#17- Still Reeling...

Come July 15th, it had been 62 days since we crossed over the Floridian border. At the time, we were only supposed to be here for two nights. We had sold most of our things in New York, said a tear-filled good-bye to our family and friends, and set sail for a fresh and sunny start in the Bahamas. Mere hours before we were scheduled to dig our toes in tropical sand, we received a call that due to a company dispute, our Visa’s had been put on hold and we could not continue travel to the Bahamas. For the next three long weeks, we had no new news on the conflict that was keeping us stateside. While anxiously waiting for the corporate cat-fight to be resolved, we truly did not think it was possible that we may never live in the pink house that had so serendipitously picked us.  There was just no way that Bob was never going to swim in the crystal clear ocean every day after previously conceding to city life for so long. 

It seemed far too cruel of a joke that we had left every part of our former lives in New York, under the promise of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, just to be led down a disastrous path, steps from our final destination. While certainly cruel, it was not a joke.

With no anchor, our life resembled a boat in open water, braving the perfect storm. With each day that followed that fateful call, our struggles, like relentless waves, constantly threatened to capsize us. All while watching our Bahamian dream die a slow and painful death. We reluctantly let go of our Bahamian house with its white picket fence, without ever holding the keys or crossing the threshold. We had chosen to sell our belongings while still in New York because everything we brought to the Bahamas would be charged an exorbitant tax.  In the end, we’re happy to not have paid the International duty tax on our goods, but are missing the many things we could have kept. We had been counting on the $97,000 per year tax break for being an expat in the Bahamas. Instead, we were now in a daily battle to be reimbursed for the $30,000 in expenses this move had cost us so far. 

Worse than being castaways so far from home, Travis’s company revealed themselves to be well-dressed pirates, looting our lives without conscience. They were the reason we had taken this journey, under the promised protection of their sails. But when the seas got rough, they never offered to throw us a life-raft. Just a white flag with a severance package attached; which we accepted and gladly walked the plank. We’ll eventually get our sea legs back, but they will always be a sinking ship. 

We’re in Daytona now, as it’s where we were when we got the dreaded call that all of this was over. We have every line imaginable in the water, looking to hook the next big fish of opportunity, wherever that may be. 

I search daily for a reason, or the smallest of open doors. I fight feelings every moment of abandonment as I pray for His plan to be revealed. 

We now have the freedom to make a new fresh start. We have a 10'x10' storage unit in Daytona, only ½ full; four suitcases, and a Golden Retriever. It’s a rare opportunity and a bit overwhelming. Where can we live out our endless summer and make the most of this salt life?

I don’t have the answer to that yet, but like the Fountain of Youth, it’s worth searching for. 

Trying to navigate life's newest and sharpest turn, we're ready for the next chapter of this journey. As we seek salt life, maybe we'll find home along the way.

1st stop: Miami 

Read Next: #18-Bienvenidos a Miami, August 1

#16- When there's no rhyme or reason

Our moods were dark and somber
after that final phone call came.
The mornings are still the hardest;
Filled with relentless praying and blame.

No home, no job, no direction.
Our home goods are drifting off to sea.
We keep hearing "the world is our oyster";
But that pearl looks more like a pea.

Just like Santa's red sack,
we're lugging worries, stress and doubt.
If one more "present" is added,
ALL will come tumbling out.

Our irons are in the fire,
and hopefully soon, one will be hot.
We can't control our destiny,
but sitting idle, we are not.

Some days are full of fury.
From those storm clouds, I can't hide.
Other days are filled with gratitude;
And Jekyll isn't missing Hyde.

I fear the monster within
for he has embedded his claws in me,
But so has the white sand, and blue surf
and the crazy crabs that roam the sea.

New York is a distant memory.
Our summer will never run out.
A future filled with sunshine and swimming
is what this Salt Life is all about.

Florida is the best place I've lived;
And after 37 days I would know.
The cast of characters is vast,
even the wildlife puts on a show.

Our own bed, free wifi, and fast forward
are the little things that we miss.
Though we know if we have to be stranded...
It doesn't get much better than this!

We miss all sense of normalcy.
Anything resembling routine, we hold dear.
We're thankful for weekly trivia;
Where good friends hold our spot and cold beer.

