Category: Uncategorized

My mantra yesterday "Dark green, light green, turqoise, bright turqoise, dark blue." The moon, bats, the smell of cedar, the black and white speckled granite rocks and clear, cold water. Oh Tahoe, how I adore you! I have cabin fever–meaning why the haven't we bought a cabin already? How do people do it? It's only money, right? How do you save like, $60,000 for a down payment? Like losing weight, it seems impossible. And yet, I want a cabin! I guess I don't want it bad enough or I would have done it already? Ugh! Light green, dark green, turqoise, bright turqoise, dark blue.

Visiting the ancestral homeland.

Headed out in the gorgeous sunshine to run errands, stopped by the Peasant Musuem flea market–I bet you can't wait to get an angel icon from me! In a stack of paintings I found this drawing by Tia Peltz. She did a lot of ink on paper and I took the frame apart to make sure it wasn't just a xerox copy. This website has a few similar for sale, framed the same. Maybe someone else draws and signs Tia Peltz's name? She died in '99 and recently Cotrocen Palace hosted an solo exhibition. I only know about her because of the show we did at the Embassy about women Jewish artists. Romanians love her because she illustrated many of the childrens books they grew up with.

This is her line quality and her subject matter–maybe the guy at the flea market will really start cranking them out now that he found an easy mark. He wanted 150 RON, pointing out that the frame was very clean and nice, and that there is a numbered sticker on the back, and you know how important that is. (?) I said 50, and we agreed on 100. Tia Peltz or not, I like it, it reminds me a little of Camille, and it didn't cost a lot. There was an old angel painting with a really pretty blue background that cost more than the Tia Peltz. But you know how Peter feels about religious art.

Peter doesn't like my penchant for religious art, but we both like this new little Romanian guardian angel icon because her skirt reminds us of piano keys. I made the huge commitment of hanging it, right by the piano, I love it. We are dog-sitting hilarious dauchshund Zoe, running errands, doing wildflower research and starting a new painting. Mmmmm, Saturday.

When we put together our bid list last time, we put Bucharest fairly high. I made an appointment with the guy from the Office of Overseas Schools and he assured me that all the posts we were looking at had fine schools: Hong Kong is a no-brainer, but Sofia, Brussels, Colombo and Bucharest were all fine as well.

At the time of doing our research, Bucharest had a 15% hardship differential and we thought it would be perfect, at the end of our tour, we would extend for a year. Stefan would finish 8th grade and be ready to start high school when we moved and Camille would finish high school.

Then, from the summer of 2010, when we were researching posts, to 2011, when we got here, the differential went down to 5%. We were concerned about getting an extension to stay for Camille's last year, but we were reassured that others had gotten a "compassionate" extension with a rising 12th grader and we had two years before we could really worry about it. And maybe the post diff would go back up.

The post differential was re-evaluated while we were here, and it did go up–to 10%. Not the magic 15% we needed for an easy extension. But I wasn't too worried. Two other families, who arrived the year before we did, when the differential was still 15%, asked for extensions and got them–one specifically so their daughter could stay for 12th grade.

So we find ourselves in our second year and the time has come to ask for an extension. When we started the process, we were referred to some special services, because they said that if we had psycho-medical reasons, the argument to stay would be stronger.

We spent $10K (which will be reimbursed, but it hasn't happened yet) on a trip to London and a week's worth of evaluations for Camille. She's had such a hard time in math, which has also affected science. The testing helped us figure out that it's not because she's not smart, (quite the opposite) but rather that she's had gaps. Typical of a foreign service kid, she's moved so much–after 3rd grade, 5th grade and 8th grade–and now in 10th grade, the missing pieces make the big picture in math difficult.

We have gotten tutors for her off and on, and they've boosted her though some rough patches, but none have helped her improve her overall, long term skills in math.

The findings in London recommended that the best thing for Camille would be to stay in one spot for the last two years of school. Besides, the two-year IB program is seamless and starting the program in 11th grade in one school doesn't mean you can easily finish in 12th grade in another. After the testing was over, we reported our findings to the center that had recommended the testing.

They informed us that pretty much while we were getting the testing, the policy had changed and they no longer make recommendations for extensions.

The new system requires that Peter write directly to the Director General of the State Department and ask to stay one more year. Peter wrote and she said no, it would set a bad precedent. (Supporting families is terrible, I guess.) The DG asked why we hadn't curtailed immediately when we found out the differential had gone down. This had never occurred to us. So I guess one of the reasons I'm writing this is to warn people who are showing up at 5% differential posts, thinking they will get an extension with a rising 11th grader their last year. Maybe you will, but even with Ambassador, DCM, Management and Med support, we did not.

We considered having Peter do an AIP/war zone post– I could stay with the kids here that year, but they've all been spoken for in his position.

So now, with one week of school to go, we are trying to figure out what do with Camille who doesn't want to start the IB program at AISB and finish at our future mystery post.

