Mother's Day 2013!

The lilacs are blooming, the yard sale signs are popping up, and I've been asked what I want for dinner Sunday night. This could only mean one thing: it's Mother's Day!!! That wonderful day when I actually have a legitimate excuse for slacking off. Come Monday, it will be simply because I'm lazy.

Because I know y'all are scratching your heads trying to think of something to get me, I'll help you out by making a list. What? You were not contemplating a gift for me? Well, just in case you change your mind, read on.

1. Armor Plated Knee Iron-Ons.
Denim pants have been in existence in Italy since Moses left Egypt (they created jeans and pizza, why do they not have the Nobel Prize?!?) However, it was Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis who, in 1873, made them the de rigueur boy clothing by dying the fabric blue and put copper rivets on the pockets to reinforce them. Had they consulted with their mothers, they would have made the knees out of copper as well.

He didn't have children so how was he supposed to know?

As durable as jeans are, my boys have blown out the knees on so many pairs that, in an attempt to not fill the local landfill to overflowing, I started to make tote bags out of the remaining fabric. Having made more than enough tote bags to supply every crafting mom out there, I'd like to have some copper iron-ons so my boy's jeans will last more than a month.

E-mail me and I'll send you a tote bag. Really. It will be my Mother's Day gift to you.

2. A Floor Cleaner of some sort.

I called Home Depot last week and asked them if they had self cleaning floors and they told me to stop making prank phone calls. I took that to mean they didn't stock self cleaning floors.

Having not received my previously requested Asimo robot, I would instead like Carson to stand in my kitchen so he can sweep every two hours. Oh, and while we're at it, send Anna to help keep the bathrooms tidy. But not Mrs. O'Reilly or Thomas. I don't like schemers. What's that, you say? It's just TV show?!?

Oh happy day! That means Matthew didn't really die!

3. Organizer Monkey.

You know how you spend a morning to organize your pantry nice and neat and then that afternoon you the children just throw stuff in there with utter disregard for the organization? And pretty soon, your previously neat and tidy pantry is a canned good death trap waiting for the next person who opens the door? Since it would be a bit cruel to keep someone in my closet, even with a healthy supply of Biscoff cookies, I'd like a trained monkey to stay in my pantry so I can hand him things and he can put them neatly on the shelf and I won't have to deal with Pantry Jenga. And he can also entertain the kids periodically.

Of course it's not MY pantry. I'm not going to show you my stash of Oreos.

4. Mud Room with Tub.

One way we notice the change of seasons here at Casa Diva is when the big can of hot cocoa mix stays full for more than a week, but the big can of lemonade mix needs replacing more frequently. Another way we tell the seasons are changing is when the floor in front of my back door is no longer cluttered with dirt covered snow boots but with dirt covered boys. Every spring and summer evening when the boys come back inside after their mandatory "Outside Time", I lean over to kiss one on the head. Without fail, I straighten up and find sand on my lips. So I make them march upstairs and bath EVERY EVENING. My guys are so adept at getting dirty that sometimes they have to take off their clothes right there at the kitchen door for fear of bringing a dump-truck worth of dirt into my living room. So I need an addition on the back of my house which is like one of those Japanese bathing rooms where I can scrub down the puppies before they even make it inside the living area, and then hose down the room itself after. A laundry chute that goes directly into an industrial strength washing machine would be a lovely bonus.

The room is designed to be hosed down. Genius, eh?

5. Stock in Pinkberry

I love their Salted Caramel yogurt. No, I mean I love it. Like, Dunkin Donuts is sending me plaintive emails asking if they said something wrong. So if I have stock in Pinkberry, then maybe I can make back some of the money I have invested there. What, they haven't done an IPO yet? Grrr. I'll take a medium with dark chocolate crisps, chocolate covered pretzels and mochi bits while I wait.

Pinkberry, you complete me.

Well, that's my gift list for now, folks. To all you moms out there, pat yourself on the back and say, "Well done sista!" To the rest of you, rub her feet!

Impact

Sometimes on my way to Warwick, I will drive by the Lincoln Park Cemetery. Every time I pass by, I look over the guard rail at the tombstones and think to myself, "One of those is Heather's." Sometimes, I'll actually try to lean over and read the names as if in that nano-second the cemetery is in view, I'll find her name.

It's been nearly a year since her death and I still find myself thinking about her periodically. The odd thing is that it's not like we had a close friendship. We met at a new moms support group and got together a few times after the group disolved. Once or twice a year, we'd call each other to catch up, maybe trade some baby stuff as we would announce to each other that another one was on the way. We kept in touch even less frequently when she moved overseas.

When I heard through the grapevine she was back stateside, I told myself I had to call her, but I procrastinated on that. And then I heard the horrible news she had taken her own life. At her funeral, I mourned her loss and the fact I had not tried harder to stay in contact with her. But now, a year later, as I once again drive by the cemetery looking for her, it strikes me the impact she had on my life however brief her presence in it might have been.

Many people would like to be creative, impulsive or to think outside the box, but I think Heather truly did. The few times we got together, I really enjoyed hearing her stories or her latest ideas or what her next adventure was going to be. She taught me that tofu could taste really good if I dredged it in brewer's yeast; "an old hippie trick" she said. She taught me that a safe home birth was possible. She helped me set up a babysitting co-op. She introduced me to women who are friends to this day. She showed me it was ok to step outside your comfort zone.

