Day 1545: The End... or is it?

Although I am posting this entry on January 21, 2015; it should have been posted on October 11, 2012... which is why I have marked the day count ‘Day 1545’, one day after my last entry posted almost two and a half years ago.  And even though so much time has passed, there are still quite a few people, according to blogspot, who are still following SchutzHappens.  So for my followers, I have mounted up and collected my thoughts for one last SchutzHappens post.  I feel like I owe it to you.  You endured quite a lot.

Over the course of 1544 days I posted 632 times.  For you statistics junkies, that comes out to a post every two and a half days over the course of, roughly, four years and three months. 

You have endured me prattling on about movies and television shows.  My misadventures working for the Foreign Service.  My childhood, best friends, random videos I found entertaining, things I didn’t find entertaining… videos chronicling my family’s travels… and countless stories about my kids.  My kids.  My boys.

It’s hard to believe Grayson is turning 9 and Gilliam will be 5 in less than a month.  Gilliam didn’t even exist when I started this silly blog.

Quite a lot has happened since we last spoke.  A lot.

I got divorced.

I look back at my last few posts and I see a subtext that the average reader probably missed.  I was in the midst of the divorce, I was in denial… and I continued to post. 

When that denial boiled over and evaporated; leaving only the crusty remains of reality… I walked away from this blog… my one and only creative outlet while traversing the world and, at the time, living alone in a very small and isolating country. 

I walked away because I didn’t have anything nice to say anymore and I was smart enough, and had enough self-control, not to turn SchutzHappens into my personal forum for airing dirty laundry.

So, I merely whiled away the time missing my boys and adjusting back into a single man’s lifestyle.  Which I believe is nothing more than watching copious amounts of television (which I was already very good at), preparing every meal in a crockpot (which I am also pretty good at), and counting down the days until I could travel home to see my boys (which took three different airplanes and over 24 hours of continuous travel to accomplish).

The divorce didn’t bother me.  In all reality, my marriage was a failed experiment doomed from the beginning.  I was there for the boys. And I was merely waiting for the guillotine to drop.  The only thing that bothered me was the realization of not having my boys with me at all times.  And it still bothers me.

I look back at my posts on this blog and I don’t see a man writing truthfully about his marriage.  I see a man writing about the marriage he wish he had.  Projecting.

Throughout my marriage I was told numerous times that the kind of love, connection, and partnership I wanted existed only in the movies and that I was a dreamer.  I was told that settling was what people do and was encouraged to settle and not expect, in return, what does not exist in reality.  I can only assume that we were talking about love.

Sure I settled.  I settled for quite while.  All the while blogging about a make believe relationship I wish I inhabited.  Always believing that the kind of relationship I truly wanted really did exist.

Being a dreamer was always an ongoing theme of this blog.  And in my life.  I have accomplished so much and defied so many odds simply by being a dreamer (who also has the ability to set goals and work towards them… not just dream… that is key). 

And finally the blade dropped… I was on my own… and I continued to dream…

And in the context of this post; everything I have written thus far is merely exposition.  For this is not a sad story.  This is not a woe is me story.  What I have written thus far has merely been exposition to set the stage… for a story much more powerful than anything that has inhabited the pages of this blog for the last four (plus) years.  Like the Phoenix who has risen from the ashes anew, refreshed, and more focused… there is a new beginning.  A much needed new beginning.  A new story.  The kind of story you read about in books.  The kind you see in movies… the kind that were ‘not’ supposed to exist… but really do.

So, although this final post closes the door on SchutzHappens… it is merely closing a chapter of my life, while also celebrating what is to come… the next chapter.  A new chapter.

And this new chapter began two years and three days after my last post on this blog, ‘Day 1544’… when this dreamer married the woman he always knew existed:  Heather.

And it is for Heather that I am writing this today.  We were setup on a blind date by a mutual friend… and she googled me… finding this blog.  By the time we met face to face for the first time she had already read all Six Hundred and Thirty-Two posts.  And we have been together ever since that first blind date.

For the last few months Heather has been endlessly encouraging me to begin blogging again… and she even dreamt up the name of this new blog chronicling our life together:  SchutzHappens 2.0.

So please join me is saying goodbye to SchutzHappens 1.0… because it is time to restart the day count and begin SchutzHappens 2.0.  I will see you on the other side my friends!

Day 1544: Haircuts

When it comes to personal grooming, I have to admit… haircuts are not my favorite thing in the world.  In fact, I tend to put them off until I look like a sweaty-toothed madman.

That said, whenever you move to a new country, your next haircut becomes something of a challenge… so I was determined to get one before leaving for Eritrea.  And I wanted to get it done during one of my morning outings with Gilliam.

And guess what?

Gilliam needed a haircut, too.  And at first… he seemed totally game.

So, we started the morning with our traditional trip to Dunkin Donuts, followed by a trip to the library… and then to the salon.  However, between the library and the salon Gilliam started trying to talk me out of getting a haircut.

Normally, I would have totally caved.  I don’t like haircuts, but I needed one before I left… so Gilliam humored me… although he made it clear that he didn’t want one for himself.

Not that he had much say in the matter.

When we arrived, there were two stylists available and they set-up chairs right next to each other, however, Gilliam was not impressed.  He became even less impressed when his stylist picked him up and placed him (gently) on a buster seat.

Gilliam wanted nothing to do with him or the haircut he was offering.

Instead, Gilliam opted to sit quietly in the seat on the other side of me and watch patiently while I got my hairs cut.  Our conversation was quite entertaining for the rest of the folks in the salon.

And once I was finished and cleaned up I declared it Gilliam’s turn.  And with great trepidation, Gilliam climbed onto the buster seat and then made a declaration of his own. 

He would only get his hairs cut if he could sit on my lap rather than on the buster seat.  Which was totally fine with me… but then he also declared that he did not want to wear a cape… and he didn’t want me to wear one either.

So… there I was… with my little two and a half year old on my lap… him getting a haircut, and neither of us with any protection from the falling itchy follicles. 

Throughout the cut, Gilliam remained unimpressed, but like a big boy, he dealt with it.  And all the while, the two of us were getting covered in hair.

Now, I’ll have to admit.  I hate the itchiness that results from getting a haircut and often times I time my cuts with the ability to get home for a shower… and this cut… this time… with Gilliam… was the most itchy I had ever been! 

When it was all said and done, Gilliam was amazing.  We were both covered in hair, but we both looked good from the neck up. 

