TO EXPATRIATE, OR NOT

Visiting Thailand was one of the highlights of my life, but I don’t want to live there. I didn’t care for the distance, the complex language, food, heat, or squat toilets.

In Ecuador, the national sport aside from cockfighting is Gouge-the-Gringo. There are 2 sets of prices. Although still cheaper than here, this leaves a bad taste in my mouth. And every day life is so different, navigating will be confusing. For example, bills aren’t paid thru the mail or online, this is a cash society! You must show up at each individual office, stand in a long line and hope you don’t have to return the following day. This sounds like bother and stress to me.

Plus I was warned, don’t pay anything ahead! The concept is misunderstood and it’ll just disappear in someone’s pocket!

Despite the number of North Americans expatriating, there is no existing organization or network to assist in navigating the local culture. I was advised to go to the local coffee houses where Expats hang-out and strike up conversations.

 

I’ve learned from past experience that when you are part of a couple (this can be a friend or relative) people are more willing to step up and be of assistance. When you are alone, they’re quicker to distance themselves and leave you to your own devices.

I’ve also been told that neighbors will be of help. Well, if they are anything like my neighbors here after my father’s death, I won’t be able to count on them for spit!

Should a zombie apocalypse ever become a reality; I’d better learn how to wield a Katana fast or else find a bayonet with a flame-thrower. Also when you’re alone you’re more likely to fall into the radar of the wrong element.

I thought Spanish would be easier to learn than Thai and I bought several books. However by the time I moved ahead a chapter, I’d already forgotten everything I learned in the previous one! Friends tell me this is age related. Whatever! It’s frustrating! And learning the language is a must!

As far as a future home, I just wasn’t feeling it in either place. I was explaining this to an acquaintance whose husband was a pilot. She repeated, “I told you so!” so many times I could swear I was hearing a parrot with a 4 word vocabulary!

The Expats I spoke with all told me they didn’t regret their decision and were happy. But that doesn’t mean I would be! I’d have problems adjusting to Third World life.

Due to health issues, inflation, & home repairs, I’m feeling continued pressure from the universe to leave!

I’m a tasseologist. (I read tea leaves for fun.) Anyway, I consulted the tea leaves. The message I received was to make tracks out of here, FAST! However, since I have a 20% accuracy rate, I’m still hesitant. And I’M the decider here!

Certainly, I could live far cheaper in a developing country. Plus food is not only inexpensive but healthier there. Due to the eternal spring of the Andes, fresh fruits & vegetables are available year round.

Also I want to be able to travel and see more of the world before I get too old and sick. However, with my restrictive diet, health issues, the discomfort of Economy Class and the airport aggravation nowadays; I’m wondering if I’ve already reached that point. On the other hand, I still have the desire.

But I really love my home! Barring a hospital stay, I can afford to remain here for a few more years. Perhaps by then, Cuba (or someplace else) may become a retirement haven for expats. But I haven’t completely ruled out Ecuador. We’ll see!

MY TREASURE HOUSE

“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”    --    Matthew 6:21

This quote from the Bible perfectly describes my relationship with my home. It’s my women’s lair, my plywood palace! Whenever I step thru the door it still takes my breath away! I feel my own presence surrounding and welcoming me.

Certainly, life within these walls has been far from ideal. Right from the beginning (after moving here in 1999) times were horrid and trying! My father suffered grievous and prolonged health issues. He became constantly more unreasonable and demanding, not to mention his ever increasing verbal abuse!  Then came his death and the maddening, wrenching aftermath.

Oh, and I can’t forget the 4 hurricanes, 3 of which I endured alone. The storms were nightmarish enough, but the aftermaths were horrendous and frustrating. I won’t go into all the problems I’ve had with repairs then and over the years, not today anyway!

But otherwise, life has been paradise here.

My house is not perfect. It needs repairs and its fixtures are antiquated just like its owner. That’s why we’re perfect for each other. Plus there are moments precious only to me. Such as watching the street-light over my back yard go out as I’m washing the breakfast dishes. It always makes me smile, my day has officially begun! And my day belongs to me now and no one else!

If I ever became so poor or ill as to be rendered homebound, I can’t imagine a better place than right here!

I delight in my 30 ft cathedral ceiling, big stone fireplace, and spacious loft! I love the nature views from both my kitchen and the formal dining room under the chandelier. Greenery screens out the neighborhood behind my house and I’ve added to it over the years.

Also, I revel in those Fridays when the mailman arrives before noon. I tell myself,” Let the weekend begin!” I slip into my comfortable robe and start watching movies from my DVR library. In the past, Fridays always meant pizza & ice cream, too! And Saturdays were pasta & pastry, but sadly this part is mostly over now and is missed!

My neighborhood is an old fashioned 1950’s style. Each home is different with character. There are lots of trees & flowers here, too. I enjoy the big picture window in my bedroom that overlooks the bend in the road. It’s a particularly lovely view. From a certain angle, it appears from an older era. I can easily imagine a horse & buggy or a 1920’s jalopy turning that bend.

At night, my neighbor’s yard light shines right in at the perfect angle. My bedroom is dark enough to sleep, but light enough to see; in other words, just right.