There were so many people at Heather's funeral, sharing their fond memories of her. I think it was because she impacted a lot of people, in small ways maybe, but significant enough that we wanted to be at her funeral to acknowledge the loss of a remarkable woman. And it broke my heart wondering if she knew just how many people she had touched.

This is what I want you to hear: you might go through life and meet people and not think too much of it. You might go through what you think is your mundane day, wishing you could have a greater impact on the world. But you are making an impact. Whether you know it or not, whether you ever become aware of it or not. In some small way, someone is probably really glad they talked to you today, and you might never know how your small act made a large difference.

America Again

Part 11: For a third time, Arlene decided to go for the adventure and move to Massachusetts. There was more to this decision this time however, including a spouse and two young children. While she had concerns about her family's safety staying in South Africa, moving half way around the world with a young family was going to prove to be the a greater challenge.


 
    When I interviewed for the therapist position with the South Bay Mental Health recruiter in 2002, I was one of a group of about nine South Africans who were selected. We were told by the recruiters we could make up to $40,000 a year. Prior to leaving for the US, Richard and I had worked through some numbers for food and rent and it seemed doable. I figured I could earn even more if I worked extra hours. Add to that what Richard could potentially earn, we could be making more money in the US than we could back home. We thought we would have enough money to visit South Africa, but live in the US where I wouldn't fear for my family's safety. And I'd also have the opportunity to chase an incredible career opportunity.
   
    We were in for a shock from day one.

    Unlike my arrival in NYC where Ian and I were greeted with a limousine and taken to a high-end hotel, Richard and I arrived at Boston's Logan Airport with two cranky kids late afternoon on a cold November day. It took us a while to get through customs and immigration. In the arrivals area, we were met by one of my South Bay co-workers. She was warm and friendly and I was grateful that she’d waited so long for us. We drove from Boston to South Attleboro, to a little two bedroom apartment rented to us by another South Bay co-worker. It was a surreal experience for me, that drive. I was excited to be back in America and at the same time anxious because I didn't know what to expect. Richard and I spent a long time planning this move and now the reality of it was here. I was feeling exhausted and scared and excited and sad (about my family back in South Africa) all at once.

    We arrived at our new home and I remember carrying the sleeping boys from the car straight into their beds. Even though I had not met them yet, my new office mates furnished the apartment with beds, furniture, kitchen items and even some food in the cupboards and toothbrushes in the bathroom. We would have been sunk had they not helped us out. We don't have winters in South Africa like you do here in New England so we didn't even have winter coats or snow boots when we arrived. Just our luck, we arrived in the middle of one of New England's coldest winters. I remember walking to the strip mall across the street from our apartment to buy boots for everyone. And I was one of the lucky ones. There were others who had, like me, accepted a position in the US who ended up in hotels with terrible hardship stories. One man in our group had a wife and a couple of kids, but she and the kids ended up going back to South Africa because they couldn't afford to all live in the US. At least when we arrived, we had a furnished place to go to. To this day, I will forever be grateful to my office director who inspired her staff to set things up for us the way they did.

    While I was grateful for my office mates' help, I was also surprised. When I was accepted for the AFS program, my host family sent me a picture of my American home and I had weeks to envision myself in their large gracious North Carolina home. This time, I was not sent pictures of our South Attleboro home so I didn't know what to expect. It turned out that the apartment was a lot smaller than our house back in South Africa and on busy commercial street. I was caught between feeling grateful that my young family and I had a furnished house to go to, and the shock that the living conditions were a step down for us. I consoled myself with the thought that this apartment was a temporary space.

    Then there was the issue of transportation. When we first arrived, I able to drive a car which my mentor at South Bay was going to sell to me. Unfortunately, on Christmas Eve, about a month after our arrival, I had a pretty bad accident and totaled the car. So we had to purchase another car. Now our relocation costs were not covered by my new employer in the US so we didn't have a whole lot of money when we arrived. As a result, the down payment I used to buy our first car was a loan from South Bay and the payments on this loan were taken directly out of my paycheck. This made my small paycheck even smaller. I also didn't realize that buying a car in a foreign country would be so difficult. I had no credit history in the US, so I ended up having to pay 18% interest on a car loan for an old Ford Windstar. Between the down payment loan from South Bay and the bank loan for the balance, the payments on that car were just ridiculous. Not to mention the insurance on the car was very high again because of my lack of credit history.

    Until we settled in, my landlord had graciously reduced the rent to $375 a month for the first few months, but with little in assets, a large car payment and rent that would be doubling in a few months, I was very worried. Especially when the truth about my income came to light. When I was interviewed in South Africa, I was told I could make "up to $40,000" a year. What was not communicated to us was that this amount was based on a “fee for service” model, not a salary number. That meant that I only got paid for the actual time I spent with clients at their homes, or "billable hours". We were not paid for the time spent traveling to and from their homes which were scattered all over southern New England. No shows and cancellations were also not paid for. So during my first weeks on the job, while working at least 35-40 hours per week, I only got paid for the small handful of clients I saw. This was a very difficult. I had expected to be seeing clients in an office, not be driving around. So a 40 hour work week never amounted to that much in pay. I also had to maintain a certain average of billable hours every week before I qualified for leave and health insurance benefits.

