Relativity and Fishes and Dirt ... Oh, My!

My favorite days are always care package and letter-receiving days. No surprise. That will never change. My second favorite day is always up for grabs, though, and I'm always surprised by the contenders.

My second favorite day used to be Friday night because they have special food in the Dining Facility that makes it feel like the weekend (I'm a vegetarian so I can't actually eat any of it but, hey, it's all about the atmosphere). Then, for a while my second favorite day was Sunday because, even though I work 7 days a week, I always try to do something special on Sunday: get a manicure, watch a movie, skip working out and eat lotsa junk food.

My new second favorite day is whatever day they clean the porta-potties located near my office. I live for porta-pottie cleaning day. It's the only day I actually use the porta-pottie. The rest of the days I hike the 1/2 mile to use the indoor facilities. That means I hold it a lot. But, I'll be damned if there isn't a rule here that you have to drink 8-10 bottles of water per day due to hydration issues (compounded by the altitude and desert-y climate in our Afghanistan valley). And co-workers are told to keep track of each other's water intake much like McCarthy encouraged neighbors to report neighbors for being commies, so you can't skimp on the water intake. Effect: holding it is harder than it sounds (and those of you who've ever taken a car trip with me - heck, those of you who've ever taken a Wal-Mart trip with me- know that "holding it" was never my strong-point anyway). And I have to time it just right because if one holds it too long and then tries to make a half-mile hike ... well, I don't have to spell it out for you. Every once in a while, I find myself already needing to go again during the walk back to the office. Curse my small bladder.

Don't think I didn't consider making porta-pottie-cleaning-day my first favorite day. I struggled with it, I truly did. In the end, the care packages and letters won - but only by a nose hair.

The fishes did not come from the porta-potty :) Hey, someone guessed it and I have to set the record straight! If they ever kick the bucket though, they may end up in the porta-pottie. Someone suggested that, like the rain, the fish were a gift from God. Indirectly, they really were: The goldfish, I am told, spent their early childhood as most goldfish do - in an aquarium somewhere in New Jersey - before embarking on a transatlantic flight. They were confiscated by Customs Officials in London and tagged as "illegals". They found their way out of the Customs holding cell and into the hands of a Kentucky fly-fisherman-come-contractor who adopted the fish and made them his traveling companions for the London-Dubai leg of his journey. The goldfish then spent 2 days in a water pitcher in a 4 star hotel in Dubai before being smuggled onto a flight heading to ... Baghdad, Iraq. The carpenter had to leave them in Bagdad in the care of a Philippino manicurist who worked on the military base. The manicurist developed an affection for the fish so brought them with her from Iraq to Afghanistan when she was transferred. When she quit the gig and left for home, she entrusted them to the only person who could protect them from being flushed as contraband during a Health and Welfare Inspection - a Security Officer :) Smart lady. And that is the story of the fishes.

Updates: I have learned to shatter facial bones, hypothetically of course, using my knees and elbows in muay thai kickboxing. Good times. I can still only solve one level of the Rubic's cube (though, in my defense, I'm not sure if this is because I am a slow learner or because my teacher always has cookies and I know that mastering the cube means an end to the cookies). It has rained for 4 days at Bagram Air Field which means plenty of water for the farmers and plenty of puddles to splash in while sporting my super-cute galoshes.

In closing, I ordered a small herb-garden (ain't the internet grand!?!) which arrived a few days ago and has been soaking up the rain. I already have a couple of little, green sprouts popping out of the soil and I expect to harvest chives, basil and parsley before heading home on my break (probably mid-to late-July). I have no idea what I will do with my harvest, but I promise to use it for good and not evil. This sounds really weird (but, hey, by now know I'm weird even if you didn't before) but when I opened the herb garden box, I was assailed by the smell of real dirt (they send dirt to grow your herbs in) and it was the best smell. We don't have real dirt in my part of Afghanistan (plenty of porta-potties but no dirt) and I guess I miss it. So, if you get a chance to plant some flowers or even dig up some fishing worms (that is, if it ever stops raining long enough for the mud to become dirt once more), think of me :)