The only thing that really impressed Gill at the end of it all was the lollipop… and all I could do was monitor the time.  I had just enough to get home, drop Gill off with Serena, and dart to Grayson’s school for one last father-son lunch before heading off to Africa.

While Gilliam received a much needed bath and nap… I spent 20 itchy minutes hanging with my eldest… and it was totally worth it.

That said… the moment I got home I showered.  And that felt (almost) as good as making it to lunch with Grayson.

Day 1537: Grayson Time

Now, Gilliam wasn’t the only son of mine getting a healthy dose of daddy-time during my two weeks in Atlanta.

However, with Grayson in school most of the day I had to be a little bit more creative with our time together, especially for just the two of us. 

I’m a younger brother, so I have no idea what it is like to be an older sibling, however, I know this… big brothers, more times than not, have to share their time with their siblings.  And this is certainly true with Grayson.  Getting one on one time is few and far between. 

So, I made a point of giving Grayson his own special moments.  Simple as they may seem… they were very special.

After school one day I took Gray to play mini-golf for the first time.  We had been meaning to play for months.  We tried to find a course in Miami and Washington, DC, however, we could never seem to find one conveniently located, especially without having a car at our disposal.  So, finally, in Atlanta, we had a chance to play 18 holes.

One day Gray mentioned he had a bunch of Xbox games he didn’t want anymore and he really wanted to get a new game we could play together.  So, I told him to pull all of his games out and choose the ones he didn’t want any more… once he did, I took him to Game Stop and told him I would add $10 to how ever much Game Stop would pay him for his old games.  In the end we had enough for Lego Pirates of the Caribbean, which was the game Gray really wanted.  And then we went home and spent the rest of the afternoon playing.

Now, one of the more enjoyable things we did together, for both Grayson and me, was actually during school.  I joined him for lunch.  His school is huge and they actually have special tables outside of the noisy lunch room for families.  It was really great and we had so much fun.  And I especially enjoyed Gray’s thought on his new school:  “Dad, this school is nothing like Suriname International School”.

This made me laugh.  “Yeah… I know… your class here is almost larger than the entire student body of SIS.”

The most impressive thing about my visit was how the school handles lunch money.  Back when I was in school we had to buy lunch tickets and we were responsible for keeping them safe and not losing them.  If you did lose them… you went without lunch.  However, at Grayson’s school, parents send money directly to the teacher, who deposits it in a digital lunch account.  And after Grayson picks out his lunch and goes to the cashier, he simply types in a five-digit number into a keypad, unique to him, which automatically deducts money from his account.

I don’t know what I thought was cooler.  The accounts the lunch room used for payment or the fact that Grayson knew his lunch number without having to think about it.  Honestly, I don’t know if I could have memorized a five-digit number when I was only six and a half.

Grayson actually knew I was coming the first time I came for lunch… however; the second time I showed up was a surprise.  And when his class appeared marching down the hall single file, and he saw me standing there waiting for him outside the lunch room, Grayson lit up.  Staying in line he just smiled at me.  And when he caught up with me he gave me a hug and said, “Dad!  You didn’t tell me you were coming today!”

Me: “I know, I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it.  Gilliam and I were running some errands, but we got home in time for me to run up here and have lunch with you.”

Gray:  “Thanks Dad.”

And yet again, we enjoyed 20 minutes together at the family table.  This time I had Grayson in stitches telling him about taking Gilliam for a haircut that morning… which explained why I was covered in hair… and itchy… but I’ll save that story for my next post.

Day 1528: Donut Time

From the time Serena and the boys reached Atlanta, while I remained in Washington, DC, all Serena could talk about, with great pride, was how much I would love the house she found for them to live while I was away.  She felt it would be a suitable place that would feel like home when I visited.

However, once our shipments of household effects and permanent storage arrived in Atlanta, her voice lost its sense of pride and gave way to feelings of distant frustration.  She was a bit overwhelmed… especially having two young boys to look after while trying to unpack just about everything we own.  We didn’t merely receive the stuff we had in Suriname, which was overwhelming enough, but we also received everything we had placed in storage four years ago when we initially joined the State Department; making the unpacking process a much larger task than normal.

Although Serena appreciates my help when it comes to unpacking, she likes to place everything herself.  She likes to make her own home, which I can’t blame in the least; so most of my unpacking assistance is restricted to opening boxes and moving them into their proper locations.

So, when I finally joined my family in Atlanta, for a mere two weeks, I had a plan.  I would manage the boys so Serena would have time to do what she needed to do with the house, at least for just a few hours each day.  This was also a selfish endeavor on my part because I wanted to spend as much time as I could with my boys.  And as I mentioned in my last post, I was headed to Atlanta without anything hanging over my head… I was arriving in the proper state of mind to seize the day.

However, now that Grayson is in school… there wasn’t much to do, at least in the mornings, except help him get ready for school and walk him to the bus stop and once Gray was safely aboard and off… that left Gilliam.

Gilliam, who is now two and a half, and I seem to have a very different relationship than I do with Grayson.  And that probably has to do with birth order, their age difference, and how old they were when I left for my one-year tour in Pakistan.  Grayson was four and a half.  Gilliam was only six months old.

Growing up, it wasn’t until Grayson was about three years old when he finally zoned in on wanting daddy time and by the time I left for Pakistan, we had developed a very strong relationship.  And while I was away Grayson and I spoke, via Skype, almost every day.  And during that year we developed a very cerebral relationship.  There was no real way to ‘play’ over Skype, so during that year I think we got to know each other quite well.  But then again, he was four and a half at the time and he, kind of, understood what was going on.  I’d like to think that we’ve developed the kind of relationship where we can talk about anything.  And dang it, Grayson is a very smart cookie.  He understands a lot, feels a lot, and has very deep emotions.  One of this favorite things to ask me on Skype, even now, is “how was work today, dad?”

Gilliam, on the other hand, was only six months old.  And as he grew, he only knew of me as an idea.  “That guy on the computer screen is my dad.”  Dad… whatever that is… 

However, when I came home, two things were obvious.  1) He understood that I am his dad.  And 2) He was ready for some daddy time.

Almost immediately, Gilliam wanted to do everything with me.  Wherever I went, he wanted to come with me.  The store, to a friend’s house, you name it.  With Grayson at that age, and even a bit older, it took quite a bit of negotiating for him to agree to an adventure.  However, with Gilliam, all I have to say is “you wanna come?”  And Gilliam is says, “Let me get my shoes.”

So, when I was home this summer, it didn’t take much for me to get Gilliam out of the house, giving Serena time to organize the house.

Now, I will admit, our first morning adventure, which became our standard, was purely selfish on my part. 