We went and looked at two boarding schools. One wouldn't really work for Camille and the other will cost a zillion dollars–it's far more than the away-from-post allowance. Do I need to remind you that Peter works for the federal government? Just going and LOOKING at boarding schools costs a fortune.

So. Our choices:

a. Camille stays at a school she doesn't like that has not supported her and she transfers after 11th grade and does the last half of a two-year program that may not exist who-knows-where.

b. She goes to a wonderful, but wildly expensive boarding school that won't let her in the IB program because her math placement test was so dismal. And we stress about money for the next two years. (Interesting that AISB, the school here, will let her into the IB program regardless of her poor math performance.)

c. We keep searching for another just as good, but less expensive school, with most deadlines long past.

Heavy, heavy sigh. I feel like I've failed my kid.

I don't know if it's because it's where I "lived" overseas for the first time, or because I got to teach fabulous students with a bunch of my friends there for a summer– but for me, the town of Leysin, Switzerland exudes a powerful, benign energy. The light, the air and the water seem scrubbed clean by the snow-covered mountains and high altitude. No wonder people thought they could be cured of incurable diseases here, the place itself is intoxicating. In 1994, on my last day there, I went running on one of the many paths that wind around the town and cried real tears about leaving.

Camille has decided that she would like to go to boarding school. We are in the process of doing searches and making visits. We visited one school near London that wasn't quite perfect. I've never forgotten the Leysin American School, sister school to the one where I taught, and its great reputation. Every source I could currently contact praised the school.

So, this last week, I found myself being hauled up the mountain by the same cog-wheel train that was quaint and old-fashioned nearly 20 years ago.

As we rolled our suitcases out of the Leysin Feyday train station, looking for where we were staying, a stunning turn-of-the century building sparkled over the town. "Is that the school?" asked Camille. I stopped and looked up at it, massively wide and cupola-d and lit up like something from the Great Gatsby. "No, that must be a resort." I said.

With the help of a series of strangers, we found our funny little guest house with a big sign at the front door telling us in all caps to take off our shoes.

A Russian family built the house around the turn of the century hoping Leysin's air and light would "cure" the daughter's TB. When not visiting the school, Camille and I lounged around in the sunroom, in the clouds, like Russian invalid princesses ourselves.

I loved it that the house had a kitchen we could use–we didn't eat out at all except for one afternoon when we wandered down to the Croissanterie, one of the other things, like the train and the ancient Nicca camera shop, that haven't changed.

Up the mountain, that incredible "resort" turned out to be the Leysin American School's new IB campus. Camille found the school full of potential for a great social and academic life. The school's vibe suited Camille, especially the $1 million art studio.  We will apply and see what happens.

This photo from their own website: the view from the LAS art studio balcony.

The grocery store is still devoted to yogurt and chocolate. The mountains are still there too. Why am I surprised?

Applying for boarding schools has taken us down an interesting path. I didn't expect it to be one I loved running on almost 20 years ago.

Because of some testing Camille and I find ourselves in London. One afternoon we visited the National Gallery. Oh my god the drapery. And the exteme pleasure of seeing not one but two Vermeers.

I use to say the V&A was my favorite museum, but now I've changed my mind. The V&A still holds the prize as Mother of All Museums, but I swoon more at the National Gallery.

The guard at the door of the art building always wants to know why I'm coming in the building and yesterday when I said, "Sunt student aici." (I'm a student here) she said, "Domnavostra?" (You?! Only formal, like Vous?!) "Da, eo." "Yes, me." I said happily, and maybe grammatically incorrectly, and then I ascended the three flights of stairs with a key on a chain around my neck for the painting studio.

Last night Stefan and I watched an TV episode of White Collar–actually we watched four episodes, because we are sort of obsessed like that–one particular episode involved a State Department family. The son had committed a crime and was being held in prison in Burma. In a video clip from prison, he was spelling a message using secret hand signals.

One of the characters said, "In case of danger, diplomats' kids are trained to use hand signals."

I looked at Stefan and we laughed. "In case of danger, have you been trained to use hand signals?" I asked him. He pounded his heart twice and flashed a peace sign–the peace out gesture.

"Okay, what's that one gonna mean?" I asked.

"I'm in trouble! Come and freakin' get me!" said Stef.


Diplomat's kid flashing the well known "My-mom-brought-me-all-the-way-to-Romania-and-then-she-took-my-picture-by-a-rock" secret signal.

Peter's been in the garage with ten pounds of green coffee beans for the last 24 hours. We packaged up the freshly roasted coffee and delivered it to the neighbors tonight. Miss our friends and family back home, but oh how I love not traveling during the holidays. I'm trying to get Stefan to play his Christmas songs on piano for me, but he won't. Santa just took a u-turn, says Serge. 

I'm trying to knit a bonnet by tomorrow. Can it be done? By me?