Musical Interlude

A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to participate in a Mid-term Musical Respite at the College of Micronesia by performing a few songs. Here I am playing "The Perfect Space," by the Avett Brothers: 

That, ladies and gentlemen, is my best approximation as to how one might rock a conference room.

If they do this again next semester, I'd like to perform some original material that I've been writing on a borrowed banjo. Stay tuned.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

In many ways, teaching at the College of Micronesia is very similar to teaching at a college in the U.S., but there is one notable distinguishing characteristic that I'd like to point out. In my relatively brief tenure so far as a college instructor, nowhere else have I ever walked into my classroom to find a stray dog sleeping on the floor.

I tried whistling. I tried clapping loudly. I even poked it with my umbrella. Nothing seemed to work. The dog, while clearly still alive, wasn't going anywhere. Of course, it just so happens that I was holding my class in the computer lab that day and just needed to write that on the board so that the students would know where to go. I also included a note that they should probably leave the dog alone.

Stray dogs are pretty common here, much like they were in Moldova. In fact, it seems that the further you are in the world from Bob Barker, the more of an issue said dogs become.

If anyone is interested, I'm considering writing a series of essays about the disparities and congruencies between the two aforementioned nations, each an orphan state of twentieth century superpowers, situated on opposite ends of the western world. Both physically and metaphorically, I think the idea of American culture resides somewhere in the middle, while the similarities between Moldovans and Micronesians (and Michiganders, while we're at it) may indicate something about our common human nature - beyond my own personal, inexplicable affinity for places that begin with the letter M that the spell-check doesn't seem to think are real.

Outside of the [Idiot] Box

Right before we came to Micronesia, we moved all of our belongings from one storage location to another. It was all rather anticlimactic, and since there was only limited space in the moving truck, we had to prioritize. As a result, our TV was among the casualties, as we left it sitting next to a dumpster with a small sign indicating that it was free to anyone who wanted it. Maybe we'll buy a new television when we get back the U.S., or maybe we won't. At this point, I have to say, though, I don't really miss it.

Granted, we have a computer for watching the occasional movie or letting the kids watch Curious George or Bill Nye, the Science Guy, but for the most part, other than when I'm listening to or playing music, it tends to be relatively quiet around our house... considering, of course, that we have two young children. Conversely, when we lived in the U.S. (and Moldova, for that matter), even though we weren't exactly couch potatoes by any means, it had become all too easy to just turn on the TV whenever we weren't actively doing anything else and then leave it on for far longer than anyone originally intended.

My point here isn't to come across as some elitist television-hating snob, but I will say that in the absence of a TV, we do get an awful lot of reading done. In fact, it seems like we all have significantly more spare time to do all kinds of genuinely rewarding activities - like talking to one another, writing and making minor works of refrigerator art - as a direct result of not having a television in our house. It's almost as if there are more hours in a day without it.

Consider, too, that one way or another, many shows are also available online, so if we really want to see something, it's not like we're really missing out. If we want to watch The Daily Show or Community or whatever, we can do so on the computer. For the most part, though, it's pretty easy to forget about the inane distractions that could easily consume an idle weeknight. This may be obvious, but I tend to be of the opinion that the vast majority of television shows are absolute garbage.

Frankly, though, it wasn't even the shows that bothered me so much as the constant advertising. Of course, television is a medium that was built around commercials, with which it has maintained a symbiotic relationship ever since. Television, as a whole, exists for the express purpose of selling stuff. Any entertainment that may fill the space between advertisements is merely a byproduct of the original objective.

I know I'm not alone in the degree to which I loathe the audacity of commercials, the entire function of which is to try to trick people into buying more things that they don't really need. This is especially true now that we have two young children that we really don't want exposed to that kind of crap. Yes, call me irrational, but television commercials make me angry, as does any actual human being who blatantly lies to and/or manipulates the masses for his or her own monetary gain.

On a sidenote, though, I do miss our Wii, but then again, I'd probably rather not think about all of the wasted hours I've spent playing Excite Truck or You Don't Know Jack. However, if anything compels me to buy a television when we return to the U.S, this would probably be it. Who knows, though? I can't help but feel like our kids might be better off if they grew up not coveting the crap they see advertised on TV or subscribing to the images promoted by mainstream media. Maybe we all would.