I love coffee.  Love it!  I have to start my day with it.  However, Serena is allergic to caffeine, so when we left Suriname I shipped all of my coffee making paraphilia to Eritrea.  So, even though we had received a multitude of household effects in Atlanta, not one coffee making device was present.  So, on my first Monday in town, I really wanted my favorite cup of coffee… from Dunkin Donuts.

Now, as I said before, it never takes much for Gilliam to agree to an adventure, but once he found out a donut was involved he raced to the car without his shoes… and we were off.  A coffee for dad and a donut for Gilliam. 

We continued this tradition almost every day I was in town and Gilliam loved it almost as much as I did.  As soon as I saw Grayson off on the bus, Gilliam would say, “Donuts?”  Then we would kiss Serena goodbye, pile in the car, and head out for the morning. 

We would just sit together, enjoy our delicacies, talk, and we became such regulars that we were allowed into the inner circle of retired folks who started their day at Dunkin Donuts as well.  And it got to the point that Gilliam wouldn’t let me just order coffee… we both had to have our own favorite donut… which we shared.  We sat across from each other… we sat next to each other… sometimes Gilliam just wants to sit on my lap… and you know what?  It doesn’t matter.  Every configuration felt great.

The cutest thing about Gilliam and our trips stemmed from something I did on our first outing.  On the way to the Dunk that first Monday, I called my good friend Costello.  If you are avid readers of this blog, you’ll remember Costello from my saga about ‘The Chair’.  Costello is my best friend from High School and I hadn’t had the chance to see him yet and I knew he was off that morning, so I left him a message letting him know we’d be at Dunkin Donuts in case he was awake and interested.

It was pretty early, so Costello was obviously still sleeping… so I didn’t really expect to see him there; I merely wanted to touch base.  However, when I called, Gilliam, from the back seat started asking, “Who are you calling?”  And I said, “My friend Jeff.”  And Gilliam said what he always does when his questions are answered, “Oh, okay.”

When we arrived and started ordering, Gilliam asked, “Where is Jeff?”  I said, “Oh, he’s probably still sleeping, I just called to invite him… I don’t think he’ll come.”

Gilliam:  “Why?”

And then from behind us we heard a voice saying, “Wow, they’ll serve anyone around here…”

It was Jeff.  Aka, Costello.

Gilliam was almost as excited as I was.  It was almost like Gilliam knew everything Costello had gone through to deliver his stroller to us in London before he was born.

It was a great first day at Dunkin Donuts… but it was the only morning Costello was able to join us.  However, that didn’t stop my inquisitive little man.  Every morning on our way to Dunkin for our coffee and donuts he always asked about Jeff.  “Jeff coming?”  “Jeff there?” 

“No, he’s not going to be there today.”

And in Gilliam’s cute little way, strapped into his car seat, he would say, “Whyyyyyyyyy?”

“Because he can’t join us today.”

“But whyyyyyyy?”

“Well… he wants to be here, but he can’t, he has to work… but we’ll have fun right?  Just you and dad?”

“Yeah, okay.”

But that didn’t stop Gilliam from talking about Jeff while we were at Dunkin Donuts.  Whenever a large white truck pulled into the parking lot, Gilliam would say, “Dad!  Jeff’s here!”

Gilliam would always ask, “Whyyyy” when I told him it wasn’t Jeff, just a car that looked like his… but you know?  At two and a half Gilliam is a very special boy.  He understands a lot.  He knows a lot.  He absorbs a lot.  He knows good people when he meets them.  He cares… with all of his two and a half year old heart.

Our times out to Dunkin Donuts had nothing to do with Costello.  It had nothing to do with coffee or donuts… but it had everything to do with getting to know each other better… and for that… our time at Dunkin Donuts was a success.  And for that I am grateful.

Day 1510: Post to Post Transfer… Again

My transition from Suriname to Eritrea was pretty darn quick and because of that, a lengthy home leave wasn’t really in the cards.  Normally, when folks transition from post to post they’re able to take around six weeks of vacation to see loved ones and remember how to be American.  Then again, to get a full home leave folks need to have spent at least a year at the post their leaving… I was only in Suriname for 9 months… so there’s the rub.

This time around, my stay in the States was strictly centered on training in DC; which significantly limited my ability to take time off.  I’m not saying that I didn’t… but not being eligible for ‘home leave’ simply made things a bit more difficult.  Especially since Serena and the boys left Suriname about a month before me so they could find a house in Atlanta and get Grayson enrolled in school.

By the time I finished up in Suriname and caught up them in Miami, we only had time to meet up with some friends we served with in Belgrade, who were on home leave, for a couple days before we were off to DC for my training.

Thankfully, we were able to spend some quality Oakwood time as a family… when I wasn’t in training. 

Ah… Oakwood… it’s where we stay every time we’re in DC and it is the place where Serena feels like we can actually be an American family in America… meaning we’re not crashing with family or moving around visiting people… too much.  Although we did crash with Serena’s Uncle for a couple days when we became victims of this summer’s DC Blackout, which was awesome.

However, due to timing, Serena and the boys were unable stay with me in DC for my entire training.  They actually had to go back to Atlanta a few weeks early for Gray to start school and to accept the delivery of our household effect.  

That said, we didn’t have to say goodbye in DC.  Post was kind enough to let me to tack on a couple weeks of vacation onto the end of my training period, which they didn’t have to let me do, but was incredibly gracious.  And two weeks may sound like a lot, but when you’re staring down a two-year assignment away from your family, it doesn’t really feel like much. 

And to be completely honest, life in DC while in training and working though everything you need to do to transition to a new post, moving to a new country, isn’t exactly stress free.  It’s actually pretty darn stressful.  So, once Serena and the boys headed back down to Atlanta I made a point of finishing everything I needed to do in preparation of my transfer so that nothing would be hanging over my head once I left DC.

So, as soon as training was over, I hopped a flight to Atlanta and had the BEST two weeks of family time I’ve had in AGES! 

But more of that later.

Day 1507: Back in the Saddle

Well, here we go again.  Unaccompanied.

Are we crazy?  Probably… but I don’t really think our situation is as abnormal as many may think.  Solid families have done this throughout history and they still do it today.  And sure, this may be a two-year tour, but frankly, I’ll be able to make it home far more often than many of our men and women in the armed forces.  So, I guess that is how we keep things in perspective.

Also, having done this once before, while I was in Pakistan for a year, I almost feel that we’re old hat at this sort of service oriented separation.  Now, I’m not saying it isn’t tough.  Of course it is tough.  But life could be worse.  And the amazing experiences we have shared as a family has far outweighed these ‘moments’.