    My learning curve was steep. I was basically given a map book, a list of clients, a stack of paperwork and off I went. I was driving on the wrong side of the road (in my opinion), in the snow, covering a large area of southern Massachusetts. I frequently got so lost, I’d end up in tears in my car! Thankfully, I had a wonderful mentor, a friend to this day, who showed me the ropes the first few weeks. Also my supervisor, who was the same woman who arranged our furnished apartment, was incredibly supportive. Truly it was my colleagues that carried me through those grueling first months on the job.

    We also learned early on that Richard's visa did not permit him to work in the US like we had hoped. We were told about taking jobs "under the table" but we were scared to take work that way as we didn't want to jeopardize my work visa. Thoughts of making enough money to move out of our small apartment and make visits back home were crushed under the reality of what we could really earn.
   
     I cried a lot in those early weeks. I would come home after a day of driving all over the place, curl up on our bed and cry. Richard at one point said we still have return tickets we can use. But that seemed even crazier. We had sold everything we had in preparation for moving to the US. If we went back to South Africa, we would have nothing. I figured, we're here now, we just have to make this work.

    My first time in the US, I was hosted by gracious family in North Carolina. My second time in the US, I was a diplomat's wife with an expense account. This experience in the US was turning out to be a whole different reality. This time seemed like a step backwards in many ways. We were living in a smaller house. Because I wasn't making the money we were led to believe, because Richard couldn't work, we ended up having to get food from the food pantries. We also didn't have health insurance through my job. We were able to cover our children through the Massachusetts state health insurance plan, but because we were aliens, Richard and I remained uninsured. I actually had a meeting with Congressman James McGovern in Attleboro at one point, imploring him to consider our case. He later called me from Washington, DC to offer an apology for not being able to help. Back in South Africa, my master's degree in psychology afforded me a certain level of professional respect and affluence. Here in the US, I felt like I was living worse than some of my clients. As I drove through beautiful suburban areas on my way to a client's house, I could only dream of a day a house would be possible for us.

    What kept me going through all this struggle was the work. In South Africa, I was doing one-time interviews and psych assessments for large companies. But here in the US, I was working with people one-on-one to improve their lives and I loved it. I worked very hard and quickly learned that I was good at it. My clients liked me and my colleagues respected me. Yet I knew I had to be intrinsically motivated by the reward of helping others because if I was doing this purely for the money, I’d be miserable and should probably change careers. Being able to make a difference in people's lives kept me thinking that things in general, in my own life, would get better. My co-workers at South Bay were great people, even helping to furnish my apartment. While they thought I was a little nuts for packing up my family and moving half way around the world, they embraced me, and I them and this made living in the US this time bearable.

    The other thing that helped us in those early days was the church we started attending. A coworker at South Bay suggested I attend this church she went to. Richard and I needed to make friends and develop a community for ourselves. I think it really helped us keep our bearings those first few months. I felt like we were spiritually replanting ourselves.

    Unable to work legitimately, Richard essentially became a stay at home dad, taking care of our two boys who were three years old and 22 months when we arrived in the US. He periodically found odd jobs, but without a green card, he couldn't work for any significant pay. Despite our hardships, I never heard him complain. I know life here was very difficult for him too. Prior to leaving South Africa, Richard and I had come up with a five year plan for our US adventure. At this point, we felt like we had worked so hard to scratch out a life here in the US, that we were not going to go back to South Africa until we had achieved a critical part of our plan: acquiring a US "green card". A US green card is authorization by the US government for a non-US citizen to permanently work and live in the US. Most people in the US don't realize what a sought after document a US green card is. To legally live and work in the US opens up a lot of options. So given that my work visa would expire in two years, we decided to pursue getting green cards.

    To me, getting our green cards felt like the turning point. With green cards, I could look for work outside of South Bay Mental Health. And Richard could finally find decent paying work too. With the boys older and in school, both Richard and I working, things looked like they were finally turning around. I was really enjoying my work and I felt like we were getting back on our feet financially.

    After five years in our tiny "temporary" apartment, we were able to move to a larger place. It wasn't a house like we had back in South Africa, but it was the first step in a long time that didn't feel we were going backwards. Also, I left South Bay for a salaried position working with clients at a drug and alcohol rehab facility. Unfortunately, at the same time, my personal life was in a shambles, my relationship with Richard didn't work out and now we are separated.

    The past 10 years have been an enormous struggle on so many levels. Good things happened amidst the difficulties and the whole experience has taught me to not take anything for granted. We have managed to raise two inspiring children. I think there are more opportunities for my boys here in the US. They will always be South African but they're Americans too now.

    People ask me why I still stay in the US. South Africa is such a beautiful country. I love the wild animals, mountains and oceans and her people who are like nowhere else on earth. More importantly, my whole family still resides in South Africa. They have beautiful homes and great lives over there and I miss them dearly. Yet, I still can't get past the crime and economic issues. My sisters often tell me I overstate things, that I worry too much, but every time I see the gates in front of the houses or the electrified fences, I can't help but feel nervous. Yet despite our different opinions, they support me, and encourage me to do what is right for me and my family. It’s often a very deep dilemma for me; I have established a good and fulfilling career here, I've made dear friends, my children are doing well in a secure environment, but I've left behind my family and a country I love. I have frequently asked myself, has it all been worth it?