Higher Education

The College of Micronesia, where I teach, is accredited by the Western Association of Schools and Colleges, which means that they are expected to maintain the same academic standards as colleges in California, Oregon, Washington and Hawaii. Roughly ninety-nine percent of the students here qualify for Pell Grants through the U.S. Department of Education, as it is income-based, which in turn provides the school with much needed funding. The students then take home the difference between what is covered by the Pell Grant and what the school actually costs, which can mean a refund for as much as a thousand dollars per semester. This helps offset the economic reality of inflation and extremely low wages by providing what amounts to a supplemental income for families with one or more members of the household attending college. I have no problem with that. Unfortunately, though, it also seems that the Pell Grant refund may be the single most significant motivating factor for a large number of the students here to attend college in the first place. I say this because after the checks were issued, attendance in a couple of my classes diminished considerably.

Granted, this is mostly speculation on my part, but the timing is rather hard to ignore. Meanwhile, since the college is also desperate for revenue, it would seem that they have little choice but to be complicit partners in this exchange. Quite frankly, without the Pell Grant, the College of Micronesia would cease to be. However, as I suggested, this also makes for a larger percentage of students who don't really want to be here. In that sense, it's almost more like high school than it is college, and when you consider how ill-prepared many of these students are for college-level writing, I have had my work cut out for me, to say the least.

Of course, now that my classes have been whittled down to those who actually do want to be here, this has considerably changed the dynamic - and those that do want to learn have proven to be relatively adept at it. With that said, I maintain hope that all of my remaining students will be writing at a level indicative of a college education by the end of the semester, and also that those who dropped out may see a value in higher education that goes beyond the instant gratification of a refund check - before it's too late for them to receive continued financial aid.

If I didn't believe that there was a benefit for these students to learn this stuff, I wouldn't be here. However, and this is probably true just about anywhere, on some level, I can only effectively teach those who genuinely want to learn, who are ready for the responsibility of being college students. I recognize that it's not for everybody, but for those who choose to get more out of this than a mere refund check, it provides a rare opportunity for long-term upward mobility, and from a broader economic perspective, it can also be viewed as an critical investment in human capital. I only wish that more people would take advantage of the education as opposed to simply taking advantage of the educational system.   

Driving in Circles

I can't say that Jamie and I were all that surprised when Speed Racer, our borrowed/abandoned car with a duct tape racing stripe, failed to start. The ignition was one of the last electric functions of the car that still worked, and even then, it was pretty temperamental. Luckily, it was parked in front of our house when it quit, which is where it will likely remain indefinitely, at least until our landlord wants to do something with it. Like many other parts of the island, our front yard is starting to look like a place where cars go to die (particularly because the people who own the house have another non-functioning car parked there as well).

On the bright side, last week, we finally got the car that we ordered from Japan. Now that it's all said and done, I can admit that I was a little worried about having sent nearly three thousand dollars via wire transfer to a company in Japan with whom I had never before done business for a car of which we had only seen pictures. The closest thing we had to a guarantee that we would ever see the vehicle that we ordered was an emailed receipt, but based on the luck we had had so far with cars here in Micronesia, I wasn't all that confident.

For our Mazda Demio's maiden voyage, we took a trip around the island. Considering that there's just one main road that runs the entire perimeter of Pohnpei, it seemed like it would be difficult to get lost. However, that didn't stop us from inadvertently turning down some side roads that led nowhere, one of which involved driving in reverse for about a half mile between rows of parked cars with about an inch of clearance on each side, made all the more complicated by pedestrians who were curious what this family of white people was up to. 

Although I admit that it was interesting to see more of the island, that which we saw wasn't really that different than anything else that we had already seen, at least superficially. That is to say that a house on the south side of Pohnpei looks remarkably similar to a house on the north side, and virtually anywhere you go, you're likely to encounter potholed roads surrounded by rainforest and the occasional village, each of which seems to differ only in its fluid multi-syllabic name. Alohkapw, anyone?

Of course, it only cost us about a half of a tank of gas to drive all the way around the island, plus one entire afternoon, but it was an excuse to get out of Kolonia for the day. Having been without a car for most of our time here so far, I will say that our immobility only increased the overall sense of being stuck. That is, not only are we on a tiny little island in the middle of a vast ocean, but we were also confined to the areas to which we could comfortably walk with two young children. It was a very small world indeed.

Now that we have a more reliable vehicle, if we start to get stir crazy, we can at least go for a drive. Granted, the extent of this is the aforementioned sixty mile circle around the island, down some terrible roads marked by a severe shortage of public places to stop and rest, but it was at least something a little different for a change, and it provided a much-needed break from what had been a series of automotive misfortunes.