That said, the most interesting adjustment has certainly been the time difference.  7 hours.  And once daylight savings ends in November we’ll be dealing with an 8 hour time difference.

Serena and I have always handled distance very well.  Back when we first started dating, she was living in Nashville while I was in Atlanta.  No issues with time zones there, but for a dating couple, the smallest distance can be extremely difficult.  However, during those eight to nine months (before Serena finally said “to hell with it” and moved to Atlanta) we only spent one weekend apart.

And while I was in Pakistan, which could have been an 11 hour time difference, Serena opted to stay in Belgrade with the boys, which was only a 4 hour time difference.  During that year we Skyped almost every day… we probably only missed a handful of days total.

Here in Eritrea, it’s a little more difficult.  By the time I get home from work, it’s only about 12pm back in the States, which is fine, but now that Grayson is in school, I make a point of calling after Serena picks him up from the bus stop, which isn’t until around 10:15pm my time. 

And I’ll tell you this.  I am not much of a night-owl these days and I am dreading the end of daylight savings. 

But at the very minimum, as a family, those calls are when we are able to share some time together.  At least when Grayson doesn’t have an after school activity… and I have power, the lack of which knocks out some of my services and makes staying in touch a bit more difficult.

But, when we are able to talk.  Life is good.  And it looks like I might make it home for Christmas.  So that’s good too.

All and all, life is good.  And the adventure continues!  

Day 1428: SchutzHappens, March, 2012 - Dreams

Day 1425: The Theatre Is In Our Blood

Random Friend:  “Mr. JohnPaul, were you really an actor?”

Me:  “Yes.”

Grayson:  “See!  I told you!”

And with that justification, Gray always took a lot of pride from the impressed faces of his friends.

Anyway, now that Serena and the boys are back in the States for the summer, I thought it would be fun for Grayson to take a couple summer camps, one of which was an acting camp operated by the Curtain Call Youth Players, which is the program I started in and later taught for.  Grayson is a pretty pliable kid so he was totally cool with trying it out… although I could sense a little uneasiness in his voice when we talked the Sunday night before his first day.

I made a point of giving him a call Monday afternoon after Serena picked him up to see how it went and his tone was completely different.  “Dad, it was so much fun!  It wasn’t what I was expecting at all.  We are actually going to do a play.  We are doing One-Hundred and One Dalmatians!  And guess who I was picked to play?”

Me:  “A Dalmatian?”

Gray:  “No!  I’m going to play the dad!  The human dad of the dogs and puppies.  Their owner!”

He was very excited.  I was very excited.

For the rest of the week I made it a point to call Grayson after camp to see how things were going.  I had actually expected his initial excitement to waiver a bit over time, but it didn’t.  Even anything, his excitement intensified over the course of the week.  He told me about his lines, the songs and dances he was learning, the sets and props they were building, and even the cast party they were planning for after the performance that Friday.

I was really taken back.  Grayson was taking the show VERY seriously.

And by midweek he asked if I knew of other acting classes he would take in the fall, when school started.

Of course, still being in Suriname, I was unable to attend Grayson’s stage debut, but I called him soon after to get his reaction.

Me:  “How did it go buddy?”

Grayson:  “Great!”

I melted.  It wasn’t really the word he used.  “Great!”  It was how he said it.  His tone.  I knew that tone all too well.  Gray sounded like an actor who was riding high after nailing it on stage.  I had never heard Grayson speak with such excitement and passion.  “Dad, I bet you are so proud of me.  And you know what Grandma said?  What your mom said?  She said I was quite the actor like my dad.”

Melt, melt, melt.

That call will easily remain in my top ten Grayson conversations of all time.

Later that night Serena uploaded the video of the show to our Dropbox account.  I was so excited.  And what I saw made my jaw drop.  Grayson… was… amazing.  He was a machine.  Totally focused on his performance and what he was there to do.

First, his part was actually pretty darn big.  He was on stage for most of the show and had quite a few lines.  He knew every single one and said then all at the appropriate time and when speaking to Cruella he delivered his lines we great intensity.  He really was the father of all those dogs.

Second, he stayed in character.  This is probably the hardest thing for children to do; resisting the temptation of giggling or interacting with the audience.  But Grayson was just on fire.  From scene to scene if did exactly what he needed to do, often times while some of the other kids were breaking out of their characters.

Third, he totally understood the flow of the story, his blocking, and took direction well.  As soon as each scene ended Grayson would bolt to his start position for the next with the kind of speed and focus any director would dream of.  He was almost always the first kid in place and ready to go.  I think this is noteworthy, because confidence and initiative aren’t always traits you find in children’s theatre.  Most of the time young kid’s act like lemmings… mainly due to a lack of confidence and not wanting to look silly by making a mistake.  So, they tend to wait until someone else does it first, even if they know what their next move is.  But not my Grayson, he was out front and leading the charge.

It really was something to watch.  To be honest, I was one of those lemmings when I was first started acting.  To see Grayson out there nailing it was just… it was inspirational.

It was a really good week.  

Day 1422: Peanut Sauce and Citrus Maxima

Food. 

Mmmm… it really is the true benefit of living overseas.  Trying things you’ve never tried before… discovering new foods you never want to live without again.

In Serbia, it was Kaymak (a kind of spreadable cheese butter) and Ivar (a roasted red pepper spread).

In London, it was the English breakfast and Mincemeat Pie.

Islamabad introduced me to Naan and a delicious dish called Karahi Chicken.

And now, my culinary life in Paramaribo is no different.  There is actually a lot of variety here.  Indian Roti, Indonesian Bami and Nasi, and this really delicious Javanese salted fish (that Serena thinks is disgusting).

However, there are two simple delicacies here that really speak to me… and I don’t know how I will survive without them.

1) Peanut Sauce.

Oh man!  The peanut sauce here is amazing!  I put it on everything from rice to vegetables to French fries.  It is just so good.  It’s so sweet and spicy… and yummy.  Now, I know I can make my own peanut sauce… it probably isn’t too hard.  However, they sell it here dried in these pouches.  All I have to do is add a little water and boil.  AMAZING! 

Oh man… this morning I ran to the store to pick up some milk for my coffee and I couldn’t help myself.  I bought another pouch of peanut sauce.  I think I’m going to get some Bami for dinner and smother it in sauce… so-darn-excited!