I started this blog with a drive through Hana;
The message was metaphorically implied:
"Life is a series of journeys,
We can't forget to enjoy the (LONG) ride!"

I'm doing my best to take my own advice...
At least I'm taking this journey with my best friend.
We have no idea where this road will lead,
But we're sure there's peace and happiness waiting at the end...

Read Next, #17- Still Reeling, July 30

#15- We Surrender

D-Day arrived two days early for us this year. The war between the two hotel properties had been raging over International waters for the last three weeks. We were now getting daily updates from Travis’s camp but the updates left us more and more confused; wondering what we were fighting for. 

  

It had been 21 days since this battle began and we had been halted in Florida. What was left of our things had arrived in the Bahamas almost a week ago and the promised call from the Bahamian Port was not coming. When it finally did, they told us we had 7 more days to stall before they needed to “clear” the shipment. Clearing it means a Customs Official has to ransack all of our belongings and assess the duty charge before it can even be moved into storage. Having someone thumb through our personal belongings without us there is a thought that I just couldn’t bear. 

It would soon become the least of my worries. 

The third week was the heaviest. I thought at first that my constant empty feeling was the newness of Daytona slowing fading, like our hopes of ever leaving. Or that my 35^th birthday was lying in wait, circling me like a hungry shark. The Bahamian real estate agent kept calling and checking on us as our home was sitting empty in paradise. Such a crime! With each call we imagined ourselves on our patio while Bob played in the yard or ocean. I could actually feel the weight of the passing days pulling me more and more underwater.

And then our beach was stormed..

During this tumultuous time in Florida, I never allowed myself to think it was anything but a delay. The thought that we had been led here for nothing would pierce my gut like a bullet and I knew that I would simply not survive. I refused to give up hope. I didn’t even notice the Google Alert that changed our lives forever. 

An emergency call at 11:45a. My dumb ass thought: “This must be good news!” My hopes were completely trampled by the news that this war was over. Travis’s company had pulled out of the 20-year management agreement with the Bahamian property and new soldiers had moved in. How could this be happening? I felt my knees go weak, blood drained from my face. How could this be happening?!

The calls that followed were frantic. There were three employees already in the Bahamas (introduced in previous posts) that had been working hard on this project for the last 11 months, now at risk of losing their visas and having to vacate in 14 days. They had families and lives and now had concrete fears and worries; left behind in enemy territory. 

There were days leading up to this that I knew with absolute certainty that I would not survive this news. I simply didn’t want to survive, with this news. But in some weird way, God had prepared me for this. I didn’t turn to dust when it happened, though for a brief moment I succumbed to my covers and prayed to not wake up. It was the most intense pain I’ve ever felt, but I knew He’d bring us through it. 

We have no idea where we go from here...

The air remains incredibly heavy from the smoke of destruction. There are still many bodies in the crossfire. It’s too early to assess the damage at this point. It’s in His hands; we’ve laid down our weapons; we surrender.

Read Next: #16- When there's no rhyme or reason, June 20

#14- SS Mosquito

Wait! If new to this blog, there's so many nitty gritty details that you've missed! I promise that you'll want to start this adventure from the beginning by starting with the first post, Feb 27- found on the right side bar.  At your leisure, come follow our adventure, by reading following posts in order by date, (which I hope to keep short and entertaining!) Welcome to the Salt Life...

.......

“Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, A tale of a fateful trip…”

It’s been two weeks since our boat of life has shipwrecked in Florida. Every day we wake up hopeful that today will be our day. But as each day passes without news, it’s getting harder and harder to ward off fears that our rescue ship may never come. How will we survive this?

Six days into being marooned, Trav’s company called and advised that they were “cautiously optimistic” as big moves had been made by both sides to try to come to an agreement. As the peace talks continued, and the great divide lessened, we were expected to just sit tight and enjoy a "paid vacation" in Florida until things had been resolved and the hold on our Visas had been lifted. Easy to say when the bed you’re sleeping in at night is your own…

As the days passed by, the only ship that was sailing was our stuff, well on its way to the Bahamas. It’s now going to arrive before we do and we’re stuck trying to research non climate controlled storage for a big metal crate from the mainland.  I’m honestly wondering if we’ll ever see our stuff again or what the condition will be, after sitting in the Caribbean summer heat. When we excitedly watched them drive our sealed crate away many weeks ago, we never thought this would be the case.

