be loved. (And probably retrained!)

I am still trying to deal with "loss," the sadness of leaving the Mediterranean life and returning to "normalcy." Worse, I will now add the sense of loss from eager little grandson hugs and the pleasure I've had helping my daughter with the new baby.

But, I will be busy. As I face the coming week, I see a conference paper to finish for a July 28 deadline, motorcycle lessons to begin on Saturday, two syllabi for fall classes to construct, a reorganization of my office at CSULB, a restocking of the food and wine supplies at home, and a reunion with neighborhood friends. Life will be "normal," eventually. But that "normal" will never be the same.

Life Goes On

I am light years away from my life in Cyprus at the moment. I am in South Carolina, visiting with my daughter and family--her husband; three-week old baby boy, Walker; 17-month old son, Foster; and two dogs, Cotton and Shelby. Our days consist of feeding children, changing diapers, playing on the swing set or in the pool, going to the grocery, or taking long walks in the afternoon. Ideally, it is a great break from routine, a vacation of sorts. I have my own suite away from the bustle of the house--complete with computer, tv, reading spot, and bed. It's quiet here. Too quiet. No Cyprus traffic, no sms, no phone calls, no meetings, no travels, no friends, no escapes for coffee or white wine in the afternoon. However, I really can't complain, because I am with family--and I am loved.

But, I do not feel like "me" here. That "me" wants to be at an airport, somewhere in Europe, headed to a destination not yet specified. London? Vietnam, perhaps? Rwanda again? Or maybe back to Paros for a week or two, or maybe to see the full moon rise once again over the Mediterranean in Cyprus.

My adverturous self scanned the internet yesterday, looking for teaching positions across the globe. What caught my eye was an ad for World Teach and its need for volunteers to go to Kigali, Rwanda, for nine months, to teach secondary school English. "Could I do that?" I wondered. I immediately came up with three strong negatives: 1) I am probably too old, 2) There is no money to pay for such an experience (volunteers must come up with a $6000 fee and also pay extra living expenses, beyond the $200 a month stipend), and 3) I am a little afraid of getting malaria again--that was not a good experience! Still, I sent an email inquiry. Who knows?

Leaving Cyprus

Leaving Cyprus was not easy. I tried to sleep through my 2 a.m. pickup for the airport. At 2:10, however, I stumbled after the driver who hauled my three overweight suitcases down two flights of stairs. Dragging my backpack and carry-on bag, I climbed into the Mercedes, and we were off to Larnaka.

Airborne three hours later—after check-in, bus ride to the plane, and waiting, waiting—I would not look out the window. I refused to look down at the island, spread across its spot in the Mediterranean. I didn’t want to see the Troodos Mountains in the mist, or the curve of the harbor, or the distant valley beyond Nicosia. It really hurt too much to leave the place I had called home for six months.

I knew that I was over-reacting. I was, after all, just a visitor on Cyprus; I had no family there, no roots, no real reason to stay. My six months’ assignment with Fulbright was over.

Still, friendships connected me to Cyprus, and my heart was heavy to see those daily contacts end. I wanted to find solace in journaling, and I began to write:

“Oh, where to begin and end. Ela, ela, Nancy.” But, the words wouldn’t come to describe the depth of friendships, Eva, Justine, Evi II, my students, Toulla, Ioli. . .the list continues. Whether brief, like Phivos and Popi, or long-term, like Alkis and Gül, I am forever changed because of their caring and generosity. Forever changed.

The trip from Cyprus to Heathrow was uneventful. In London, the connection was predictable and the plane, predictably late in leaving. The best news: I was bumped up to business class. I was the child in the candy store—“Do you mean the champagne is free?” “A choice of entrees? Steak or Chicken Diane? Wow.” “What’s in this bag?” Socks, a black-out mask, mints, tooth brush, lotion—it was my Christmas stocking in June! My travel partner, Jim Lemon from the Chicago area, was a joy. We started talking five miles from the airport and kept up the dialogue across the Atlantic: children, radio programs, software, Rwanda, global warming—one topic sparked another.