2) Pomelo (or ‘pompelmous’ as they call them here… or Citrus Maxima if you prefer dead languages)

Now, I’ve never been much of a fruit eater, but I just LOVE-LOVE-LOVE pompelmous!  It’s basically this gigantic grapefruit.  Seriously, there is a reason they call it ‘maxima’!  I can only eat about a quarter of one in a sitting… and I have quite the appetite… so that should give you some gage as to their size.

It really is quite something.  It’s not nearly as bitter as a grapefruit and it has a very nice mild sweetness to it.  And it’s so darn huge that the meat of the fruit is something you can really sink your teeth into, which is a rare sensation for citrus fruit. 

Oh man… I’m going to miss you pomplemous and peanut sauce!  We will meet again.  Just like the time I found Ivar in at the Chinese market a couple months ago… or when Serena found a jar of mincemeat in Belgrade.

This is not goodbye… this is an ‘I’ll see you later my dear sweet friends’

Day 1416: Poisonous Greens

Back on Day 643 I told the tale of the Poisonous Vietnamese River Fish.  A culinary adventure I never thought I would be able to top… until now… with our families ingestion of poisonous greens.

A few weeks ago Serena made the most delicious, and somewhat out of the ordinary, dinner.  She had picked up a fresh loaf of fresh Italian bread from the market and made the most wonder omelet sandwiches.  Eggs, with melted cheese, bacon, and cooked greens.

It was really delicious. 

And then, about thirty minutes later Serena started complaining about a stinging sensation in her mouth… and a prickling sensation on her skin. 

I didn’t think much of it at first… but then I started feeling the same symptoms.

Now, by the time I started feeling the effects, Serena was already in full blown panic mode, so I made a point of keeping my cool… and my symptoms a secret… for the time being.  But I did do a little research.

I dug the plastic bag that had held the greens Serena bought out of the trash and I examined the handwritten name of the plant written on the bag and preformed a simple Google search.  Well… hmmmm…

Before I tell you what I found, I want to be clear and tell you that Serena bought these greens from the produce section of a store in Suriname where most folks do their grocery shopping, especially the expat community.  So, in my opinion, they should have been vetted as safe to consume.  However… they weren’t.

Now, I can’t remember the exact Dutch name for the plant, but when I preformed my search, it came back as a relative of the Elephant Ear, the beautifully decorative plant found outside many landscaped homes.  However, what I also discovered is that the Elephant Ear is not fit for human consumption.  In fact, if you ingest Elephant Ear, you are advised to contact Poison Control!

Apparently, the plant is toxic.  And even if you get the oil from the plant on your skin it is known for causing irritation and a burning sensation.

So… what happens when you ingest it?  Well… let me tell you.  It makes your mouth very sore, tongue a bit swollen, and your skin crawl like you’re having a serious allergic reaction.

That said, I also read that Elephant Ear is safe to consume as long as it is cooked.  Which is was… at least when I ate it.  Serena admitted to eat some of it raw just to see how it tasted… and she of course handled the raw plant while she was preparing it.  So, Serena’s symptoms were understandable.  But what about my symptoms?  Were they simply psychosomatic? 

What do you do?

Well… being in Suriname with no access to American Poison Control we did the next best thing.  We called our Embassy nurse who is a local.  Her reaction was calm and understanding.

“This happens.  I have had issues with this plant before.  Even after cooking it.  Your symptoms should pass in a few hours.”

Yeah… in a few hours.  And our symptoms did pass in a few hours.  We were fine.  But that still didn’t put us at ease.  In a country that has plenty of options for greens we couldn’t understand why these plants were for sale at grocery stores.  Or why people would buy them if they are known to sometimes cause issues when consumed (even if they are cooked).

Thankfully the boys are going through a phase where they would rather play than eat the delicious meals Serena makes for the families, so they weren’t affected.  Only Serena and I were affected by the toxic plant.

It’s a shame really… because the meal was quite delicious.

Day 1413: Suriname International School

Celebrating Gilliam and Grayson’s milestones is amazingly awesome.  And with Grayson it has become doubly awesome because he’s finally at that age where he is developing lasting memories; especially surrounding moment of significant personal impact.  Like his first day of school.

Now, due to the fact that we’re living overseas, these milestones can be pretty interesting… well… different.  They can be a lot different… at least compared to what I remember of my own similar milestones.

Let’s just say my kindergarten experience at Murdock Elementary was very different from Grayson’s Suriname International School (SIS) experiences.

For starters, Murdock had around 800 students spread-out from kindergarten through fifth-grade.  Each grade level had multiple classes and each class had between 24 and 32 students.

SIS has around 35 students spread-out from pre-k through twelfth-grade.  Multiple grade-levels are combined to make each class (for a total of six classes) and no class has more than ten students.

So yeah… size can really changes your perspective on things. 

Now, in comparison, most international schools are a lot smaller than your average suburban American public school.  But even compared to international schools SIS is very small.  Then again… SIS is only two years old and it usually takes a few years for a school to gain traction. 

That said, I’m not really sure how much SIS will be able to grow; Suriname does not have a large expat community.

There is actually another international school in town catering to expats.  They were established in 1966, but only have around 85 students (K – 12).  They have a really nice facility too, however, Serena and I shied away from this school because of their very strong evangelical Christian affiliation.  Serena and I feel that religion is something best taught at home, so we went with SIS.

Oddly enough, this is exactly why SIS was created in the first place.  SIS was actually founded by parents from that other school who felt the religious message had cast a shadow over the academics.    

Although Paramaribo doesn’t really have a large enough market for two international schools, SIS has been able to take over 30% of the expat market in just two short years.  I think that’s pretty amazing. 

But still, despite its size, Grayson was able to do some really cool things… like learn a little Dutch, play Santa Claus in the SIS Christmas Showcase, and even serve as the kindergartener’s representative to student council.

As parents, it’s been fun being involved, even at such a small school.  Serena was voted in as PTA president and I was asked to help revamp their website.  It’s been a while since I’ve built a site, but it has been a fun project.  I’m just now finishing it up and a few pages still need content, but I’m pleased: www.suriname-internationalschool.org.

It is kind of a shame.  We really thought we were going to be with SIS for three years… but in the end it was only for one school year.  Oh well.  At least we were able to contribute to the legacy. 

Day 1410: Tenured and Transferred

Hmmm… it’s kind of funny.  Sometimes you get to the point that you think you have all the time in the world.  After a year in Pakistan I’ve been just kicking back and enjoying my time with the family and when it comes to this blog I haven’t really been focused on anything except finishing The Chair… slowly by surely.