    So here I am. I have managed to start my own private counseling practice. My boys are enjoying their lives here. I periodically think about moving back to South Africa, but with Richard being here, I can't see separating the boys from their father. I would love the opportunity to spend some time teaching in South Africa and perhaps once I have my US citizenship, I will be able to move more freely between both countries. But in the meantime, I feel somewhat settled; I have made a life in the US and put down roots as they say. I think the wanderer in me that felt compelled to cross the Atlantic three times has settled a bit. A least for now.


Postscript from Dawn:

Wow.

It's finished.

I had the idea for his writing project some nine years ago when I first met Arlene. Three years ago I decided to start it thinking I'd be done in a year or so. Heh.

Though it took longer than I thought, Arlene and I stuck to it. I'm not sure what the plans are from here for this story. I'd love to publish it so there's a print copy to hold. I will probably be the last person on earth to convert to a Kindle. But that goal is for another day.

While this is not a printed book, I would still like to include dedications and acknowledgements from Arlene and myself so here goes.

Arlene's Dedications :

To my family ...my mom (RIP), my dad, and my two sisters who have supported me and loved me unconditionally through it ALL. I love you with all my heart. I still struggle at times to make sense of my decisions to be away from you, it has come at a high price at times. But I thank you for never judging me, for always being there.

And to my incredible sons, Yorke and Alex who journey with me like two brave knights. To their dad, Richard...may your life be forever blessed.

Thanks to many beautiful friends all over the world who have made this journey so meaningful!

South Africa: land of my birth, where a huge part of my soul will always reside.

Last but not least...Dawn, thanks for this opportunity. You are a brilliant writer and woman with more energy than the Hoover Dam!


Dawn's Acknowledgements:

First and foremost, a huge thank you to Arlene. You have been so gracious in cooperating in this endeavor. It’s a brave thing to look back over one’s life and it’s even braver to let someone write it down for public consumption. I am so grateful for your help in making this idea a reality.

Thanks also to Firoozeh Dumas. She wrote “Funny in Farsi” and “Laughing Without an Accent.” Right about the time I was contemplating starting this project, she stumbled across my blog. She actually took the time to contact me and tell me she liked what she read. She also said that I should keep writing. Receiving a compliment from a published author made my week, and was like the shot I needed to get working.

I dedicated this work to my mother who had an experience similar to Arlene; leaving one’s country in hopes of providing a better future for your family. She left behind her family and all that was familiar to her to live in the US in the days before email and Skype. I remember my first day of homework for first grade, I was asked to write three sentences about what I did over the summer. I was beside myself. I bitterly complained to my mother that three sentences was just too much to ask, that I can’t think of three things to write, only one and what was the need for three sentences anyway if you can get your point across in one?

Well, I don’t know how many sentences I wrote in all these blog posts, but I'm pretty sure it’s more than three. So to my mother, I’m sorry for whining at you about those three sentences. And I’m very grateful now for all those trips to the library you took us on.

To my husband, there is nothing I could write that would adequately express my love and gratitude to you.


Great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

The Kerr Christmas Letter!

From the Better Late Than Never Department, it's the Kerr Post-Christmas Christmas Letter!!!

I thought since the Mayans said the world would end 12/21/12, my final days in December would be better spent making biscotti rather than writing. Alas, the Mayans were wrong and thus I am behind in my yearly tradition.

So even though your decorations are put away, all of 2012's holiday cards upcycled into some cute craft, and the left overs eaten, here's one last Christmas letter.

2012 was a rather quiet year for us and that's a good thing. When you have six kids, quiet is good. Except when the boys have been upstairs for more than 20 minutes and it's not bedtime then quiet is probably not good. But I digress.

In January, W. Bear represented the family at the annual homeschool spelling bee. He didn't place in the top three, but had a great indepth discussion of Pokemon cards with the contestant next to him.

Spring activities included Gaspee Days wherein Bo took part in a pirate encampment and did piratey things like cooking over a wood fire, shooting off a blunder buss and scowling at errant children. While he has enjoyed the camaraderie of the pirate crew, I think the sleeping on the ground bit is wearing thin for him. However, I don't know if pirates are allowed air mattresses.

In June, Bo did his annual Father/Son motorcycle trip in and around Maine. Fun times and sore bottoms were had by all.

In July, Grandma Barbara paid us a visit and we went to the Museum of Work and Culture in Woonsocket, RI. She also took her first motorcycle ride with Bo. Seeing as she is Bo's mom, I thought we should refer to her as Grandma Hunkmeister. But then a friend has suggested shortening the title to Grandmeister. Given how easily she took to the Doc Marten boots and motorcycle gear, I would have to concur.

Also in July, our Princess Git Er Done turned 13 and per Kerr custom, Dad and her had a day trip to the Lego store and lunch at a fun restaurant called Wasabi where the sushi comes by on a conveyor belt. I thought the child would vibrate into another dimension from the excitement of it all.

At the end of July, we joined the rest of the Grattan family for a reunion in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina. All 17 of us were able to spend a week at a lovely resort to celebrate my parent's 50th wedding anniversary. Yay Mom & Dad! Except for the fishing trip, much food and fun was had by all.

In August, Bo and some friends did a motorcycle ride out to Cooperstown, NY and the baseball hall of fame. Given how much time he's spent on the motorcycle this year, donations of Monkey Butt powder would be greatly appreciated.

In September Bo and I enjoyed a nice get away weekend to Nantucket. It rained most of the time we were there, but it was still great to spend some time having conversations that were not permeated by "What's for dinner?" "Can I watch tv now?" "Baby broke my Lego car!"

