Misfits, Oddballs and Freaks

I’m frequently questioned about my choice to eventually live in Jamaica with my husband, Robin, when we retire in a few years. Getting to know me tends to help folks see why Jamaica is such a nice fit. I thought it might be nice to fill in my back story. Perhaps it will resonate with you or maybe it will make you realize just how different we are. Either way, it’s all part of my journey.  So, here we go…

I was born a poor, black child…oh, wait. That was Steve Martin in “The Jerk,” not me. No, I was born a fat, super-pale, red-headed, middle child in Shawnee, Oklahoma. I’m told that one of my first outings was to the beach, where I received a sunburn at six weeks of age. (Mom, if you are reading this, it’s okay. I love you anyway, even if my dermatologist doesn’t.)

My father was in the Army. I guess they saw potential in him because we spent the first thirteen years of my life moving around. He was sent to school after school as he moved up in rank. Or maybe, as he might tell you, he needed a lot of remedial help. All I know is that we moved a LOT.

Although my older sister and younger sister would insist that all of that relocating “scarred them for life,” I alway recall loving the adventure.

I thrived on seeing what new people and places were around the bend. Besides, moves were usually in the summer time and included trips to see grandparents, stops at amusement parks and other fun experiences.

Being a bit of an introvert, I know that I got a little nervous about starting in a new school each year but it had an upside. As I mentioned, I was a redhead. I was also cross-eyed and started wearing glasses at age three. Then there were the braces on my teeth, my clumsiness and my thick hair that my mom kept cut in a “pixie” cut lest it turn into a rat’s nest. Are you getting the picture? Yeah, I got picked on…a LOT.

So, you see, starting in a new school meant leaving my tormentors behind. Sure, there was the possibility (okay, reality) that the new kids would tease me but I was, and still am, an optimist. It was a fresh start, in my mind. That could only mean a better life was just ahead, right?

If my count is correct, I had lived 13 places by the time I was 12 years old.

I joined the sixth grade class in Maryland and actually managed to graduate with those same kids. My father switched assignments but they were all in the Washington DC area. This meant that we didn’t have to move for seven years. This was new territory for me.

Without the excitement of starting over each year, I tried out every facet and social grouping that school had to offer. One group of friends played volleyball. I played classical piano and was able to read music, so I joined the band. There was the theater gang, the yearbook geeks, the church group and, finally, the party animals. I did it all to scratch my moving itch.

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t really that I liked the kids more in one group than another. I wasn’t running away. I was looking for something. Looking back, growing up away from real family ties, I think that I was looking for a spot to belong. I was looking for a home.

The year that I graduated from high school, my father got orders to move to Naples, Italy.

I had planned to go into the medical field in college but I didn’t think taking a year off to go travel in Europe would hurt. Famous last words.

Six months later I met an American Air Force ski instructor while my friend and I were backpacking in Germany. Come on. Who doesn’t dream about meeting a ski instructor in the Alps and being swept off her feet? Sounds like the ultimate love story, right?

My eighteen year old mind certainly thought it was. We were engaged within a few months and married shortly after. Thus, the fairy tale began as we traveled all over Europe, eventually leaving Germany and the Air Force behind.

Moving to St Petersburg, Florida, home of the newlywed and nearly-dead, my husband went to college while I worked. A year later, our first son was born. Having never enjoyed Florida, we decide to return to our snow skiing roots.

We packed up a U-haul, bundled up our six-week-old baby and moved to Colorado with no job, home or friends waiting.  Eventually, job prospects brought us back out East, living in a small town in Pennsylvania and then an even smaller town in New Hampshire.

Oh, and along the way we had a total of ten children whom I home educated.

We had the big garden from which I canned and froze a lot of veggies. I sewed quilts, cooked huge meals and taught the kids how to take care of themselves.