With that said, I should note that we did get a flat tire about ten miles from home, only to learn that our new car had not been equipped with a tire iron when it left Japan. A local guy was kind enough to help us out, but by the time we had the spare on the car, rather than go out to eat, we decided that we were ready to go home. We had had enough adventure for one day.  

Like taking ripe fruit from a tree

Ripe edibles are plentiful here. There are multiple growing seasons and if you know what to look for and how to prepare and eat it, with minimal effort you will have plenty to eat.

The house we lived in for the first month we were here had papaya, coconut, something-like-an-apple and lime trees in the yard. I love to cook with lime, so this was a blessing. We learned the hard way that the variety of lime tree on Pohnpei is loaded with one-to-three-inch thorny barbs. Yikes!

In our new house’s yard we have breadfruit, lemon, guava and banana and noni trees. When the breadfruit is overly ripe it falls to the ground with a thudding splat. The smell of the rotten fruit is surprisingly pleasant. The base scent is of ripe passion fruit and the underlying scent of that of sweet rotten apples. I would literally wear the scent as a perfume. Eau du Ferment anyone?

I have never been a big banana fan. It would have to be a near empty fruit bowl for me to select one for myself to eat.

For me, both of the varieties that are common in U.S. supermarkets do not have a super flavor and the texture is pasty, almost chalky. I wish I could have seen my own expression the first time I tried a banana here in Micronesia. Wow, hello multiple facets of flavor and silky mouth feel! Where have you been all my life? There are over 33 different kinds of bananas grown here and the few table bananas I’ve tried have multiple notes to the palate that range from lime to sugarcane.

To harvest bananas the whole tree (technically a rhizome) is cut down. And the banana stem is cut into sections to hang from a strip of hibiscus bark as a makeshift rope. A very strong rope. The banana flower can be cooked and eaten.

This is the karrot banana and it is so good it'll knock your socks off clean and into the washer. It is ripe when mushy to the touch, red on the outside and bright orange on the inside. It is delightful plain and is the best banana I have ever baked with.

I have always enjoyed fresh pineapple. Micronesia has the sweetest pineapples I have ever tasted. At the market I smell the bottom of the pineapple to determine ripeness. That’s right, I’m not too proud to sniff a pineapple butt. A pineapple should smell like a ripe, juicy pineapple. To eat it, I lob off the top and bottom and cut off the outer skin removing as little of meat as possible. Then, using a small flathead screwdriver, I pluck out the hard to digest seed pockets. To grow a pineapple tree. Simply plant the top of the pineapple.

There are many more fruits here I have yet to explore. I have heard of avocados as big as a softball. There are Noni and Starfruit trees across the street at the botanical garden and the market has several other interesting offerings that I have yet to investigate. One fruit at a time.

Fruit for breakfast, fruit for snack, fruit for dessert. Life is sweet.

Come Again Another Day

I really cannot overemphasize how much it rains here. It makes sense, though, if you consider how much direct sunlight there is, combined with the fact that Pohnpei is surrounded by water for thousands of miles in every direction. That, and the interior of the island is mountainous, which affects the weather pattern in such a way as to empty the clouds.

Every day we get hit with at least a couple hours of what can be accurately described as a torrential downpour. If they got rain like this in Michigan, they would close schools and tell people to stay off the roads. There would be flash flood warnings. Bingo games in church basements would be canceled. Similarly, if they got rain like this in Los Angeles, the local news would call it Rain-mageddon, or something equally stupid. The city would unequivocally shut down. Indeed, one of my least favorite parts about living in L.A. was the fact that it never rains. Now I suppose I'm making up for that.   

In Pohnpei, the rain is just a part of daily life. It never sprinkles, and the weather rarely even gives hints that it's going to start raining soon. One minute, it's sunny, and the next, you are completely drenched... and it may also still be sunny. I've never owned an umbrella before, because frankly, I've never considered myself the kind of person who is bothered by a little bit of rain; here, however, I take an umbrella with me to school every day, because just about every day, I actually need it. Otherwise, I'd show up to teach in clothes that are completely saturated or have a laptop that no longer worked.

The drinking water in Kolonia, logically, comes from the rain. There are big reservoirs that catch the precipitation, where it is then dispensed through the city pipes. Personally, I do drink the tap water when I'm at work, but for the kids' sake, we also buy purified water for use at home. It only costs $1.50 to have a five gallon container filled, and some places even deliver.

