Dear Diary

Musings by Erica
10.11.2009
Dear Diary,
My partner left last week to begin a contracting job of indeterminate duration with the US Army. The decision to contract was one we'd made several months ago, but it wasn't until last weekend that we knew where he was going and how long we had before he was expected to board a plane out of Philadelphia International Airport. When the word arrived on Friday afternoon, the answers were "Kaiserslautern, Germany" and "Monday morning."
Emotional trauma at the short notice and sudden physical absence of my partner aside, the whole affair marks the beginning of a strange period of transition and travel in my day-to-day life. Contracting jobs are interesting creatures: they have a minimum lifespan of one year, and are subject to renewal or cancellation at what often appears to be the whim of mysterious government forces. As such, Nick will be employed in Germany until the end of next September and, unless the mysterious forces change their minds, will continue to be so until the force is no longer with us. As I'm planning to finish my master's degrees in May, the plan is to pack up, send as many resumes as possible to the Kaiserslautern-area Air Force base sexual assault counseling team as possible, and move myself, my cat, and my giant pile of textbooks to Germany.
Here's the thing, diary. There's quite a bit of paperwork to be done between now and then, since not only do I need all kinds of permission slips and special licenses to move to Germany for any amount of time, but I need to learn the local language and customs. Oh, and I will be bringing a cat with me.

She prefers to travel by basket, or not at all.

That's right, a cat. A fuzzy, sweet little thing with sharp claws and a strong, well-verbalized dislike for her carrier, moving, and anything associated with removing her from her current home.
Travel, for me, is a force of habit. I didn't have to think twice when TSA started setting up security lanes that were intended to sort experienced from inexperienced travelers- I already knew I was an expert. It's instinctive for me to pack necessary items- clean underwear, contact lens fluid, toothbrush- in my carry-on bag, because at this point I'm way too familiar with the "lost baggage" phenomenon (ask me about my 30 hours in Atlanta sometime. Go on, I dare you). I can handle layovers, terminal transfers, customs, lugging bags around endlessly, and last-minute changes to departure gates.
But flying with a pet? This one's entirely new to me, and the fact that I'm flying her across the Atlantic Ocean and planning to leave her in a foreign country makes it all the more challenging to learn what I gotta do. So far I've called the embassy, two different airline companies, the vet-in-charge (of what? no idea) in Harrisburg, and the nearest Air Force base, and still no one has been able to give me a solid story. It sounds like there will be paperwork. And blood work. And much ado about ground air temperatures and microchips. And, if the airline companies are right, there will be no sedatives. For either of us.
So, diary, this is going to be one hell of an adventure. Already I can tell that the cat's needs will be the most challenging to meet, and will require the most preparation- nobody wants rabies, and they want to keep it out with extended-release rabies vaccines. Next time I write, I hope to be able to shed some light on what international pet travel will demand, just in case anyone else is ever crazy enough to try this. Eight months from now, I hope to be sitting in Kaiserslautern with Nick, drinking German beer, watching the cat relax in the window of our German apartment, and discussing the day's events in passable German parlance. At the very least, I hope to be in Germany with the cat, not lost and not starving. We'll see which of these goals I'm able to attain.
Let the preparations for international household moving begin!
-Erica

When Dreams Become What Dreams Become

By Karla
I could see a Taco Bell and a Pawn Shop from my parent’s bedroom window. That window and street corner shaped my world view for a very long time. It wasn’t the safest place and playing outside was rarely an option. In those years, that street corner filled me with the desire to run. I created castles and never dreamed that I would ever really see any. I was 14 when we moved into a better neighborhood, and that first night, I begged them to let me take my mattress into my own room. Nothing, in that moment, seemed more important than to sleep in my own space for the first time in my entire life. So there I went dragging my little twin mattress and blanket into my first sanctuary. Even at 28, I have such a clear memory of that night. I can remember the feeling of dropping the mattress next to the window and plopping myself on top of it. It was January in Southern California, so it was cool, but not frigidly cold. I looked out at the sky and smiled when I saw an airplane fly past the window. Airplanes. I could see airplanes from my window. Score. I felt so much joy.
There I sat, for hours and hours, transfixed at the thought of where these people might be going. I made up countless stories that night about the passengers on those planes and what was waiting for them when they landed. Sitting there, dreaming up other people's realities, I could have never fathomed what would become of my own. I made a list that night. A mental list, I would write down a week later, of all the places I would go. I wanted to drop rose petals off the Eiffel Tower, I wanted to sing on a street corner in France, sit on a beach in Spain drinking chocolate milk, see the Vatican and say an Our Father, visit Greece and think the phrase “It’s all Greek to me!”, eat an apple on an overnight train in a foreign country (I’m not making this up, I thought apples would taste better that way, who knows), see a cheesy pop concert in London, see a real castle, visit some ruins (no ruins in particular, just ruins), listen to someone speak with a real southern accent, and the list went on and on. I had 23 different things I wanted to see, hear, speak, feel, taste, touch, and live. The list felt so grandiose, it made me cry that night. I thought I was dreaming things that were out of my reach but I swore to myself, I would at least get on an airplane one day. I fell asleep somewhere around 2am that night staring at the immensity of a black sky.
Six years later, January of 2000, I am studying abroad in Spain; financial aid, a scholarship, and a couple loans have allowed me the grace of many opportunities abroad. My spring break, which lasts about a month, is spent on a massive backpacking trip. My first destination in that trip is Greece. Though there are many stories I’m sure I will tell about that trip in the future, this is the one that I think should start my semi-regular relationship with you, dear reader.
I was hiking up the trail to see the Acropolis. The crazy and unique part of the trail at this time – though these gorgeous ruins are a huge tourist attraction – was that batches of handmade signs in backyards point you in the right direction. I’m incredibly amused at this point, near laughter at how sweet I think that is. I pause to tie my shoe at some point and look around. Suddenly, I can see all of Athens below me. I look up and for the first time I can actually see the ruins. These temples, that existed thousands of years before my own country, above me. My breath catches in my throat and all I can think is, “my list said I wanted to see ruins.” There with the temple of Zeus above me and a city of people below me, I start to cry. Sob to be exact. The words “I got out, I got out, I got out,” just tumble away from me as my shoulders shake and a weight that I didn’t even know existed, was lifted. I knew, that day, that life would never be what I feared. Even with those many beautiful dreams that had come true before then, it was the first moment my might heart leapt to believe my list would be completed. My world view would no longer be shaped by that street corner alone. That night, in the first room I could call my own, on the first bed that I had slept in alone, I didn’t create dreams – I created plans. Now, I get to share what those plans did to my life, with you.