New Hampshire was supposed to be “the end of the road.” I finally bought the horse I had wanted all of my life. We got a goat to keep the horse company. This eventually blossomed into a full-time business for the family. We raised goats and made goat cheese for 22 years.

It felt like home to me and I never saw myself anywhere else. But life has a way of taking twists and turns that we never expect. My marriage sadly ended at the 28 year point. While this was a very hard time, my optimistic self focused on a new future.

I wasn’t interested in getting married again but really wanted someone to do things with. I had always gotten along better with males than females so it only made sense that I start casually dating. As I began that new chapter, people laughed and said, “Who would ever be a match for a woman with ten children?”

As it turned out, the answer to that question was “a man with five kids of his own.” Having connected through an online dating site, Robin and I met and fell in love. It wasn’t really about fireworks and thunderclaps like we tend to imagine.

Meeting Rob was more like coming home after a long day at work and slipping on comfy slippers. It was just easy and soothing. After our first face-to-face meeting, I was so dumbfounded at our instant connection that I could barely speak. When I listened to him talk about his family and life, I felt like I was remembering it with him, rather than hearing it for the first time.

So often go we make declarations like “I’ll never do that again” or “I have no interest in getting married.”

Suddenly things change. Maybe you meet a guy in July, get engaged in August and married in November. Oh wait, that’s only me???  I’m a big believer in following your gut.

Yes, Robin and I met in July 2008 and got married November 1, 2008 and headed off for our honeymoon in Italy. We returned to meld his remaining two young children in with the five I still had at home. He joined with me in raising the goats, taking care of the seven kids all while he also worked a regular job.

Life pretty much zoomed by, a blur of sporting events, driving lessons, birthday parties and running the goat cheese business. What’s that they say about how time flies by when you are having fun?

I was struggling physically due to both lupus and rheumatoid arthritis when we took our first trip to Jamaica in 2013.

For years, my doctors had told me to stay out of the sun and the heat because it was a known trigger for autoimmune diseases. All that accomplished was giving me Vitamin D deficiency!

I wasn’t certain how my body would react to being transported from a freezing cold climate to a hot one but I was willing to risk it. I never dreamed that I would realize any sort of health benefit, I just knew I was sick of freezing.

Much to my surprise, I felt fabulous during that trip. For the first time in ages, even my bones felt warm. My muscles relaxed and life just seemed amazing…until we returned to winter in New Hampshire. Thus began my love affair with Jamaica.

Obviously, being without joint pain for the first time in years lifted my spirits, but it was more than that. The Jamaican people were warm and inviting. Each one we met either made me laugh, made me feel cared for or intrigued me. I started planning my return to the island before we even left.

Today, Robin and I are approaching our 10 year anniversary and life is totally different from what either of us ever imagined.

Our youngest child is turning 16 in a few months and will graduate in 2020. At that point our 38 years worth of “parenting” the 15 children between us will be over.

We also have 15 grandchildren, spread out all over the USA, with another due this summer.  Our kids all lead very busy lives and we rarely see them. What was once a crowded, noisy home, is now nearly silent. We are at that turning point where life is no longer about “them” and begins to be about “us.”

Over the last five years, we’ve come and gone to Jamaica many times.

I kept track up until I hit a dozen trips, but that was a few years ago. Even though I often have my next ticket to Jamaica booked before I head back to New Hampshire, I still get a bit choked up about leaving.

You see, I’ve already begun building a life here. Close friends here really miss me when I’m gone. I live in a house that I love. We’ve added two puppy dogs to our family in Jamaica as well. Just seeing their eyes light up when they see me gives me such joy.

I’m past that magical 50-year-old mark, having watched so much of life whiz by. I just want to stop and smell the roses again. Savoring moments with friends and enjoying time with family deserve to take center stage. Doing what’s best for my body has taken on a new significance, too. The slow pace of life in Jamaica simply lends itself to these values.

I won’t pretend that I have it all figured out.