Hot date and a cold shower

Zach and I celebrated our wedding anniversary and not knowing any babysitters we brought the kids out to dinner with us. You know: a date with the kids where, being without a car, we hike up a long, very steep mountainside road to arrive looking like sweat-drenched beggars. Good times. If there is anything that will make you appreciate the civilized essence of ice cubes, it is a hike like that.

The view from the restaurant patio is beyond spectacular and after taking a few pictures, we sat down to order. Our waitress, a pretty, local young woman with a dazzling smile approached to greet us. Before she said anything, our five-year-old daughter announced, “I’d like a cocktail, a tall one!” She said it with such confidence and sounded like she says this all the time with ordering it, "tall." We all looked astonished. The waitress looked to us with raised eyebrows and slight look of panic. I quickly realized that there is a plastic table tent displaying a luring picture of a tall, iced beverage adorned with fruit and a cocktail umbrella under the large caption ‘COCKTAILS’. Back paddling, I quickly say, “Oh, we don’t give her cocktails, um, uh.” I pointed to the sign and after a brief awkward moment told the waitress that Chloe reads. We all shared a relieved chuckle followed by deep belly laughs that come with the kind of shared moments that become inside jokes.

We oohed and awed at the gorgeous sunset while we ate our food. When I eat I sometimes daydream and could not help thinking of a shower. We do not have a water heater. Let's pause to consider this. In the morning and evening it is not particuarily hot here and a cold shower is a most affronting and daunting task. Taking a cold shower when you don't wish for one requires a certain amount of pep talk before hand. Little Engine on the count of three, one…two…three, GO! It is can be difficult to maneuver girlie tasks in a cold shower and sometimes I don't rinse all of the soap out of my hair in my haste of getting out and getting warm. We have a plastic tub for the kids that we top off with hot water from the stove so that their experience is less shocking. Being clean is worth the effort of two to three quick cold showers a day, but I will love a hot bubble bath that much more when I am reaquainted with it.

At Cupid's restaurant the service was great, the food good and the prices decent. Zach had a burger and fries, I had fresh fish (what else?) and the kids ate quesadillas. Everyone enjoyed their meals and we even treated the kids to a strawberry soda to ease any disappointment about not getting cocktails, and because family date night was a special occasion.

Struggling to get to dinner was a physical reminder that sometimes life’s treasures take hard work and perseverance. It is not always an uphill effort, but if we give all of ourselves, we get even more in return and we might even get to coast for a while. I will say that going back down the mountain was much easier that going up.






All in all, it was a good date to celebrate a great marriage.

Mango Lips

Mango has been my favorite fruit since I can remember. Living here in Micronesia is the first time I have had a mango tree in my front yard, an at least 80 foot tall tree. Sounds of a baseball falling through broad green leaves followed by a slightly metallic thud of the fallen mango hitting the jagged metamorphic rocks in a plink, plank, plunk down the steep slope is great music to my ears. A game we’ve devised is called ‘mango hunting’. Picking up fallen fruit might not sound like much of a game or an exciting hunt, but when you are playing ‘duck and cover’ at the first sound of the mango falling and then dodging the ripe fruit that is gaining speed until it crashes, ideally not on our heads, is great excitement for the kids and me.

(Pictured is a woman selling sugar and kool-aid "pickled" papaya and mango.)

Needless to say, I have been eating at least two fresh mangos per day. Not the large, far-traveled, orange when ripened mangos we are used to seeing in U.S. supermarkets, but smaller and stringier dark green mangos with tougher skin and sweeter juice. Every time I eat one of these delectable, heavenly treats I can barely believe my good fortune with every slurping, scraping bite.

Apparently, I had too much of a good thing. At a pot luck I indulged in a glorious mango and within minutes, to my dismay, I developed an itchy burning sensation all around my mouth and chin, everywhere the mango juice has kissed my face. What is this? What is happening? Surely my sweet mango could not be the culprit. Maybe it was rolled in something terrible before it was served on a shining platter. Maybe this particular mango tree is infected or sprayed with chemicals. Maybe the mango was stung by a bee, the only allergy I’ve ever known. Maybe…

Spare yourself the Google search on mango allergies- it ain’t pretty, but it is pretty common and I have the symptoms to the letter. Currently my lips are swelled to twice their normal size. Not in a sexy Angelina Jolie kind of way, more like a collagen lip plumping injection gone horribly wrong. The symptoms of a mango allergy are the same as poison ivy with blistering, itching, burning, swelling and spreading. I am not allergic to poison ivy – I know, it hardly seemed fair until now as I basically have poison ivy reaction on my lips. I have to talk to people with these lips and ask that my kids take me seriously with these lips and want to kiss my husband with these lips. The allergy medication and hydrocortisone helped. I feel confident that raw honey, if I had some, would help. Coconut oil did not help!