September also included a surprise at our door in the form of an itteh bitteh kitteh. She's still with us and as rambunctious as ever. She's a perfect fit for the gang.

I can haz control of ur mind, yes?

November we spent Thanksgiving with my parents on Long Island getting our fix of real bagels and true New York pizza. It was also the weekend of my 25th high school reunion. It was great to see some old friends. Old as if from high school and not old as in age. Y'all looked great. Really.

Bo, when not touring like a rock star, is still working for Newfangled Web Developers.

I am currently training to run a 5k race in the spring. Baking desserts with too much sugar is a lot easier.

Princess Buttercup joined the legion of teenagers with braces this year. She is also working for a local organic food cooperative called Fertile Underground. While it's a volunteer position, she receives credit she can use for chocolate groceries.

Princess Git Er Done has also taken her earring crafting a step further by selling some at Fertile Underground. She is also still performing with the Rhode Island Philharmonic String Orchestra.

W. Bear is still heavily into Legos. And when he's not playing with Legos, he's playing with Pokemon. And when he's not playing with Pokemon, he's playing with Legos. Periodically he sneaks a book in there.

Tater is right behind W. Bear in the Lego/Pokemon time-distortion field.

Baby is getting better at his reading, is a very creative inventor of gadgets and weaponry and has avoided going to the ER this year. That makes this a very good year.

Gummi is still Gummi, adorable as ever when not acting like he owns the world.









Well, that's all for us. Hope your holidays were wonderful and may your 2013 be devoid of world ending predictions!

Itteh Bitteh Kitteh

My friend said the best cats are the ones that come to you. When you go looking for a cat to adopt, they're not as nice as the ones that come to you. Ordinarily, I would think this is an odd statement but given our experience, I'm inclined to believe her.

This event was foreshadowed by Ranger, my friend B's cat. B was going out of town and needed someone to look after her cat, Ranger. Rather than leave him home alone, she thought Ranger might enjoy the company of our family. I reminded her that "our family" included Baby and Gummi, but B thought Ranger could deal with that.

Ranger was a handsome cat, a furry tortoiseshell colored cat with a mellow disposition. After a few minutes to gather his bearings, he just became one of the gang. Within half a day of residence, we already had 15 nicknames for him. Endearing ones, not the other type.

Now we had a cat a while ago. Boots the Chemist was her name. I'd try to explain the story behind her name, but you'll just have to trust me that's it's a lot funnier in my mind than in yours. Bo and I got her when we were first married. She was like our trial child. We figured, if the cat lived past a year, we were responsible enough to have babies. So Boots was a part of our lives for 20 years. And people loved that cat. I don't know what it was about her. She had a mojo going on like no other pet I know. One friend who used to stop by regularly would make it a point to greet the cat. Others would just gush how pretty she was.

But Boots eventually took ill a year ago and passed on to her great reward, that great sunny spot on the rug in the sky. Bo and I figured, with 6 kids, we're done with the pet thing; the cat hair getting into stuff, allergic guests, "accidents." I swear cat urine is one of the great under-utilized weapons of mass destruction. Bo was really adamant about no pets since he was on litter box cleaning duty for 20 years. We didn't want any pets. At least nothing that wasn't going to give us a gallon of milk per day.

So after Ranger went home with his mom, the kids were asking us for a cat. While we enjoyed having our 'guest pet', Bo and I looked at each other and confirmed we didn't want to deal with a pet for a while.

The very next day, the mail man rang our doorbell to give us a package. Over the years, we've gotten to know Mailman Mike. Yes, I know they're called Letter Carriers, but then there would be no alliteration, now would there? While I was talking to him, he said, "Hey, your cat got out." For a brief moment I thought, "Did Ranger make his way back here?" I mean, you hear those crazy stories of animals traveling thousands of miles to be with someone and maybe Ranger and Gummi really bonded. All this went through my mind in a flash before I said to Mailman Mike, "We don't have a cat." To which he replied, "Well, whose cat is that?" pointing to the kitten on our front porch. I looked at the kitten, I looked at Mike, Mike looked at me. It was soon obvious that Mailman Mike was impervious to my telekinetic powers willing him to take the kitten with him. After a brief discussion about where said kitten could have come from, Mailman Mike smiled and said, "Well, good luck!" and walked off.

Aarrrgh! What was I going to do now?!? I didn't have any cat food, no litter, what if the kitten had fleas? I went to my neighbor's house. He's a vet. He's got four cats already. He's probably got cat food and litter and heck, he might, out of the kindness of his heart, offer to take the kitten off my hands, right? He gave me food, he gave me litter and told me, "Let me know how you make out." Don't people recognize someone who is in desperate need of shirking responsibility? Could they not see the panicked look on my face?

I went home and with my son, W. Bear, posted signs around the neighborhood. I also told all the swooning children to not get too attached to the kitten because we were not keeping it. Obedient children that they are, they started to call the kitten Boromir.

That evening, we got a call from someone in the neighborhood who didn't own the kitten, but would be willing to take her if no one else claimed her. "Yay!" I thought, "a happy home!" I did the responsible thing by calling his landlord to make sure this guy was on the up and up. I thought this was divine intervention as the landlord turned out to be an acquaintance of ours. This kitten would go to someone responsible who wanted her. Alas, a day later, he called to say he changed his mind.