I’m still working out the rhythm and balance between being here and still investing in my children and grandchildren. The pesky details of income, citizenship, taxes and such are a bit fuzzy at this point as well. But we are making progress.

The goat-herd was sold in December of 2016. We are currently working towards a goal of relieving ourselves of the large house and our five acres farm, both of which require so much upkeep. Meanwhile, I’m sorting through 24 years worth of accumulated “stuff” hidden in closets, dressers, the attic, the basement and the barn.

Sometimes, I get overwhelmed at the enormous task ahead.

Relocating to a foreign country, especially a developing one, isn’t as easy as moving from one state to another. Laws are murky and change frequently, depending on which government office you deal with. Mistakes can be costly and cause serious setbacks, so we have to tread lightly.

Splitting my life between two homes has its challenges as well. Time with my family is limited and the long distance relationship my husband and I currently endure gets frustrating. The internet here leaves a great deal to be desired and even phone lines are often wavering. Communication can be spotty.

Rob and I just keep telling ourselves that it’s a necessary investment in our future to have me physically setting up our life in Jamaica. I’m basically escaping my winter aches and pain, yes, but I’m also working my way through the system and making much-needed connections. Jamaica is all about who you know and who knows you.

The past few years, my stays have gotten longer and more frequent.

I’ve come to understand so much more about Jamaican society. Whatever rose-colored glasses I may have worn in the beginning are now pretty clear. I think that many people expected I’d see “the real Jamaica” and give up. I guess the joke is on them.

Although I’m not blind to the corruption, crime or just day-to-day shenanigans here, I’ve also spent a lifetime learning to read people. Spending my childhood moving around, starting over, time and time again, honed certain skills within me. It really prepared me for this exact sort of transition.

I’m not saying that I’m an expert at all. I learn new things every single day and get “taken” by some crafty Jamaican at least once each trip. But even when I’m frustrated or angry, it passes quickly because I’m so overjoyed with most of it. The quagmire of remodeling is a perfect example that you can read about right here.

So far, my heart still skips a beat when I break through the trees and see the turquoise blue ocean every morning. My comprehension of patois has grown greatly so I can more deeply appreciate Jamaican humor. I laugh a lot each day.

Although I skip a most of the starches in the Jamaican diet, I’m really enjoying the vegetarian meals prepared by the local Rastafarian cooks. I finally got to go fishing with “the guys” the other day, too. The fresh king fish I brought home and cooked was the best seafood I’ve ever eaten.

With rare exceptions, my stress level is at an all-time low in Jamaica. Having no vehicle, I walk a lot but I walk more slowly. What’s the hurry, you know? I don’t wear a watch, eating when I’m hungry and sleeping when I’m tired. I laughed when I actually had to check the calendar on my phone today to even know what day of the week it was. That’s a casual way of life!

For me, the best part is the way I feel like I fit in.

I’ve always been a bit of a misfit, but many people here seem to thrive on individuality. In a way, being an oddball here is the norm. My weirdness doesn’t seem to stand out at all. I can let my freak flag fly and it’s not the only one flapping in the breeze.

I’m not saying that this life is for everyone. Some people would go nuts with the simplicity and lack of services. Small town life ANYWHERE can be a no-go for super private people because everybody strives to know your business. But, hey, if everyone came here, it wouldn’t be “here” anymore, would it?

In the end, what makes us feel at ease and at home is worth striving for, in my humble opinion.

If your dream is to live in Paris , make it happen. Want to live in a grass hut in Africa? You can do it. Life is short and we only get one shot.

Even if it doesn’t go as we hoped and life forces us to make a new choice down the road, it will be okay. What’s one more move for a gal like me? Starting over is in my blood and learning new things feeds my soul. Every little thing is gonna be alright. After all, I am Jamaican at heart.

What are your dreams? Tell me about it in the comment section or drop me an email.  I’d love to hear from you. Learn more about our experiences with Jamaica culture in this post about Life on the Verandah.

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