 “If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the minnow would be lost, the minnow would be lost”

It’s very difficult to relax, sleep, and have faith when your life is in someone else’s hands and on someone else’s time-frame. Though that’s exactly what everyone tells us we should be doing. On most days, the stress weighs very heavy and we wonder how we can keep going on like this. On other days, when we’re sitting on the beach, basking in the Florida sun, we are grateful that it wasn’t much worse.  

For the last 15 days there have been five stowaways- Trav, Bob and I, and Trav’s parents. They had so graciously offered to help us with this arduous move, having no idea what they were in for. It started over two weeks ago, on Mother’s Day, when his family helped us clean out our apartment on our final day in New York. The journey began the next day to Fort Lauderdale as his parents  were driving with us to help get us to our separate flights (Bob and Trav had a friend flying them over and I was flying the suitcases on Jet Blue). After we were well on our way, they had planned to drive our car to Palm Beach to have it shipped to the Bahamas.  After a week’s worth of stressful driving and strict timelines, they were going to reap their reward by going to their condo in Daytona, to enjoy a week’s vacation and fun in the sun.  They still made it to Daytona, but with much more "baggage" than they had expected. Every day we wake up and say “ugh, we’re still here” and they wake up saying “ugh, they’re still here”… Joking aside, it’s only the intense ups and downs that keep this from being a fantastic family vacation. I’m truly enjoying our beach days, our evening routine of cocktails and appetizers, and always trying somewhere new and on the water for dinner. Without them, we surely would have drowned by now.

 “The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle with Gilligan, The Skipper too, The millionaire and his wife, the movie star, the professor and Mary Ann..”

The tropical isle we have wrecked upon, called Daytona, is unlike anything we have ever experienced. We’ve seen a sea monster, the largest flying frog in the world, an albino lizard, and beach hawks. There’s crazy crabs roaming the beach and the water is so crystal clear that fish of all sizes can be seen swimming through your toes. 

The people are just as interesting.  We aren’t spending our days making phones out of tin cans and writing SOS in the sand. We’re busy taking 3^rd place at Senior Trivia night, under the name “Jake From Statefarm”, killing it when they try to stump the crowd with questions from “Always Sunny in Philadelphia”. This isn’t the land of Gingers and Maryann’s, this is the land of $3.50 Long Islands, separate checks (everyone asks you the second you sit down), and is ruled by Seinfelds and Costanzas.

Even the bugs come to retire here as there’s every different kind and they do not mess around (#dma). When my 50 mosquito bites quickly became 75, I knew I had to get serious if I was going to survive the war they were raging. I found that not only was I the target of many species of mosquito, I was also being “hunted” by no-seeums, also known as biting midges (my new nickname).  These f**kers, are so small you can’t see them coming, they can even fit through the holes in the screen. Though you can’t see them, somehow they have magnificent teeth that saw into your skin so they can then inject you with an anticoagulant to drink your blood freely. I’m not done. They not only can smell their prey from over 50 meters, but they then send the signal out to all of their friends once they’ve found their buffet. It’s only the females that bite (those bitches) because they actually need blood to fertilize their eggs…AND they are attracted to carbon dioxide. So if you are alive, you are a target. What sick, sadistic…. Are you kidding me? At one point, I was dressed from head to toe in clothing in the middle of a Florida heat wave (complete with shoes and socks), drenched in every bug concoction possible ( I even had a bug wrist band around my ankle that was so big, it was like I was on house arrest), trying to walk the dog while taking very shallow breaths. It was like I was walking through a sleeping lion’s den, which is exactly what it was. Misery. After a trip to Daytona’s flea market,  another “experience”, I am now equipped with everything I could possibly need from holistic oils to straight up poison. I will win my skin back. 

“So this is the tale of the castaways, They’re here for a long, long time, They’ll have to make the best of things, It’s an uphill climb.”

See next post: #15- We Surrender, June 6th

#13- Is This The End??