Now that The Chair is finished, I’ve been looking over my blog posts and I’ve realized I haven’t said word one about Suriname, which just seems bizarre!  I guess I thought I would have plenty of time.  Especially since this was supposed to be a three year tour.  But now… now it’s not.  I leave next month.  Crazy.

Now, I know I’ve hinted at about this transfer in my last couple of posts without getting into any details, but it is official.  Nine months into my three year tour… and it’s over.

You see a couple things have happened since the New Year.  The first and probably the most important is that I was tenured.  The coveted tenure!  I guess being tenured is a pretty big deal in the Foreign Service.  I was actually tenured with Cobb County before leaving to join the State Department… and on both occasions it didn’t really feel all that special.  Just something that happens on the road to retirement. 

But, unlike being tenured in with Cobb County, being tenured within the Foreign Service comes with some very interesting prospects… like career mobility.

In previous posts I’ve talked a bit about how folks within the Foreign Service bid for jobs.  Aka, how we lobby for assignments.  For the most part, people are hired for specific specialties and when they bid for assignments, they bid on jobs within their specific specialties.   However, once a Specialist is tenured, they are allowed to branch out and bid for jobs outside their scope.  Now, I won’t say bidding outside your specialty is abnormal.  But it is certainly more difficult to land the coveted job.  And a lot of the times, the attempts are unsuccessful.  At least for Specialists. 

It is not abnormal for Generalist (also known as Officers) to jump around specialties (or ‘cones’ as they call them), but for a Specialist the process is harder and not as common.

Anyway, once I was tenured I became curious about the process.  How exactly would it work for me to jump into a different specialty… or even into a Generalist’s cone?  So I started asking around.  The general consensus was pretty much, “Well… it’s pretty much impossible… but you can always try.  Just don’t get your heart set on anything; you’ll just set yourself up for disappointment.”  I am paraphrasing, but this sentiment came from numerous people who had been in the service for quite a while. 

However, all I really heard was, “you can always try.”  I’m a firm believer trying.  I don’t believe you can get anywhere unless you try.  If you don’t try, where does that get you?  Nowhere.

If bidding on jobs outside my specialty really was impossible, like so many people seemed to believe, we wanted to know where in the process it would fall apart.  So, Serena and I sat down, updated my resume, and decided to ‘stress-test’ the system. 

We picked seven positions on the NOW List, which is a listing of unfilled jobs in need of warm bodies, and sent them my resume.  It was a Tuesday morning.  And by the close of business four of them had responded.

On Wednesday, one of those posts submitted my name to their hiring bureau in Washington expressing interest.  Equally intrigued by my background and work history, they contacted my references that evening.

By Thursday afternoon my references had responded and the hiring bureau contacted my assignments officer in-charge of Paramaribo, Suriname to see if she would be willing to let me go.  My assignments officer, who is simply amazing, immediately saw what this new assignment would mean for me and orchestrated a deal to release me from my current assignment. 

By the close of business Thursday the deal was done and by Friday afternoon I received the official ‘handshake’ (or job offer) from the new assignment, which is a Generalist Chief of Section position three pay-grades above mine.  Insiders call this a “triple-stretch outside of cone or area of specialty”.  I just call it “awesome”.

So… here I go… off to another continent.  This time it’s Africa… the horn of Africa to be exact… Asmara, Eritrea.  And just like all great rewards, they come with great sacrifice. 

SchutzHappens is going unaccompanied again.   

Day 1406: The Chair, Part 50 – The End

Well… here we are.  The end.  I really wish this story ended with a great climax.  Like a car chase or a shootout or something.  But it doesn’t.

We didn’t even have an issue using the London issued gift card two years later in Atlanta!  IKEA’s computer system automatically processed the exchange rate from Pounds to Dollars at the register. At least that is what Serena told me.  I refused to go.  My mother kindly went as my proxy.  Oddly enough, Serena purchased two more chairs on that trip… two swinging chairs that hang from the ceiling… but with my history with chairs I’m too scared to hang them.

I can’t believe it’s been two years since the events surrounding The Chair.  I’ve been from London, to Belgrade, to Islamabad, to Paramaribo.  Grayson is now quite the little man and Gilliam is walking and talking and has finally hit that age fathers crave… he’s down with daddy time… when Serena isn’t around. 

And now… as we’re preparing for yet another international move, the saga of The Chair comes to a close.  A very anti-climactic close.  All that… 50 post… well… 51 post actually.  I accidentally posted two different 44’s.  Instead of renumbering I just made them ‘44a’ and ‘44b’.  So, 51 posts over the last 664 days.  All that and what do I have?

Well.  I’ll tell you what I have.  I have the most expensive and well-traveled used Tesco brand glider chair in the history of the world.  And it looks great in my garage… and it’s a handy bicycle rack.

Please note... this is not a staged picture.  This is where The Chair has been ever since we arrived in Paramaribo 8 months ago.  It never made it inside our house.

Oh well,  I guess it’s the story that really matters. 

Day 1402: The Chair, Part 49 – The Gift Card

Well... as I mentioned in my last post, two hours after leaving out flat we all arrived safe and sound at IKEA.  Yet, it still took us, almost, two MORE hours to process the actual return of The Chair. 

That said, the worst part of our trip was behind us… the box lifting, stroller pushing, child carrying, train hopping, and bus riding portion was over.  Pretty much.  We still had to make it back home and although Serena was planning to do a little shopping with the store credit, she promised not to buy anything that couldn’t fit in the basket under Gilliam’s stroller.  However… as we sat in IKEA’s refunds department… and as the minutes turned into hours… we eventually abandoned the idea of shopping.  We just wanted to go home and forget.

I’m still not exactly sure why it took two hours to process our return… but it did.  Although the first hour and fifteen minutes of our wait were incredibly slow, it was somewhat organized and understandable.  We simply had to wait our turn.  The returns department waiting area was actually quit large… with barely any seating available when we arrived.  And to compliment it’s DMV style ambiance we were given a number and asked to wait until we were called by one of the three ‘returns specialist’ on duty.  We were only about tenth in line, however as I would quickly realize, returns at IKEA weren’t exactly timely.

So… it took a while… but the kids were just as worn out as we were and all Grayson wanted to do was curl up on a chair and watch me play games on my iPod… which was fine by me.  And as I mentioned before, about an hour and fifteen minutes later my number was called. 

Now, I’m not totally naïve… my IKEA expectations were pretty low and I didn’t think my return would go quickly or smoothly.  Sure, I had my receipt, but I was returning two opened boxes.  So, I was prepared for a certain amount of heartburn.  However, they weren’t concerned by the opened boxes in the least… they were concerned with my receipt. 