Landing in Chicago, I realized a glitch in the travel arrangements. I had only 45 minutes at O’Hare, one of the world’s busiest airports, to collect my luggage, go through customs, recheck the bags, find transportation to another terminal, check in through security again, and get on the plane. Problem was, it couldn’t happen. And, it didn’t. I missed that flight and, consequently, missed my connecting flight in Phoenix. Suddenly, I was stranded in Chicago. No working cell phone—the Cyprus sim card was defunct and my “so easy” minutes depleted. No helpful travel agent would change the tickets, and I had no idea what to do—spend the night in Chicago, fly out in the morning? Fly to Phoenix, rent a car and drive six hours to Long Beach? Mostly, I was tired--tired of suitcases and connections and hassles, and I was missing people so badly I was on the verge of tears.

Finally, after checking with two airlines in two terminals, and pleading my case of bad connections and missed flights, I was rerouted from Chicago to Los Angeles late that evening. Unfortunately, my suitcases didn’t get the message. They flew on to Phoenix.

I arrived at LAX, exhausted, after midnight, without most of my luggage, and without a ride home. I bribed the van driver to take me to Long Beach, despite his insistence that it was out of the way. At one thirty in the morning, 33 ½ hours after I left Nicosia, I was not about to stand in the shadows of the airport and wait for another van to arrive.

“Thirty minutes more, I thought to myself, thirty minutes more.” On the van, I chatted with a family, coming to the area with plans to visit Disneyland. They were headed for a hotel that night in the California town of Cypress. Odd coincidence. I smiled. What an adventure their seven-year-old would have with Mickey and friends. What adventures we all have when we move out of our comfort zones, away from the familiarity of home, and beyond the expected expectations for living.

At 2 a.m., thirty-four hours after I left my flat in Nicosia, I opened the door to my bungalow in California. My dogs greeted me wildly at the front door, first thinking I was the burglar returning; then the recognition! I fell into bed and slept, clothes on, for six hours, awaking groggy and jet lagged. No surprise.

The next evening, my sons and I had dinner at our favorite restaurant, the Belmont Brewery, perched above the white sand beach, with the blue Pacific stretched out endlessly from the Long Beach shore. It was lovely as the sun set over the ocean. But, it wasn’t Cyprus.

My first day home, I settled bank accounts, sorted through six months of mail, reconnected my cell phone, mailed a small package back to Cyprus, and tried to adjust to traffic flowing on the wrong side of the road.

Yesterday, I chatted with my department chair at CSULB. Registration, cutting courses from the schedules, over-enrollments, over budget, under staffed. She asked me to teach a grad seminar this fall. Of course, I will, no problem. (But, here I am with no books ordered yet, no syllabus, no thought to putting materials on reserve.) No panic. Yet.

On Wednesday, I board another plane, retrace my flight pattern east for five hours to Charlotte, N.C. and end up driving the last two hours to Lugoff, S.C. to see my daughter and her family, including 11-day old baby Walker and 17-month old Foster. Anyone for a babysitting gig for three weeks? I’m switching hats, changing personas, moving on through the calendar of life.

This isn’t my last blog about Cyprus. The “wrap up” will come when I have time to think about it all. . .what did it mean for me to be in Cyprus in Spring 2008? Whose life did I touch? How was my own changed? My photos and memories are bountiful. My thoughts, however, now are jumbled. Leaving Cyprus was not easy. All I really know is I want to go back--Some day. Some way. Some how—to Nicosia, to Larnaka, to Kyrenia, to Karpas, to Pafos, to Kourion, to friends.

New Blog Space

My first blog--sheleycyprus.blogspot.com--was devoted to a six-month Fulbright experience on the island of Cyprus. This new blog space will continue my observations about people, places, and things from the center of my American Dream. . .a tiny Southern California bungalow, white picket fence, spacious front porch, cool ocean breeze, university position teaching American literature and culture, friends, market by the sea, three children, two rescued terriers, a piano for respite, and the hope for a full and generous future.