The Indian Cultural Center, Georgetown, Guyana
Whelp. It's gotten real. Jeff is at work and the girls are in school. For these hours of every day, it's just me and Lucille: an oil wife (and her dog) in Guyana. This is my life.
The days start in familiar fashion. We all get up. The girls are hungry immediately. Jeff hugs the girls, kisses me goodbye and leaves for work. And here is where it is a little different: Jeff is driven to work by our driver (Trevor this week, Christopher last week, who knows next week) in the one car that was assigned to us. So, Trevor takes Jeff to work and then comes straight back to take me and the girls to the school. We leave the house, after I have run through the list: Have you brushed your hair? Your teeth? Do you have your backpacks? Your homework? Your water bottle? Your lunch/lunch card? Have you put sunscreen on your face? (Most of these questions are carryover from home, I think you can tell which one is new). Trevor drops us all off at the drop-off line and then goes and parks and waits for me to come back out. I take the girls to their classes, kiss them goodbye, double check on their after school activities, buy lunch cards if needed and then walk back out to Trevor.
A word about the car. Since we only have one car, Jeff and I have to be very coordinated about our use of it. We can't both call for Trevor at the same time in two different directions. That would be unkind and impractical. Additionally, we can't be too spontaneous. When Trevor isn't driving us, he is at the disposal of Dispatch...to be sent to whichever other Exxon-Mobil approved passenger needs a ride to anywhere else. This fact means that forgotten grocery store items or sudden pine tart desires tend to go unyielded. And there is no “I'm bored at home so I think I'll just drive around town and get a coffee option.” Regardless of the car, I think I'm starting to understand a bit about oil wives. At a recent low point, I actually said to Jeff, I think maybe I'll take tennis lessons. I'll just leave that thought right here and I expect none of you to mention it. Also, this is not about tennis. And, have any of you watched Red Oaks?
The car sitch does lead to my one and only specific discomfort about this life. What if my children get hurt or sick at school and need me to come suddenly in the middle of the day? I can't always get to them as immediately as before. But, I can get to them, even if I have to borrow a friend's driver who may be available when mine is not or faster than mine if mine is further away. And I can always call Dispatch. Dispatch, that's another story for another day.
Let this day begin.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I am trying to do something new every day. There are so many new things to be done. But, the basic needs are grocery shopping, exercise and Lucille (which is sometimes combined with exercise). Today, I'll leave you with yoga. I have been going to yoga at the Indian Cultural Center. In addition to yoga, the ICC offers sari wrapping classes, dance classes, weekly Bollywood movie screenings and a once monthly Saturday afternoon Indian cooking class (which I hope to attend in September). The yoga studio is a second floor room, open to the air on 3 sides, with fans running on the ceiling. It is divine. It is also the most stressful form of relaxation that I have ever experienced.
For starters, I can barely understand the yoga instructor. Actually, that should come second. For starters, I know nothing about yoga. So, even if I could understand what she is saying, I wouldn't understand what she is saying. Also, she really wants everyone to keep their eyes closed, but if I close my eyes then I really have no idea what I am supposed to be doing. So, I try to peek when she isn't looking at me, so that I can determine from everyone else's movement how exactly I should contort my body. As far as I can tell, there are two parts to yoga: breathing and action. The action can be a position or relaxation. Relaxation is a big deal. It is so big that it sometimes sounds like a threat issued by a monotone Indian accent: "Reelaaaaaaxx!!!! Relax compleeeeeeeeetly!" Often, I have to swallow my panic as I try to relax. I mean, what if I'm not relaxing correctly? What if I'm not relaxing COMPLETELY?!?
And when I'm not worrying about the quality of my relaxation, I'm suppressing my giggles. Has anyone ever told you to relax your leg muscles, your knee joints, your hip muscles, your finger muscles, your arm muscles, your shoulder muscles? All while "keeping your eyes closed with a gentle smile on your face?" (And by smile, let's be fair, she definitely means "gentle," not Cheshire Cat.) You could probably do that. I know I can. I start to lose it when she gets to the face. "Relax your leeps, your upper leep, your lower leep. Relax. RELAAAAX COMPLETEEEELY!!! Relax your upper teeths, your lower teeths, relax your soft palate, relax your cheek muscles....RELAAAXX!!! Relax your eyeball muscles, relax your eyelashes. RELAAAAXXX. Relax your eye-bros, your right eye-bro, your left eye-bro, the space between your eye-bros." Seriously, until yoga I had no idea that my eyebrows were such good friends. And sometimes, trying to get those bros to relax just distresses my diaphragm into fits of silent giggles. And since I've been to yoga a few times now, I know where the giggles might arise so then I start worrying ahead of the "leeps" and the "eyebros" that I might be giggling instead of relaxing and thus the relaxation is somewhat stressful. Do you see where I'm coming from here? To be clear, it's me, not yoga.