Disappointed, I informed the children that we would have to take the kitten to the animal shelter. Thankfully, the Providence Animal Rescue League (PARL) is a no kill shelter, but I still felt bad that this itty bitty thing was going to the shelter.

The next day, W. Bear, Baby and I took the kitten to the shelter to drop her off. The shelter volunteer told me they ordinarily do not take strays unless I called the city animal control officer first. I looked at the woman, "I'm supposed to call a city agency and hope to have this situation addressed before next year?" She said, "You're right, let me talk to my supervisor." So off she went, and Baby who was not supposed to become attached to this kitten, asked, "Can we buy these toys for her?"

The lovely PARL volunteer came back and told me the supervisor said they would take the kitten. Yay! Then she told me the kitten was on the small side and might have health issues living in close proximity to older cats. Much like when you take a newborn to the doctor's office, they segregate the newborn so she doesn't catch germs from the other patients. Having experienced this with my babies, I could totally relate. Then came the big question - would I be willing to foster the kitten for a week so she could gain a little weight and strengthen her immune system? Perhaps I should have told them I have four boys. Germ-wise, the kitten probably had a better chance with the older cats. But they loaded me up with food, litter and other accouterment and, the next thing I knew, I was headed home with a kitten I thought I wasn't keeping.

I called Bo to tell him my tale of woe and his response was, "I think we need to keep the cat."

Wait, what?

He told me that the morning before I took the kitten to the shelter, he had the feeling that we needed to keep her. But he thought that was a crazy idea because we just got done telling each other that we didn't want a pet. So he figured if there was any reason why the shelter couldn't take the kitten, he would take that as confirmation that we were supposed to keep her. He was not at all surprised when I brought her home.

So we sat the children down and let them know we were keeping her. Bo had the good idea to make the kids sign a contract acknowledging their responsibility in taking care of her. Then began the long process of deciding on a name for her. Thousands of names, many from beloved books, were debated.

"Mrs. Darcy?!? What kind of name is that for a cat?!?"

"How about Schroedinger?" "What?"

"We can't keep calling her Boromir! It's a girl!"

Eventually, Bo had to put a deadline in place. I would like to introduce you to our new family member Katniss.

No Grandma B, we're not shipping the cat to you.

I still think we should have named her Mailman Mike.

Changes

Part 10: Dreams of an international life as the wife of a diplomat did not turn out as planned. So Arlene returned to South Africa in July of 1994. South Africa, like Arlene, was in the process of momentous change, and faced a critical decision of where to go from here. The first democratically held elections took place April of 1994 electing Nelson Mandela, leader of the ANC, President of the new South Africa. While there was a new government full of hope and promise, there was a past that needed to be dealt with if South Africa was to move on in a peaceful manner. To address their past and the need to move on, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was created by Mandela and chaired by Bishop Desmond Tutu. This commission was the first of its kind dedicated to acknowledging the past in a way that promoted forgiveness and reconciliation. Perpetrators of crimes during the apartheid era, both white and black were invited to give testimony of their actions. If they could show their actions were politically motivated, they would be granted amnesty for their crime, as long as they told the truth. In Bill Moyer's documentary "Facing the Truth", he explains that 90% of the crimes revealed at the TRC were during P.W. Botha's administration. Victims were also invited to give their testimony in the hopes that, once neglected and silenced, the world would now hear them. While generally considered a successful endeavor, what the TRC could not deal with was the consequences of keeping a large group of people economically oppressed, one of which was an increase in crime.


International Arrivals, Jan Smuts International Airport

    Having split all of our possessions between us in New York, my husband Ian and I separated the day we arrived back in South Africa. We literally got off the the plane and went in different directions in the terminal. Tensions were high as we greeted our respective families at the airport. While our families were sad about the situation, I was terrified. I didn't know what my future held for me now. I had been dating Ian since high school. Many people in our town considered us the golden couple for whom the future seemed set. Now my future seemed like a big unknown. I didn't know how any of it would play out.

    I knew in the short term I would be going to the comfort and safety of my mom's home. I also knew I wanted to get my master's degree in psychology. When I got my bachelor's degree in 1989, I was told to get some life experience before applying to the master's program. I think my time in New York as a diplomat's wife certainly qualified so I set about the task of applying to some universities and arranging interviews. Having this mission helped my transition from diplomatic wife to just Arlene again.

    The interview process turned out to be a lot of effort. The programs I applied for were quite competitive and I had to travel from Johannesburg to Cape Town, Grahamstown and Pietermartizburg for the interviews. In the end, I was accepted into two of the universities and I chose Rhodes University in Grahamstown, where I had done my undergraduate degree.

    As I mentioned previously, the school year in South Africa is from January to December, so once I learned I was accepted into Rhodes, I had a few months before I had to leave. Feeling a bit like I was in limbo land, I went back to New York for a few months, staying with friends and working part time in an art gallery.

College Girl

Grahamstown, Eastern Cape Province

    I arrived in Grahamstown in January 1995 and moved into their post graduate residences. There were six of us in the psychology master's program. In the first week of our program, we went on a wilderness retreat as a team building exercise. It was on the first day of that retreat that I received the papers finalizing my divorce. Sometimes when I look back, I wonder if Ian and I had gotten some kind of help at that time, if we went to counseling, if our marriage would have worked out, and how different my life might have been. Never the less, while my marriage and life in New York didn't work out the way I wanted it to, with the divorce papers in my hand I also felt free now to move on in my life. I changed my name back to Dickinson closing that chapter of my life and swore I would never change my name again.