I saw the movie ‘Heaven is For Real’ with my mom and Grandmother on a quick trip to Napa, a couple of weeks ago. In this entire process, it was the only two hours that I didn’t think about anything moving-related. Completely entertained, I let the story take me for a ride. Everyone will get their own message from this movie, but the one thing that has since resonated with me is that the images of God we’ve come to know are not actually what God looks like. The God witnessed by this little boy, and confirmed by others word-wide, are of a God with intense green eyes. For the last several weeks, above any message that movie conveyed, I can’t seem to get the intense look of God, as he stared at me across the theater, out of my mind.

I saw that same intensity in my husband’s eyes, only two weeks later, and just three nights ago, when our Tribulation began. 

We had been successfully led out of New York on Monday and had begun our descent down to Fort Lauderdale, Florida for Operation ‘Get Bob to his plane on Friday’. We had stops planned in New Jersey, South Carolina, Daytona, and Fort Lauderdale before finally arriving to the promise land (Bahamas) on Friday afternoon, 5/16. We had only been in Daytona for 60-minutes, after driving over 1,000 miles, and had just arrived at a pizza place to take a break from the long drive and catch up with friends and family, when Travis stepped out to take a phone call. I noticed his normal pacing in the parking lot but honestly didn’t think much of it. He came in, said his hellos to friends at the table that we hadn’t seen since the wedding, and slipped into the booth across from me. As the conversation started up again, I glanced across the table and saw panic. Intense panic. Something wasn’t right. I mouthed “what’s wrong?” He mouthed back “it’s really bad”. 

The words and energy that continued in static movement around us just seemed to add to the fog that I was in.  I immediately asked for us to be excused and Trav and I stepped outside. He told me that he had just received a phone call from his new boss in the Bahamas, and was just advised that our Visas were “on-hold due to a contractual dispute” between Trav’s hotel group and the Bahamian Developer, BHD. Due to the dispute, all visas for this project were put on hold immediately until a resolution was reached, if it could be reached.

WAR…

They had no further information, as this new wrinkle had literally just been revealed to everyone involved that very day, but they did know without a doubt that Travis and I were not going to have our Visas cleared in time for our flights on Friday. Our first thought was that we would go anyway, with just our passports, but this was quickly shot down. Because we have one-way tickets and a private plane for Bob, we have been flagged by customs. Any arrival without proper paperwork would “result in our immediate detainment”. How could this be happening? We walked back into the pizza place, completely stunned, and took our place at the table. We didn’t take another bite.

FAMINE…

How could this be happening? The skies grew dark gray and rain the size of golf balls fell as the thunder cracked. One flash of lightening and I watched our entire life’s hopes and dreams go up in smoke. 

NATURAL DISASTERS…

My breakdown would rival any antichrist. I screamed and cried and shortly after, my head started spinning as I cursed everyone and everything. I cursed God for such blasphemous actions against my family. I cursed Travis and anyone in my path for leading me to this moment. And then I ran. I didn’t know where I was going. I had nowhere to go. We had nothing. I was running, in the dark, with no direction. It was the most lost I have ever been in my life.  

Travis came to find me in the dark and the world stopped burning for just a moment. We could only focus on what we needed to do right now. There was no way we could focus on what any of this meant for our big picture. We had to cancel Bob’s flight- heartbreaking. We had to cancel shipping our car the next day and cancel Bob’s Vet appointment for his travel certificate. I had a commercial flight and two hotel rooms to cancel last minute. With each phone call, our Armageddon became more real. 

After all the calls were made, we surrendered. Our NY home was gone, we had sold everything we owned. What we didn’t sell was well on its way to the Bahamas by boat and would arrive on May 30^th, just weeks away and we might not be there to receive it.  The COO of Trav’s hotel group called to personally apologize and gave us all of the information he had, which was little. He gave more information on the contractual dispute that had nothing to do with us, and advised he was hopeful that things would be resolved. However, no one had any idea how long this could take. He told us to sit tight and enjoy a paid vacation while things worked themselves out…

Now, I’ve always been a spiritual person but God created a control freak. I have managed every step of this International move to a tee. I meticulously sold each part of our lives down to our Tupperware and planned every detail down to the cup of dog food needed before more food arrives with our stuff, and now, my only option is to sit tight and wait for our future to be decided? HOLY shit

Day one was a gamut of emotions, followed by a tornado warning. No metaphor here, a real freaking tornado. We couldn’t sit still but the terrible weather limited our options. As soon as the sun cleared, we rushed to an outside eatery on the water, hoping to sail our worries off to sea. I came home with over 35 mosquito bites.