My spare bedrooms are filled with what others refer to as “clutter”, to me they are treasures! All things I never want to part with, they give me joy!

Selling this place will be heart-wrenching. I love this house! And I’ve customized it for my comfort. I never truly possessed a comfort zone until I ended up alone here!

Recently, I saw a poster on Facebook that read: “Leave your comfort zone before you are evicted!” I wanted to scream, “THEY’LL HAVE TO PRY MY COLD DEAD DERRIERE FROM MY RECLINER!

Another read: “Nothing great was ever accomplished from a comfort zone!” – I disagree! I believe when you‘re happy, more and better things happen in your life. Of course there are exceptions, but I’ve found that living in misery creates evil thoughts and worse deeds.

Constantly I’m told to sell and rent a smaller place with less maintenance right here in Vero Beach. What I can’t get across to anyone is that my home is a big factor why I love it here! This truly is my dream house. If I sold, I would always be thinking of it and resenting the new inhabitants of MY home!

If it comes to that, I’d rather start over again in another country!  There, I would be too busy acclimating to a new culture and lifestyle to think about what’s happening in Vero Beach.   

However, my friends Marie, Irene, & Rose all live so close I could walk to their homes. Sue lives father, but not that much. Eventually, I’d make new friends in another country, but it wouldn’t be them! Plus I’m very discerning; I don’t want just anybody for a friend!

From a practical standpoint, expatriating is best. It would certainly be more economical. And I haven’t completely ruled it out! I’ve got health issues now and the United States is NOT a senior friendly country!

I feel the universe wants me to go, but it’s NOT what I want! If I have to leave this house forever, I will get down on my knees and kiss the floor. And I will grieve the loss of this place and Vero Beach for the rest of my life!

CROCS, JELLYPOPS, & FLIP-FLOPS

AND HEELS, HEELS, HEELS, GALORE!!!

Shoes, shoes, & more shoes!!!  Woo hoo!!!  I have never been a sensible shoe kind of woman, but that must change and I am doing it kicking & screaming. Now that I’ve got some age on me and serious foot issues, my tall heels are going the way of the Giant Galliwasp & the Moa-Nalo bird.

Just a year ago, I was balancing (sometimes falling) on 5 inch stiletto heels. A wide heel is better for maneuvering. But with any heel, especially those higher than 3 inches, bones may still break if you tumble. I’ve been fortunate so far. But 5 inches are just TOO high and TOO painful, also downright dangerous!

I’d love to garrote the jerk responsible these! But he’s already dead! -- That would be King Louis XIV of France during the 1600’s.The man only stood 5’3! These were the first elevator shoes.

The towering heels caught on with his mistress, the notorious Madame de Pompadour. Louis’ paramour was quite the fashionista. Soon they became a trend among ladies of noble birth. However with the execution of well-heeled Marie Antoinette, they quickly fell out of fashion. Heels became a symbol of opulence and excess. No heel was allowed higher than 2 inches, what we call “kitten heels” today.

Tall heels were banned altogether in colonial Massachusetts! Women attired in these were considered promiscuous or even sorceresses! And you can’t blame the colonists for thinking this way, high heels are quite bewitching and intriguing, not to mention alluring.

Late in the 1800’s heels came back into fashion and have been popular in many different styles & lengths ever since; despite the fact you can’t beat a flat heel for comfort.

My favorite walking shoe has always been the one inch high Hush Puppy pump. They are perfect for a leisurely afternoon at the mall or even an entire day out. But Vero Beach has smooth pavements. These did not cut it in Ecuador where the streets are cobblestone and the sidewalks iffy. My feet suffered.

To my embarrassment, I was forced to wear rubber flip-flops on the plane ride home. This type of footwear is fine when touring or relaxing. But yikes, what kind of tacky low-life would actually wear them on an airplane! I could just picture myself shuffling my feet, trying to hide them, hoping no one would notice.

Ick! Ick! Ick! Hot cat pee and OMG!!! I couldn’t believe what I saw at the airport. Nearly half the people were sporting flip-flops! I was DISGUSTED!!! Had these slobs no pride in their appearance?!? Bring on the apocalypse! The human race deserves to end! 

Fast forward a few months. For my trip to Thailand I sought out flat or sloped heels with ridged soles. The popular athletic shoes in stores had me singing the ugly-shoes-blues. Did I say ugly, they are hideous!!! I would never defile my feet with those.

Then I discovered Croc pumps! These had plenty of toe room and were actually pretty. They looked nothing like the Crocs I’d seen advertised! And they were the most comfortable shoes I’d ever worn!

Oh, but then I found Jellypops! My feet felt as if they were being embraced by loving cherubs.

My feet were ready for Thailand, plus all 7 flights, -- or so I thought! My pretty navy Crocs started to pinch on the plane. During the long 2 flights to Bangkok my feet had swollen. The following day, my Jellypops were so tight they were cutting into my flesh on the city tour. Even the fancy wedged sandals I brought pinched & cut my feet as well. The next day I bought a comfortable pair of wide leather thongs at a street market. I wore these the rest of the trip.