    Grahamstown was quite a new environment for me. I had gone from being a diplomat's wife at the United Nations to a college girl in South Africa, from skirt suits to bellbottoms and sandals. Just like my years as an undergraduate, I spent my time doing my work. The six of us in the program would sometimes socialize on the weekends, but I mostly kept to my studies. My first year was spent in class, writing papers, researching or preparing for exams and tests.

    What was different this time was the atmosphere around the university. There were still midnight walks where people would sing "Nkosi Sikelel'i Afrika", but things didn't seem as stressful. Under the apartheid government, it would be a frequent occurrence for a class to be canceled because the lecturer had been detained by the authorities, but now that didn't happen. Instead were the ongoing broadcasts of the Truth and Reconciliation committees.

    The TRC was a traveling committee. They went to many cities to hear the testimony of perpetrators and victims alike and all of the testimony was public. It was on the tv and radio and big news in South Africa at the time. I seemed to me a bizarre thing that was going on, where people seemed to be coming out of the woodwork, going in front of judges and explaining their life away in order to get freedom. There was a big conversation going on in the country about whether or not people should be granted amnesty just for telling the truth. There were times when I would sit down and actually listen to some of the testimony. I remember hearing people cry as they faced the perpetrators.

djimbe drum

   With my divorce behind me and being back at school, I felt like I was in this free mode. Towards the end of my first year, I started getting involved with the music and theater scene in Grahamstown, what we in South Africa called the bungee world (pronounced 'bun-ghee'). I learned to place the djimbe that year. Me and some others would gather on the weekends to watch dramas and dances performed by 'the movement society'. We would play drums by the fires on the beach. It was a great time.

Fort England Hospital

   The second year of the master's program involved internships. So for the first six months I interned at the Fort England Hospital. It was a psychiatric institution in Grahamstown, housed in one of those grand and glorious old buildings. It reminded me of that movie "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". My office was in the mens' unit, mostly catering to black Africans who could not speak English. I had to have an interpreter with me to help with the psychiatric evaluations. The institution handled a lot of syphilis cases because late stage syphilis caused dementia. I experienced a bit of culture clash at Fort England. For example, a lot of our patients, in addition their psychiatric problems, had AIDS. I handled a lot of AIDS education, and it was very difficult to get the patients to understand that they had an incurable disease. Many thought they could just go to their village witch doctor and get fixed. Towards the end of my time there, the administrators started to address some of the cultural differences that came up between patients and doctors. Village witch doctors were brought in to explain to us how they work as traditional healers. A lot of us just thought they needed an anti-psychotic.

    I finished my second year interning at the Rhodes University psychiatric clinic. This was a completely different environment. I was in a nice office and was able to actually conduct therapy sessions with students. This was a welcomed change from Fort Elizabeth.

    I finished my two year master's program, but still had to write my thesis, so for my third year I lectured in the department while I wrote my thesis. It was in the field of neuropsychology: Post-concussive Sequelae in Contact Sport. We got to do neuropsych evaluations on our national rugby and national cricket teams that year. It was all very exciting! Much of my literature section focused on American football, which was fascinating to me.

    Towards the end of my third year I met Richard. He came to my house with a mutual friend one day. We later found out he was in one of my classes. With the lectures being so large I didn't realize it. One thing led to another and after a while we were romantically involved. By November of my third year, I had finished my thesis and graduated from the University. Not having a particular plan in mind after I graduated, I decided to follow Richard back to Cape Town.

Cape Town

Cape Town, Western Cape Province

    Having finished an intensive three years of study, I went to Cape Town thinking that I would take some time off to relax and then maybe pursue setting up my own practice. I found some work waitressing and after a while, I started to think about traveling again, maybe to South America. A friend had just returned from Peru and it seemed like such an interesting destination. I thought I might backpack around the area for a few months. So I started to sell some of my stuff in preparation for going there. However, after four months in Cape Town, I found out I was pregnant. This changed all of our plans.

    I was surprised at the idea of being pregnant. I had sold a lot of my stuff in preparation for traveling so I really had nothing materially and very little direction for a future with a child. And Richard and I never really discussed the future. After all, I had been planning to travel to South America for six months or so. At first, Richard and I thought we would just stay in Cape Town, but then I got to a point where I looked at my surroundings and I thought to myself, I need to go home, I need to be near my parents and my sisters. Richard and I had no real career plans, not much in the way of possessions and here I was soon to have a baby. So I decided to go back home to Johannesburg to be near my family. Now Richard was a bit younger than me. I didn't know if he was ready for such an undertaking. Trying to be sensitive to what he thought his future would be like, I said to him, I'm going back to Johannesburg and if you don't want to come with me, I totally understand. But he said he'd come with me and so that's what we did. We moved to Johannesburg.

Johannesburg

Johannesburg, Gauteng Province

    First we stayed for a bit with my sister, then we found a house of our own to rent. It was in that house we birthed our son, Yorke, in November of 1999. Things were difficult in Johannesburg. Richard found work with an event planning company while I stayed at home with our son. Richard would work all weekend setting up and taking down shows. We still didn't have much in the way of possessions. Richard would take our only car to work so I was at home with the baby. My mom and my sisters would visit, and we had a maid who came in a few days a week. Her name was Queenie and while she was employed as our maid, she was more like a mama. She really helped me out a lot. She would help me with washing Yorke's clothes and help me take care of him.