There goes another mango now. That one sounded especially juicy. Sniff.

Farewell dear mango, it was lovely to know you. I will try to remember the nuance of your taste. As I try to remember I wonder, what if I didn’t touch the skin or touched it to my lips, but allowed it to be fed to me as a baby bird is fed. I remind myself that allergic reactions can get worse with subsequent exposures and as my plump and bumpy itchy lips would have me remember, it is all too soon to try again.

This is a picture of a hairy spider with a three inch body and four inch legs. I did not take a picture of my mango lips, but find this crazy spider living outside our back door to be equally as disturbing.

Keep on Rockin' in the Free World

As Jamie mentioned in one of her posts, we put a lot of thought into what to bring with us to Micronesia. For me, however, the biggest issue was in determining which musical instrument to bring.

I've played piano almost all of my life, but it didn't seem very practical to bring a keyboard. Last time I brought it on a plane, from Chicago to L.A., the baggage handlers beat it all to hell, and ever since, it sometimes gives me error messages.

This was also enough to rule out bringing my banjo, which my parents unexpectedly got me for Christmas last year and that I had been playing quite a bit ever since. I was even starting to get the hang of it, but seeing as how it's a fairly fragile instrument and I only have a soft case for it, I didn't think it would be a good idea to try to take it on an airplane.

Frankly, I don't know why it is that we, as a society, simply accept that baggage handlers are going to be as rough with our luggage as humanly possible. (And which comes first, getting a job as a baggage handler or being a sociopath with no regard for other people's property?)

In any case, this left me with two choices as far as what instrument to bring, as these were the only two that have hard cases that are deemed "airline safe." These are: my Fender Jaguar electric guitar and my Fender Sonoran acoustic/electric. Despite the fact that the Jaguar is a surf rock guitar, and it almost seems silly to move to an island in the Pacific Ocean (where people actually surf) and not bring it with me, I opted for the acoustic/electric, just because it's more versatile. That is, I don't have to have it plugged into anything if I want to hear it, but I also can plug it in if I want to record.

I keep a bunch of desiccant (silica gel) packets in the case, which the guitar is always in when not actively in use, but I am still a little worried about the humidity. I changed the strings shortly after we got here, and within a week, they were already corroded and dull. I have to clean them with WD-40 once a week and change them every three weeks or so, and I've noticed that the action on the guitar has already been affected somewhat by the climate here. This could mean that the wood is starting to warp or simply that the truss rod needs to be adjusted. I'm hoping for the latter, but either way, it's got me a bit concerned.

On a sidenote, what is it about silica gel packets that necessitates that the words "DO NOT EAT" be printed on the side of every package? Is there something especially appetizing about them? I mean, there are a lot of things that we shouldn't eat, so what makes these so special? Should "In God We Trust," as written on American coinage, be replaced with the somewhat more pragmatic, "Do Not Eat"?

In any case, about a week ago, I was lamenting to a friend of mine here about missing my banjo, and he said that he happened to have one in his closet that someone gave him two years ago but that he had only played a couple of times. After I changed the strings (there were three sets left with the banjo), he asked if I wanted to borrow it.

Well played, universe...
Well played.

Smashin' Fashion

The first thing I notice everyday about the Micronesian people are not their clothes, but the smiles as bright as sunshine they wear. I am amazed at the smiles here. People smile at us for no reason. We receive smiles for walking, crossing a path at the grocery store or passing someone on the street. We lived in Moldova for ten months last year and saw very few smiles on the stoic, Eastern Eurpoean faces we encountered. I am sure the smiling here on Pohnpei seems so surprising because of this contrast, but regardless, it is pretty great to get a full smile from someone.

People here on Pohnpei do wear more than just a smile, it is not that primitive and is the island nation’s capital after all.

I like wearing skirts. It makes me feel feminine and in this hot weather, a skirt (unless hiking) is the only way to go. Skirts are cooler because they allow for airflow. I don’t mind a bit of modesty either. I like to draw the kind of attention that I feel comfortable with. This is not to say that I would be the only person dressed in a Turkish bath. When in Istanbul, right? When in Pohnpei, Micronesia it is culturally appropriate for women to wear a calf-length skirt, so here I am flowing in the breeze with a frequent desire to twirl.

