My Room

I am settling in to the everyday routines and the space that is now “my home”. Today I will introduce you to “my room”.

The expat house is a large 6 bedroom, 2 bath, 2 story house. I am guessing 4,000 square feet. Hardwoods with exquisite patterns, adorn the floors throughout, except in the kitchen and baths, which have crappy linoleum. Well worn, the hardwoods are filled with “dirt grout” adding to the mystique of the floors, the linoleum, on the other hand is just plain ugly. Radiating heat from old heaters keeps us warm. At least as long as the electricity is working, which is ¾ of the time. When the power is off, no problem, we use kerosene lanterns, pee-yew, and candles, ahhhhhh.

The lights are flickering right now.

It’s now another day, power back on.

My room, one of four bedrooms upstairs is a former nursery, the wallpaper tells me so. Faded, filthy, it nonetheless is endearing. You’ll soon understand.

In my room is a twin bed, with the dastardly comforter you know well. Many thanks to those of you who have contributed to possible solutions regarding its misbehavior. Safety pins are a nice idea, if I had safety pins, or if they were available to purchase. Putting a sheet over the comforter to "strait-jacket" it down like a crazy person in a mental ward is a great idea if I had an extra sheet. I have no sheet, there are none. So my love-hate affair with the not-so-comforting thing continues. The comforter knows I need its warmth, and so it is at liberty to taunt me with its bad habits, not unlike the national staff who report to me and upon whom I am dependent, trying my kindness and patience daily. These darn Abkhazians, animate and inanimate are testy.

There is a desk in my room. I am sitting at it now. On the desk are a few essentials. A little stuffed bear, a clock, pills (yuck), iPod, a few American medical texts, MSF guidelines and minor surgical procedures (how to treat subcutaneous paronychia, pericardial puncture technique, yada yada).

I like the set of salt and pepper shakers, purchased in Paris, little genderless people in an embrace, reminding me of virtual hugs that I send to you and you send to me.

There is also a box to put clothing in, 3 shirts, 3 pants, 6 undies, and 35 pairs of shoes (just kidding, only 3 pair).

Now for the good part:

There are three little kitty scenes on the wallpaper, repeating over and over and over.

Scene one: Little kitty boy peg-legged-pirate with his headband and the little kitty-girl-pirate with her eye patch have just discovered buried treasures. They are joyfully dumping coins, jewels, and a magic lantern (genie inside?) on the ground.

Scene two: Three little kitty sailors scrub-a-dub-dubbing in the galley, a skipper in his stripes, the sailor girl with her broom, and the galley boy. Below deck they are gleefully working and singing.

Scene three: Captain kitty at the stern, wheel in his mighty kitty-hand, and the first kttty-mate playing a fiddle, meowing melodiously.

I have an alter-ego that emerges in my dreams and occasionally in reality. That person is a sassy, salty sailor girl. I love all things sailing. And here I am, in my room, enjoying sailors morning and night.

I have moonlit serenades by the first mate. I am awakened by cheerful sailor-scrubbers. Finally, I, like the kitty pirates, have found treasures, here in Abkhazia.

This room and these pirates, sailors, captains and first mates suit me just fine.

God bless us all, kitties, pirates, family, foes.

Nighty night all, g