You see.  IKEA will not process a return unless they can match your receipt to a transaction in their computer.  And, evidently I brought the wrong receipt.  Well… actually it was A correct receipt… but not THE receipt they wanted.  What I brought was my credit card slip/receipt.  Proof of payment to IKEA.  In addition, I had several other pieces of receipt like papers that verified the cost and items I bought.  However, they wanted a specific IKEA generated receipt with a bar code on it.  Of course!  A bar code!  The bar code linking my transaction to their computer system.  My bad. 

Between you me and the brick wall… to this day, I am still baffled by this.  I actually had about three pieces of paper, besides my credit card receipt, proving I purchased The Chair, but not a one had a bar code on it.  The fact that I was able to hold onto all those receipts for so long, without misplacing them, makes me think I was never actually given a store generated ‘bar code’ receipt.  Things like this fall into the ‘all or nothing’ category for me.  

But my credit card receipt would work too, right?  Umm… kind of, sort of, not really.  However, since I had so much documentation, despite not having the bar code, the folks at IKEA didn’t turn me away.

Although my receipt said IKEA on it, was for the exact amount for the chair and cushion, had the date of purchase on it, and even had a transaction number… IKEA couldn’t pull it up in their system.  Apparently, IKEA’s credit card transactions were archived on a completely separate and independent system.  And even though my receipt had a transaction number on it, I was told the number was generated by the bank and not the store, so there was no way to cross reference it.  The one thing my ‘returns specialist’ could do was use the date and time stamp on my receipt and try to match it with transactions for the amount I paid… which she tried and couldn’t actually accomplish.

So… I was asked to step aside, go to a completely different counter where a supervisor, who had access to the credit card system, would attempt to locate my transaction.  By this time… I had already burned about 20 minutes with the ‘returns specialist’ and it took about 15 more before the supervisor came to help me. 

Ultimately the supervisor was able to find my transaction, however it took quite a while.  It was very strange.  Her attempts to search my name and credit card number didn’t work.  However, when she did a search on the date and time stamped on my receipt she found me… name, credit card number, blood type… everything she wanted to know was right there.  However, she still couldn’t finish processing my return.  Instead, she printed out the details, gave them to me, and sent me back to my original ‘returns specialist’… who was busy helping another customer.  And once again I had to wait my turn.  Another 10 minutes later, my ‘returns specialist’ was ready to help me again.  And 10 minutes after that my return was processed and I was given my very own IKEA gift card loaded with our store credit.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, by this time Serena had given up on shopping.  Actually she gave up around the time I was handed off to the supervisor’s desk that didn’t actually have a supervisor sitting behind it.  That is when Grayson ran up to tell me they were going to the cafeteria for Swedish Meatballs… and that is where I found them after the return was complete.  And shortly thereafter, we headed home.  And our journey home was much more pleasant and completely uneventful.

And once we were back home we settled onto the couch for a rousing afternoon and evening of Ski Jumping… which is apparently the only Winter Olympic Sport the British cares about.

I have never set foot in an IKEA store since.

Day 1399: SchutzHappens – February 2012, Spiderman

Wow.  I am still soooo behind.  Two months behind on our family videos and only two posts away from completing 'The Chair'... and I am gearing up for yet another international move.  That's right.  SchutzHappens is about to hit the road again.  Consider that piece of information a teaser for what is to come after the conclusion of 'The Chair'.  Take care!

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WNWCHm5qlEo)

Day 1396: The Chair, Part 48 – The Return Trip

With the Tesco Glider cleaned up and incorporated into our living room we began to focus on more important things… like having a baby. Gilliam was born shortly after acquiring The Chair and life calmed down and smoothed out. At least for a while… because in our excitement surrounding Gilliam’s arrival we forgot about something…

Remember the IKEA Chair? The one Costello and I picked up… the one that actually takes up the bulk of this saga… the one Serena didn’t end up liking… the one she replaced with the Tesco Chair… the one from IKEA that we intended to sell on Gumtree.com instead of lugging back to the store? Yeah… well… we never posted it on Gumtree… so as our departure from London grew near, it was still sitting, disassembled, in our hall closet. And with the horrible deal we actually got on the Tesco Chair, Serena, now, wanted to return the chair for store credit.

… So… yeah… I am sure you can see where this part of the story is going… it was time for me to brave IKEA once again. But I wouldn’t be stepping into the beast on my own… I would be accompanied by a merry band of heroes… although I’m still not sure if that was a good or a bad idea… okay, it was a bad idea… but I didn’t have any other choice.

You see, on my initial trip to IKEA I had Costello at my side. And I will tell you this, there is no way I could have gotten The Chair back to our flat on my own. The Chair’s frame and cushion were packed separately and although neither were particularly heavy, they were rather large and bulky. Lugging both packages on and off two buses and three trains by myself would have been an impossible feat... however, since Costello had already gone home and was not available for IKEA round two, I should have at least attempted the impossible feat before… before… well… before doing what we ended up doing.

Replacing Costello on this new journey to IKEA and making up my, before mentioned, “merry band of heroes” was none other than Serena, my lovely wife who wanted to do some shopping with the store credit, Grayson, who had just turned four years old, and Gilliam… who had just been born… and was riding in the same infant carrier stroller Costello brought with him all the way from the States… the very same stroller I talked about in The Chair, Parts 26 – 32.

Also… this part of the story has inspired the title of my autobiography: “How to Make Simple Tasks 100x More Difficult: The JohnPaul Schutz Story.”

So, if you are keeping count… although our overall man power had increased… so had the potential number of things needing to be carried all the way to IKEA.

Things started out smooth. Serena carried the cushion while pushing Gilliam in his stroller, I carried the frame box, and Grayson walked while holding onto my belt-loop. An operation that worked very well… until we entered the Baker Street Underground Station. At which point Serena realized it was too difficult to maneuver the stroller on and off escalators while also carrying the cushion… the two boxes were in fact too bulky for me to carry on my own… and Grayson was already starting to get tired and asking to be carried. Yeah… and we had only just entered out first of three Underground Stations.

For any of you who have traveled extensively on London public transit you’ll know that not all stations are wheelchair accessible. Which in-turn means they are not infant carrier stroller accessible either. Sure we were able to find the occasional elevator and/or escalator along the way… however in most cases, even in the bigger stations, the elevators and escalators didn’t take you directly to your needed platform… so there were always stairs to face. And on our route to IKEA, there were LOTS of stairs to face. And each time Serena and I would have to figure out the most economical way to traverse the stairs with two large boxes, Gilliam, his stroller, and Grayson.