There are a myriad of hand-made skirts for about $20 dollars and these are what 90% of the women here wear. The material these skirts are made of is a kind of polyester blend and not very breathable, so I am glad I brought several cotton skirts that are not see-through when wet.The skirts are either worn with a t-shirt or pulled up over the breasts as a kind of dress. We are told that up until a few years ago it was common to go topless with the skirts. Showing the thighs is unseemly and to a much lesser extent, the breasts. Sunday Best are dresses in a style that I know as a muu-muu.

Men wear pants when doing business and on Sundays. Some younger people wear sleeveless tops and you’ll see girls in knee-length shorts, but this is seen by as showy and flaunting. Many people have hand towels or clip large banana leaves that they wear over their heads in direct sunlight as a kind of makeshift hat. Many people wear flowers in their hair, but there is more to follow on this topic as it is related to traditions of social hierarchy I have yet to fully understand.

Flip flops are the choice by almost everyone who chooses to wear footwear. I have seen makeup on some people, but I notice it because it is in the process of running off. It is too hot and humid for more than waterproof mascara and lip-gloss. All in all, people here are beautiful, not because of a meticulously manicured presentation but resonating beauty from warm, generous smiles and true kindness of spirit.

Right Side of the Road, Wrong Side of the Car

Within the first two weeks that we lived here, we bought a car from a local guy with whom I work. The vehicle lasted for about six days, and then it died. The guy has promised to give our money back, which is a process that is still in the works. The lesson here is: when it comes to cars, don't buy locally, as they tend to be run into the ground by the time they get passed on to anybody else.

We have since ordered a car from Japan, which is due to arrive on October 5. In the meantime, our new landlords, who are good people, have let us borrow the car that was abandoned here by the previous tenant. As you can imagine, it's a fine piece of machinery.

I had to put duct tape on the roof to cover up the holes where the rust had made its way through. While I was at it, I decided that a duct tape racing stripe would be a nice touch, too. (My guess is that it makes the car go at least ten miles per hour faster.) It also complements the pink silhouetted rodeo scene decal on both sides and the pink eyeballs and teeth on the back. Classy, right?

In any case, I'm thankful for their generosity in letting us borrow this while we're waiting for our car from Japan to arrive, because some places are a little too far to comfortably walk, including the college where I work, as well as Chloe's school. Our neighbor, whose son goes to the same school, has offered to take Chloe to school in the morning, and Jamie has been able to take a cab to go get her. Unfortunately, by the time they come back out, the cab's gone and they have to walk the mile and a half back to our house, which is an especially long distance for little legs.

Exemplifying our proximity to the western border between East and West, most of the cars here are from Japan, which means that most (but not all) of the steering wheels are on the right. Keep in mind, though, that most of the infrastructure was set up by the U.S. government, so just like in the U.S., people drive on the right side of the road.

This makes for a whole population of potential mail delivery drivers, except for the fact that there is no mail delivery here. Everything has to be picked up at the post office. Micronesia has no physical addresses. If you have to tell a cab driver where to go or the utility company where to install service, you give them the landowner's name.

Yes, it seems like assigning addresses would be an effective way to make life at least a little easier here in a lot of respects, but it kind of illustrates the importance of land ownership here, which tends to only change hands between members of the same family.

As for driving on the wrong side of the car, that hasn't taken as much getting used to as the fact that the turn signal and windshield wipers are also on opposite sides of the steering column. I can't even tell you how many times I've went to signal my intention of turning only to activate the windshield wipers by mistake. On the other hand, if I'm driving, there's a pretty good chance that it's raining anyway.

The Micronesian Weight Loss Plan

In the month and a half that we've been here, I think Jamie and have each lost about ten pounds. I say this despite the fact that we've never owned a scale, but I can tell you that I feel a hell of a lot skinnier - not in an unhealthy way, but rather, quite the opposite.

Consider that we eat fresh fish and rice just about every day, we consume very little processed foods and we tend to do a lot of walking. Most of what we need is within a manageable distance and walking just about anywhere is usually enough to break a healthy sweat.

The kids, on the other hand, are still growing at the same rate that they always have. We make sure that they get all of the nutrients that they need, and since Jamie's culinary skills are considerably more advanced than mine, she's done almost all of the cooking since we've been here, which I think has been to the advantage of all of our health.

