Go fly, kite!

I grew up amongst seagulls; a noisy, messy bunch, but not at all threatening, even when they came in large groups searching for treats. Once I left Texas, I was largely removed from groups of flying critters, except for occasional swooping pigeons, but living overseas has changed all that.

In Africa, swarms of fruit bats filled the sky at dusk, darting in and out of the trees and, sometimes, flying so close to me as I walked I could hear the “swoosh” of their giant wings.

In Islamabad, we had crows. To discourage them from roosting, we hung fake owls in the trees—owls are evidently a natural enemy of crows—along with shiny strips of twirling metal. It didn’t work. The crows would foul the ground below the trees and make a terrible racket at both dawn and dusk. The worst was when they became infected with H1N5 (avian influenza). Dead birds, scattered by the dozens around the grounds of the embassy, caused a minor panic.

Karachi has kites, black kites to be exact. These large, rather intimidating birds soar and swoop in groups all day long, not unlike vultures waiting for carrion to appear.

Black kite

My apartment has a very nice balcony with some lovely teak furniture. It might be a nice place to sit and read a book. I say might because I will never know. The kites like to land on the balcony rail and sit on the arm of the teak chair, and they are aggressive. I got a good look at a kite perched outside my window, and that thick, curved beak and the menacing talons were enough for me. My balcony belongs to the kites. I will never venture there.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

If you're from Georgia, I'm from Mississippi!

I haven’t lived in the United States for almost 12 years. I can’t count the number of times a week I am asked, “Where are you from?” or some derivative of that question. I always hesitate before I answer, a habit I dislike, but it is a question that does not have a simple answer, and I’m forced to think before I reply. I have to think about the actual information the asker wants, which can vary quite a bit, depending on circumstances. I realize Americans are, more and more, a mobile society, but the question, “Where do you live?” or “Where are you from?” asked by one American to another has a limited connotation. Not so for the expat.

I spent the first 20 years of my life in Texas, followed by 17 in Tennessee and 10-plus in Mississippi, before I joined the U.S. Foreign Service. Today, I live in the Czech Republic, my legal residence is Tennessee, and I own a house in Mississippi. If I am relatively sure the intent of the question is what part of the United States I call home, and the asker is foreign, I answer “From the South” Most non-Americans have as little understanding of the geography of the United States as Americans do of other countries. I learned early on that most foreigners know New York, Chicago and Los Angeles. Any place else is just a mystery and answering “From the South” seems to satisfy them. In fact, I once spent about 10 minutes on an overseas flight trying to explain to someone that I was going to Mississippi, the state, not Mississippi, the river. He never did get it.

If I am asked the question when I begin work at a new embassy posting, I know they want to know the location of my last post. If I am traveling away from my post and someone asks the question, I always answer with the city of my current residence. About 50 percent of the time, that solves the issue. Sometimes I can have great fun with this, like the time I was in Thailand and answered the question with Pakistan. The young lady behind the counter repeated it twice with a look of amazement on her face but, since the address I had put on the registration form was indeed a Pakistan address, she didn’t argue.

If I meet people from Texas, I always tell them I am, too. I still think of myself as a Texan, even though I have spent two-thirds of my life outside of Texas. I cannot remember ever meeting someone from Mississippi overseas, but if I am introduced to a person from Alabama, Georgia or another southern state, I will counter that I am from Mississippi. And, if some stranger is pushing me about my nationality, and I am uncomfortable with giving the information, I say I am from Nova Scotia. No one knows where it is, how they talk or anything about it—shuts them right up!

Is it any wonder I’m confused?

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.

Turkey, ham or carp?

When I was growing up in Texas, our family tradition was to have turkey for Thanksgiving and ham for Christmas. That might have been related to my mother’s Ohio upbringing, since most of my friends had turkey for both holidays, except for my friend Kathy.

Kathy’s grandmother was Mexican, and their family's Christmas tradition was tamales. The grandmother, who could never say my name and always called me Beulah, would prepare a hog’s head and keep it in a big tub in the pantry. She would spend hours in the kitchen making the masa to go on the cornhusks, and then chop off meat from the hog’s head to fill the tamales. I always looked forward to Christmas visits to Kathy’s house, and tamales are still one of my favorite foods.

My mother was, at best, an adequate cook, and she passed on to me her lack of interest in spending time in the kitchen. So our Christmas ham was usually a canned ham, which, as I remember, was just a rung or two above Spam. When I married and had a family to feed on Christmas Day, I discovered spiral-cut honey hams and continued the tradition until the last little Pruett had left the nest. I don’t believe I’ve had a ham in my house since.

Czechs have a traditional Christmas meal, too. If I asked you to guess what it is, you couldn’t, unless you happen to be Czech, as it is carp soup and roasted duck. I’m not a fan of duck, but I would eat it if it were on the table. But carp? I just haven’t been brave enough to try that yet. I do like fish and I especially like catfish, and they are pretty ugly creatures, so I’ve surprised myself that my reluctance to try carp is based on how unattractive they are. That, plus I know that goldfish are carp, and it just doesn’t seem right to eat a family pet.

But Czechs are all about Christmas carp and, a few days before Christmas, you will find vendors on most streets with big vats of water and live carp swimming in them. A buyer will indicate the carp he or she wants, and the vendor catches and prepares it right there on the street. The poor carp, who was chatting with his tub buddies just a moment ago, is now on a chopping block with a cleaver aimed at beheading him. The blood literally runs in the street, and it is quite unappetizing for me.

I will be spending Christmas in Prague this year but, perhaps, it is time to look for a ham.

For Reflections on Nursing Leadership (RNL), published by the Honor Society of Nursing, Sigma Theta Tau International.