LOCUSTS…

Day two was oddly full of gratitude. Travis, Bob and I were safe and we were together. Bob had handled the drive incredibly well and was quickly acting like Daytona was his final destination. We realized it was simply not a coincidence that the sky fell in the short window that we were passing through Daytona where Trav’s parents have a condo. We not only have a free place to stay, it is an amazing place to stay! And the more we surrendered, it seemed that the more was revealed. All of a sudden, as Trav and I were walking Bob through the condo complex, we saw an SUV with a large, bright sticker in the middle of their huge back window. The sticker said “Salt Life”. We looked at each other without words. That same morning we were at breakfast on the pier on what turned into a beautiful sunny day when a gentleman walked in with a blue shirt and the stark white writing smacked us in the face “Salt Life”.  This was too weird, what were we supposed to be getting from these messages? Later that day, another SUV set in our path, complete with Golden Retriever in the backseat and another “Salt Life” bumper sticker screaming to us. 

SIGNS FROM HEAVEN…

So as we sit in this moment, not knowing where we’re going to live or work or when we’ll see anything other than our few suitcases again, I’m smiling. We’re at the beach right now, being kissed by the sun and spoken to by the waves. My Salt Life has always included cool breezes and sandy feet. This whole time the Bahamas has been our promised land, but could this be it?  Have we simply already found our Garden of Eden? As we wait for our ship to sail, it seems only time will tell…

Read Next:  #14- SS Mosquito, May 29

#11 Queen of Moving

Wait! If new to this blog, there's so many nitty gritty details that you've missed! I promise that you'll want to start this adventure from the beginning by starting with the first post, Feb 27- found on the right side bar.  At your leisure, come follow our adventure, by reading following posts in order by date, (which I hope to keep short and entertaining!) Welcome to the Salt Life...

...

It seemed like the day after we signed our American lives away, we woke up in a King of Beers Super Bowl commercial.

All of a sudden, the snow that was still falling well into April was graceful and beautiful instead of insanely annoying.

Bob, no joke, gave up his slow roll instantaneously and began to prance on all of our walks like a Clydesdale. (mixed with Corgi) It was a gait I had never seen before.

And every Robert Frost-esque road we followed in the moving process seemed to be leading seamlessly to happily ever after. Everything that had to do with the move now seemed way too easy. Even for me. It was like the wide-mouth can of life had popped its top and all of the blessings were flowing free.

I have to say that I am an expert mover. Since I have moved more times then years I have been alive, I'm privy to pretty much all of the do's and don'ts involved in any move. Finally, in my mid-30's this information would prove to be useful.

To start the process of moving our stuff, we learned that you have three options getting your personal belongings over to the Bahamas. Our cheapest option is to ship items by boat which takes 6-8 weeks. Since we will need things in that 6-8 weeks time to still live in New York and then Bahamas, there is an air option to take everything that can't come in a suitcase, a week before we board our flights. This option takes a week to 10 days, and is expensive, so our main goal is to avoid this need completely. That means that whatever doesn't go on a boat to disappear for two months, has to be taken in one of the few suitcases allowed by commercial airlines. Easier said then done. In addition to calculating the weight, and size when trying to realize how important your things are to you, you have to also calculate the duty you will have to pay on them to bring them to the Bahamas. Yes, those champagne glasses that my Grandmother gave us as a gift for our wedding that have been used 200 times will cost us a duty tax, even though they are used AND a gift. We will literally have a customs official unpacking our crate in Bahamian customs assessing a duty tax (35% plus 7% stamp fee) on every single item we already own. When they are done, we pay them the duty to retrieve our things. So naturally, we agreed to bring as little as possible. In order to obtain a quote from a referred relocation company, we had to go through every item we own and assess whether we were going to bring it, sell it, or trash it. I had to compile a comprehensive list of all items that we are going to bring and what size box they would be packed in. We had to pack the entire place in our head and cross our fingers that we were correct to get an accurate quote.  Of course everything gets officially weighed to get a final cost when ready to ship.