I tend to cook like most guys, that is: based on what sounds good, letting the primary ingredients carry most of the flavor, whereas Jamie takes the nutritional value into far more consideration and creates combinations of raw ingredients that make for interesting and often unexpected flavors. Basically, she's a much better cook than me, so despite that I really do enjoy cooking, with Jamie's blessing, I defer this responsibility to her, at least for the time being. Frankly, I've come to the conclusion that my culinary repertoire is of little value here, considering that I tend to overcook fish and my rice is usually either swampy or burnt… or sometimes, oddly, both.

It's amazing what a healthy diet and even a little physical activity can do. Strangely, though, a lot of people here do tend to be what I would consider slightly overweight, but I suspect that has a lot to do with the prevalence of processed import foods that provide a break from the staple diet that has perhaps become a bit too routine over the past thousand or so years.

Spam is very popular in this part of the world, which I suspect is because for a lot of people in this region, their first exposure to western cuisine came to them through G.I. rations, which included things like canned meat. I can see how when the basic ingredients are as limited as they are here, something that breaks the monotony could seem like a real delicacy, even Spam*.

* which for those of you who don't know, stands for: Slime Passing As Meat

  

The Sandman Cometh

For the first month that we were here, I don't think any of us got a good night's sleep. There were three main reasons for this:

1. Even in the summer, we're used to it getting a little bit cooler at night. Seventy-five isn't what I would consider good sleeping weather. That has taken some getting used to. In fact, this blog could also reasonably be called, "a life without pajamas."

2. The bed that Jamie and I had in the first house that we were renting not only smelled like a cheap motel room, but it was also hands down the least comfortable mattress I've ever encountered. If you've ever seen a mattress sitting out by a dumpster and thought, "If I put sheets over it, the stains won't even be visible," then you might have a lot in common with our previous landlord.

3. Chickens. Just like how there are wild turkeys in Michigan, Pohnpei has feral chickens. Every morning, without fail, somewhere between 4:30 and 5:00, one of the roosters would start out the competition as to which of them could crow the loudest. Inevitably, at least one of them would be right outside our window, cock-a-doodle doing when I'd wish more than anything that it would cock-a-doodle don't. To be honest, I didn't think I had it in me to harbor such an intense hatred for chickens. I'm only vaguely familiar with the book, "Chicken Soup for the Soul." Does anybody know if it included any recipes for wild roosters?

In any case, I'm happy to report that we have since moved into a new house. We've now got fans in our bedrooms, Jamie and I have a much better mattress, and since we're living in a slightly more "urbanized" area, the wild chickens aren't nearly as much of an issue. That is to say that they travel in smaller flocks here. 

I will say that every time I've had barbecue chicken since, I think the sweet taste of revenge makes it all the more delectable. Of course, now we have the barking packs of stray dogs to deal with…  but even though man's best friend is also considered man's fourth best source of protein here, don't expect a blog post called "Dog, the Other White Meat," anytime soon.

How about that weather?

I've never lived in a tropical climate before. To be perfectly honest, before coming to Micronesia, I had never even been anywhere tropical, so as you can no doubt imagine, living on a small island situated less than seven degrees north of the equator has required a bit of an adjustment. 

I grew up in Michigan, where the first snowfall usually comes around Halloween and the ground doesn't begin to thaw until mid-April. In case you're keeping score, that's about six long months of winter, give or take. 

Don't get me wrong, Michigan is beautiful, but the seasons there, in my opinion, are grossly disproportionate. Spring and fall go by far too quickly, and the two months or so of summer in the upper midwest are often marked by sweltering temperatures coupled with oppressive humidity, during which the mosquitos make the most of their brief existence. 

The wild fluctuation or extremes in temperature that has been a daily consideration virtually every day of my life isn't so much of an issue here. That is to say that there's no heat index of a hundred and ten and no forty degree changes in weather in matter of a day. Just eighty-five degrees with at least an hour or two of heavy rain every day, then seventy-five or so at night. It's predictable to the point of rendering weather forecasts virtually useless. 

Everywhere on the island, vegetation abounds. Cars that die on the side of the road are consumed by plant life. In a very literal sense, it's unquestionably the greenest place I've ever been. The air is fresh, cleansed by a substantial amount of daily rainfall, and my allergies have been almost non-existent since we've been here. 