    After a while, I set up a room in the house where I could do some therapy sessions. I figured I could start taking in some freelance or contract work. I got my license and registrations to start practicing as a psychologist. Then I found out I was expecting another child.

    I marveled how things had changed. Not too long ago I was living in a penthouse apartment in New York City. Now we were struggling to make ends meet and expecting our second child. There were changes with Richard and I as well. When we first met, we partied a lot. We would go to dance parties at the beach and stay out until dawn. When Yorke was born, the parties stopped for me, but not necessarily for him. I wanted to be sensitive to that fact that he was younger than me so I didn't say anything when he would stay out all weekend. I wanted to be the understanding spouse, and the job he had was not really a family friendly one. Still, there were times when I was resentful.

    By the time our second son Alex was born, I had a small practice going. I would do psychiatric assessments for insurance companies on people who had motor vehicle accidents or brain injuries. I also worked for a company called Deloitte and Touche doing psychiatric assessments for their recruitment division.

Want to Work in Boston?

    By now, with my practice going and Richard working, we were doing a bit better financially. We had moved from Benoni to a pretty house in the suburbs of Johannesburg. Then one day, my sister told me she saw a newspaper advertisement that Rhodes University was looking for lecturers. I had wanted to get back to lecturing so I thought I'd check it out. She told me there was a whole spread on the left side of the Sunday Times. I opened up the paper, saw the Rhodes advertisement and on the opposite side of the page was a small ad that said, "Want to work in Boston?" Immediately my interest was peaked.

    I remember at dinner one night, asking Richard how would he feel about us moving to the United States and me working there? He was right on it. I countered that we might have to get married to take advantage of the opportunity and he said simply, we can do that.

    As impulsive as it sounds, it was not a quick decision. I had been increasingly concerned with safety in South Africa. Despite a historic new government that was democratically elected, there still seemed to be so much corruption and the economy was bad, but most importantly, the crime rate was so high I didn't feel safe.

electrified fence surrounding a retirement community

    Previously in Grahamstown, my house had been broken into twice with all of my stuff taken. In Johannesburg, you would hear stories of car jackings where the thief would force you out of your car and take it. Once they realized there were children in the back seat, they would dump the kids by the side of the road and hopefully someone would find them. The whole situation made me a nervous wreck. At night, Richard would be gone and I'd be home with two small children with all the windows and doors locked. Like a lot of houses, ours had an electric fence around the property. Unlike a lot of houses, our fence didn't work properly which only heightened my fears. We also had an interior security gate that locked off the bedroom areas so if someone broke into our house at night so they couldn't get to the sleeping areas. All this made me very anxious. I admit I had a fantasy of working and studying psychology in the United States, but when I told my family about moving to the US, my number one reason for moving was really safety.

    So I applied for the position. I remember going to the interview with the recruiter at a hotel. I had brought my youngest with me because he was still nursing. Halfway through the interview, Alex started crying and I interrupted the interview to nurse him. Despite this interruption, I was offered a position. A few people tried to tell me that it was too good to be true, but I was down for the adventure so I accepted the position at South Bay Mental Health in Attleboro, Massachusetts.

    It took us about a year after I was accepted to get ready for the move. We had a lot of loose ends to tie up. During this year, my sister got pregnant, and my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Quite a few times I considered pulling the plug on the whole project. It was a hard decision to make. I have to take my hat off to my family because no matter what they thought, in the end, they were always supportive of what I wanted to do.

    Then the 9/11 attacks occurred. Just like everyone else in the world, I can remember where I was at that exact moment. The attacks were all over the news in South Africa because many South Africans were living in New York City or had travelled there. I remember following the events closely because I had lived there. I made calls to people I knew in New York and found out a friend of ours from Rhodes University was killed at the World Trade Center. What I remember most of all was the feeling that for the first time, that the world really seemed like an incredibly, unsafe place because if the United States could be hit like that, anyone was vulnerable.

    It took us from March to November to get our affairs in order and make preparations to move. In addition to the planning and packing, Richard and I got married. He would not have been able to come to the US with me and the boys if we didn't so we went ahead and made things official. He had talked about marriage a few times in the past but this job offer in the US pushed the issue to the front. So in December of 2001, we got married at Rustler's Valley, where we had spent a lot of time with our friends dancing until sunrise. Forgoing the traditional big white dress I had the first time, I was married in a reddish-purplish sari.

    Even with all that time to prepare, on the day we were supposed to fly to the US, we were still packing. We were so stressed out with all the preparations. Then we got a phone call from South African Airways saying our flight was delayed for three days. It was like a gift from heaven. We were able to finish packing, celebrate Yorke's birthday with my family and then fly out.

    With my first trip to North Carolina on my AFS exchange year, I was bubbling with excitement to go. On my second trip to New York City as a newlywed, I was bubbling with excitement at the adventures ahead. Yet somehow, this time was different. I had a lot of conflict inside. I remember Richard and I discussing that we would try this for five years, just five years and then we could come back. And the recruiter told us I could make around $40,000 per year which I thought would be enough to allow us to come back every year to visit. Even my mom said she would come visit us in the US too. So everything seemed to be fine. But unlike my other trips to the US, this time, I remember a voice in my head saying, don't go, don't go.