We had braced ourselves for our landlord's response when after several years, we needed to break our lease in a short amount of time, and were begging his pity for having to move on such short notice. We were a bit shocked when his response was simply to ask just how soon we could be out. Ouch. Within hours of giving our notice his real estate agent called me to set up a time to show it to an interested client the very next day. And since I've seen Million Dollar Listing a time or two, I know how to show an apartment. The first client that saw the place wanted to rent it and we were all of a sudden negotiating a move date. Boom.

The next step was to try to sell our furniture since we couldn't afford to bring it with us. The homes in the Bahamas come furnished so it wasn't going to be an issue to part with everything we had and it didn't make sense to pay for a storage unit to house it all while we were gone. I took pictures of everything that we needed to sell and figured I'd start with a simple colored flyer that I would post on local streets and drop off at local real estate agents in Long Beach.

It was a Thursday by the time the rain had stopped enough for me to leave the fliers in neighboring mailboxes, not wanting my masterpieces to be ruined. I only had enough time that evening to stop by one realtor on my way to the grocery store and I figured it would be the one who rented our place, in case the incoming Doctor liked the sound of a furnished apartment. Rhonda wasn't available and the one woman who picked up her head gave me an icy reception until I mentioned the word "sale". All of a sudden, one-by-one like whack-a-mole, the women in the office started poking their heads out of their cubicles and all of them asked me for a flyer. I was soon out of every flyer I had left and the volume reached ear piercing levels when one of them asked why we were moving and selling everything. I was suddenly stuck in a hen house being bombed with questions. By the time I left, I had been sent an invitation by one of the realtors to join a facebook group for a neighboring town in Oceanside. I accepted the invitation when I got home, ready to post my flyer, and was surprised that my acceptance needed to be approved. Huh? How could I not foresee the intensity that was about to be bestowed upon me? I was "approved" that evening and simply posted a jpg of the flyer I had made, asking people to stop by that Saturday afternoon, giving all needed times and information. By the time Travis got home, I had over 150 messages in my inbox and was freaking out about how that number was growing by the second. I wouldn't go near the computer as I didn't dare open Facebook, as if all electronics were now possessed. Travis took a position with the laptop on the floor and studiously tried to answer as many as he could but he was obviously no match for these Long Island housewives. Within minutes people were fighting in the comment section over their perceived new ownership of particular items that were pictured in the flyer and we were being called out for bad business because we were unintentionally responding to people's inquiries out of order. That night I just kept dreaming of being chased by hundreds of short ladies with expensive handbags. It was awful.

When Saturday came, we didn't know what to expect. We half expected to be playing cards in beach chairs because everything had been sold out from under us to ravenous women. We also had company arriving any moment who were staying with us for the weekend, and we were a bit afraid that we might have to sell the guest bed they intended to sleep on that evening. It was a day of anything goes and my nerves required a beer. We posted our last sign and got ready for the sale that was supposed to start at 12:00p. At 12:01pm there was a minivan casing our drive and by 12:06p, we had made our first sale. By 12:07p, three of our neighbors asked us where we had advertised. We began to feel the power of social media. Thanks to this FB group, throughout the weekend, we had a steady stream of people coming and going. We didn't sell everything but we made a decent dent and have continued to sell items ala carte on that site.

The packing has been a breeze and we seem to have more boxes then stuff and I find myself wondering if I can sell unused boxes on that FB site as well. All of the furniture that is for sale had to be cleaned out and "take it away" ready, so every drawer and closet has already been gone through and packed up, which is always half the battle.

The table and bar stools are gone, but we're thankful to still have a couch and snack trays. We now start every evening by eating dinner and watching a taped episode of Caribbean Life where couples from snowy areas of the US finally break free, and move to the Caribbean. Still miles to go before we sleep, but soon enough, that'll be us in that Corona Commercial.

Next post: #12- In The Year Of Our Lord... Apr 17