On my excursions abroad during the 1970’s, I wore mostly boots with chunky 2 inch heels. Despite all the walking, I experienced no discomfort whatsoever.  

Like many women, (& more than a few times) I’ve been seduced by cheap shoes because they were cute. (Some fell apart the third time I wore them.) I knew better, too! Poorly made shoes are easy to spot. Soles and ornamental items are glued on rather than stitched. -- And I’ve heard that a designer brand doesn’t guarantee you won’t get stuck with shoddy workmanship, either.

At home, shoes are always removed before entering. Bare feet rule inside my house! But outside, I like to dress sharp right down to my feet... But, (sigh) I’m getting accustomed to navigating the world in sensible shoes, now.

Sadly, there comes a point in time when one needs to make concessions due to age and health. But hey, I sure have my memories!

RECALLING JAYNE FROM LONG AGO

Jayne was what my father referred to as, “A character!” She would always knock twice on our door, before opening it. Then, she’d stick her head inside and yodel “Yoooouh-hoooo!” Back in the 1950’s nearly everyone’s doors were left unlocked. A locked one meant no one was home.

Well Jayne was NOT your typical 50’s housewife! During WWII she served as a nurse. She was not young even then. After the war and late in life, she became a private nurse and married a patient. His name was Walt. He was a tall, trim, elegant man who always wore a vest & jacket even during hot Florida summers.

Initially, I thought Walt didn’t know how to drive because Jayne was always the one behind the wheel. “Walt just prefers I do it,” she said with affection. Clearly, she was the one in charge. Mostly he was a reclusive homebody, she was a loquacious gadabout.

Before moving to Florida, they adopted an orphan baby from an Eastern European country. This was my friend, Sharla! She was 4 years older than me.

Sharla was the only one of my friends who had parents older than mine. Walt died of frail health when I was 7 and Sharla 11. This was the first real death in both our lives.

Jayne adored and overindulged Sharla spoiling her rotten. My parents did not like Sharla. However, I did, so they tolerated her. Plus Jayne was a good neighbor from several miles down the highway. And she tolerated me!

I was considered somewhat of a fresh kid by that family! Always, I called Jayne by her first name because my parents did. Even Sharla admonished me for addressing an adult in that fashion. But since I was never corrected by my parents I assumed it was OK and ignored her.

Plus I had a habit of using inappropriate and offensive phrases that made them gasp. – I was just quoting my parents! When I told my folks this, my parents just laughed.

I know Jayne didn’t think much of Mom & Dad’s parenting skills. Among other things, she thought it terrible they allowed me to drink coffee as a pre-schooler. Plus they never forced me to take naps. Of course I was so hopped-up on Caffeine I would have been unable to sleep anyway.

Due to anxiety attacks, my mother didn’t drive and depended on Jayne quite a bit. But they never socialized together one-on-one outside our home as friends usually do.

Whenever I went into town or attended any event with my family, we always seemed to run into Jayne. “Wow that Jayne sure gets around!” I exclaimed to my father.

“She should stay home and clean her house.” Dad sniffed. “Her house is dirty.”

Well, her house was my second home and honestly I don’t recall seeing any dirt, or dust even. I remember her furniture was old and not as nice as ours. But it was a place where you could put your bare feet on the couch while eating an ice-cream cone. In other words, a comfortable happy place!

In retrospect, this woman was out there living her life! She was no barfly or adulteress, Jayne was a decent person who wasn’t hurting herself or anyone else.

Also she was declared a busy-body by my grandfather. “She enjoys sticking her nose in other people’s business where it doesn’t belong!” he’d say. But Jayne was a people-person! And she was the first to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it. She was someone you could count on in an emergency or even when things went sour.

My family’s first Christmas in our new home on the St. Lucie River was quite memorable. I vowed NOT to eat the ham & sweet potato dinner my parents were planning. (I don’t eat mammals & sweet potatoes make me gag!) Jayne cooked a special holiday meal for me and delivered it on Christmas Day!

The following week, the new year would mark the dawn of a new decade, 1960! A multitude of changes were headed our way, few of them good.

In 1961 a man came to our school conducting Tuberculosis tests. He examined our arms. All the kids in front of me were sent back to their seats immediately, but not me. I was the first of 3 students who was singled out. The man told us not to worry and then asked for our parent’s phone numbers. -- We had turned up positive!

Everyone in my family was required to see a doctor. As it turned out, we had merely been exposed. Our friend Jayne was the one with Tuberculosis. Of course it didn’t slow her down! She received treatment. Last I heard, she enjoyed a long and active life.

But sadly, after we moved into our new home, Jayne’s visits were far and few between. Sharla entered Junior High, while I was still in Elementary. Our friendship ended abruptly at the start of the new school year.

Life soon took on an entirely different reality in the new house! Jayne was too authentic to fit in with the hooch-hounds in the phony cocktail crowd my parents had joined. Now we had an image to maintain! For me, it was like trying to breathe under plastic while balancing on broken glass. My idyllic childhood ended quickly.

Looking back, I remember Jayne with tremendous fondness. We were fortunate she had been a part of our lives!