And I’ll let you in on a secret. There was no economical way up and down all those stairs.

Periodically we ran into very kind hearted Londoners who stopped to offer a hand. Helping us on the stairs and making sure we were headed in the right direction. Other times we were on our own. And on those occasions, I would have to abandon the boxes while I helped Serena carry Gilliam’s stroller over the stairs. On this one trip to IKEA, although I was never very far away or out if view, I received two separate warnings from the police for leaving unattended baggage on train platforms. The first officer asked to see the contents of the box and the second officer actually wanted to confiscate them for incineration. However, that second officer changed his mind and fought off a smirk when I looked at him square in the eye and said, “I wish you would.”

All and all… it was a very trying and exhausting trip. Which is much to be expected when IKEA is one of your destinations.

Oddly enough. Once we exited our final Underground Station the rest of the trip was cake. Sure we were a little worse for wear… nerves pretty much shot… and we still had a bus ride ahead of us, but it wasn’t too bad. Serena got the boys on and situated while I loaded the boxes with minimal yelling from the bus driver. And when we disembarked we walked to the store in the exact same formation as we entered Baker Street Station. We had made it.

Sure… I still wished the officer had set The Chair ablaze two stations ago… but we still made it. Mission accomplished.

And hindsight being what it is… I wish I had thought of taping the frame and cushion boxes together. Sure it would have been even bulkier as a single unit. But I could have used some rope to fashion a makeshift backpack… which would have made the trip so much easier. Oh well. What really mattered is that we made it to IKEA with The Chair. And it only took us two hours to get there. Which was about the same amount of time it took IKEA to process our return/refund…

Day 1390: The Chair, Part 47 – The Discovery

Hi kids.  Only four more parts left in the saga of ‘The Chair’!  It’s almost done!  I hope it is all you wanted and more.

Yeah so, when the Dutchman arrived with the chair he helped me carry it up to our flat, I paid him, and he immediately left.  In the end, my transaction with the Dutchman was very clean and above board… as expected.

However, not long after he left… we quickly discovered the truth about the unscrupulous British couple… and the chair.

Remember when I told you guys how the British couple described the chair as a “like new, never been used, from a smoke-free home, Harrods’ glider chair”… yeah… well… for those of you on pins and needles… I can tell you this: It certainly was a “glider chair”.  Everything else is up for interpretation.

Discovery #1

Our first discovery was probably the grossest… and honestly, when we initially spoke with the British couple, we weren’t really concerned about finding a chair from a ‘smoke free home’… however, within minutes of arrival the smell of stale cigarette smoke began taking over our entire flat.

Listen folks… I was a poor college kid… and a poor post-college kid.  I’ve bought tons of used furniture.  I’ve gotten furniture from non-smoking households and smoking households.  I’ve picked up pieces of furniture off the side of the road and retrieved furniture from dumpsters.  Until I met Serena the only piece of new furniture I owned was my mattress. 

Heck, I’m not even a hardcore anti-smoker… I was a smoker for a while myself!  But I will tell you this: even during my heaviest smoking years, when I was too lazy and ignorant to go outside, not a single piece of my furniture, mattress included, ended up smelling as disgusting as the chair we bought from the British couple.

The smell was not slight… it was not mild.  It literally overtook the entire flat.  Imagine being in an enclosed space with an activated tear gas canister… that is how quickly the smell of stale gross cigarette smoke took over. 

But it couldn’t possibly be smoke, right?  The chair was from a ‘smoke-free’ home, right?  The British guy told me this about a dozen times on the phone.  Could he have been lying to me?

Listen, having been a smoker… this chair had not been exposed to you average, run of the mill, smoking household.  No, someone had extracted the musk of their ninety-year old Aunt Ester, who had been chain smoking since the age of twelve, turned the musk into it a gravy, and used the gravy to marinate the cushions before selling me the chair. 

In short… the British couple were smokers… heavy smokers… very heavy smokers… and fibbers. 

Discovery #2

After the smoke, our second discovery didn’t come as much of a surprise.  The “like new, only sat in the corner and never been used” chair was… clearly used.

The cushions weren’t threadbare or frayed along the seams… and the wood wasn’t scratched up… however we notices that some of the Velcro used to attach the cushions to the frame had become very warn.  Plus… you know… the crumbs we found in the creases of the cushions were pretty much a tell tale sign that someone had use the chair… maybe not for sitting, but at least as a dinner plate.

So yeah… it was totally a used chair.

In addition, Serena noticed something else entirely.  A more subtle nuance.  The cushions were not has plush as the ones Serena had tried out at Harrods.  Although the cushions looked to be in decent (to okay… passable) condition, Serena felt that the interior padding had significantly deteriorated. 

About a week later we went back to Harrods and I tried out their showroom glider and Serena was 100% correct.  The padding on the chair at Harrods was like sitting on a cloud, while the cushions of the one we bought was clearly warn out… so much so that it felt like a completely different chair!  … But… yeah… I’m totally getting ahead of myself.

Discovery #3

You know?  It’s not a bad chair.  It doesn’t squeak when you glide like our first glider did.  Despite the warn padding it’s not uncomfortable to sit in.  After washing the cushions it didn’t even smell anymore.  It’s not a bad chair.  Which is probably why Serena and I had a good laugh two weeks later when we made our final discovery:  The Chair… wait for it… That Chair was not actually from Harrods.  (GASP!)

I actually still laugh about this.  Mainly because of how bold the British couple had been… along with the fact that Serena and I had been extremely gullible.

Anyway, about two weeks after the safe delivery of The Chair, I needed access to an electrical outlet behind one of our end tables.  I needed the access for my laptop and I decided to run an extension cord rather than having to move furniture every time I needed to plug-in.  And while I was running the cord I got down on the ground and ended up with the perfect vantage point to see underneath our “like new, never been used, from a smok[ing]e-free home, Harrods’ glider chair” where I noticed a tag dangling. 

Without a second thought I grabbed it and ripped it off.  And once the tag was in my hand I looked at it more closely.  And it didn’t say ‘Harrods’.  It said ‘Tesco’.

For those of you who aren’t in the know… The best comparison I can make is that Harrods is the British equivalent of Macy’s, while Tesco is pretty much the British version of Walmart… or a really decked out Kroger.

So yeah… when it was all said and done… I hadn’t actually gotten a great deal on a Harrods glider chair… no… in the end, I paid more than full price for a new Tesco glider chair… however mine was used and smelly.