Of course, there's a part of me that will undoubtedly miss wearing jackets, sweaters and jeans... and maybe even socks. I might even miss snow at some point. But I will say that even though it's not difficult to break a sweat here, there's very little self-consciousness that comes with walking into a store and looking like you ran a mile to get there.  

This brings me to a broader point, which is that the weather in Micronesia isn't really a topic of constant concern, nor is it the material of idle banter between strangers. On any given day, I can plan on wearing shorts and sandals and either getting wet or bringing an umbrella. I do expect, however, that the longer we're here, the more conscious thought I'll have to apply in remembering what month it is, and by the time we return to the U.S., it will probably feel good to wear a jacket again.

A Damp Word on Humidity

As it rains 200 inches of rain per year on the outskirts of sunny Pohnpei, Micronesia and 400 plus in the inner rainforest, things are likely to be a bit humid. We brought along an excellent thermometer/hygrometer (measures temperature and humidity) device mainly out of concern for the electronic equipment that should not be in humidity levels of 90%. I can report with assured accuracy that the temperature during the day is between 80° and 98° Fahrenheit (26.7 -34.4° Celsius)  in sunlight, a fairly constant 82° in the shade and 75° F at night, the temperature is between 73° and 82°F (22.8- 27.8° C). A quantitative response to, “So what is the humidity like?” is that it is between 78% and 90% humidity. There you have it. Unless you have been here or somewhere like India during Monsoon season, the humidity percentages are meaningless, so a better response is a qualitative one represented by anecdotal evidence of humidity.

Top ten reasons I know it is humid…

10. Even if it is not raining my skin feels damp.

9. My son set a potato chip down on the kitchen table and 30 minutes later I went to steal it to eat myself, but by then it was soggy and floppy.

8. When we first moved in I had to bleach the house. Ceilings, windows, walls and floors. Not everything was moldy, but the few spots were enough for me to go all Mr. Clean on a Rambo mission. Note: wear protective eye gear when bleaching ceilings.

7. The guitar strings need wd40 every week to keep the rust at bay and the pick guard has slowly slid three inches from its original spot. 

6. People here keep the cereal, flour and most dry goods in the refrigerator. The dry spices need to be kept in the icebox to prevent caking, or bricking rather.
5. Moss grows on concrete and asphalt and Mold grows inside quite easily, hence the bleach. Counter intuitively, it is worse inside places that leave the windows closed with air conditioning. Since I bleached the house we have not had any mold grow back in over a month.

4. The glue holding the soles of shoes on seems to slowly melt away

3. Paint does not stick well to things. Wall paint blisters and slumps away from the walls.*

2. All of our unused envelopes have sealed themselves and the toilet paper set to the back of the tank actually molded.

1. I know it's humid beacuse 10 - 22 percent more and we'd be swimming.

There is an upside to humidity.

There is less dust.

Zach's allergies have not once bothered him since we have been here.

My lips don't feel like they need lip balm

and the bottoms of my feet are soft like a baby's bum.

No complaints, just need to get more t.p., again.

Drinking coffee from a cereal bowl

Our new landlord came over to our furnished apartment on the second night we were here to take all the decorations, plates, glasses, the Cars themed mini chair and table set that the kids loved and wanted, the curtains and broom. The decorations were not my style and the curtains looked like they belonged in a funeral parlor, but these things were here when we looked at the house and we were not told about her de-decorating plan. Poor Xander, our two-year-old, really did not understand why she was taking the little table and chairs he had been playing with for two days and he called out the door to her “be careful with meine table please.” Even though it is so cute when he sounds like German is his first language I could not help feeling bad because his voice sounded so vulnerable.

I think the worst part was that she took the ¼ roll of toilet paper off the dispenser. This is the toilet paper that I took from our hotel room in Hawaii so we would have something to start out with when we arrived in Pohnpei. I do not think this is indicative of the culture here, but what do I know? Maybe taking toilet paper from someone who is new to the country, who has no way of getting to a market to buy more is a welcoming, initiating gesture. Somehow I doubt that is the case, but I do like to look on the bright side.

On day three it somehow feels like we’ve been here much longer.

We have a few disposable plastic cups I kept from the airplane, but the hot coffee would melt them, so I made the coffee in cereal bowls. It feels a bit like the tea ceremony scene from Karate Kid I. All I need is a clean little old-fashioned shaving cream brush to stir with and this coffee could almost feel steeped in tradition instead of instant granular.

Things are looking up as we look down over this amazing view of the valley. (View shown is from the other side of the mountain we live on.)