At long last the slow-moving kayak sailing across the wide Pacific with all of our household goods on it finally arrived on island. Happy day. Even happier the day we got to lay our eyes on the crates themselves when we had to meet the customs officials at the DeWitt Moving and Storage company's warehouse so that we could account for the firearms we brought along with us. "So, where are you from?" the customs man asked me with curiosity as my husband began withdrawing weapons from the gun safe. "Texas," I replied with a smile. "That explains it," he said. I smiled bigger. We had a pleasant conversation on a point or two about conceal/carry laws in Texas, Arizona, and Guam. He thought it was in Texas where your average citizen could carry a weapon unconcealed on his hip. No. That's in Arizona. In Texas it must be concealed while carrying the proper documentation on you. I presume one must carry the proper documentation with one in Arizona as well, unless one doesn't care about the law to begin with. It is the same in Guam.
After unwrapping each firearm it was out of the steamy warehouse with us, through the drizzling rain, and into the office where my husband and the customs man, along with his customs partner, went through all the paper work to get our little arsenal cleared for entry into the island. My husband took pride in showing off each and every piece we own. Customs' eyes grew large with admiration as they got to handle a couple of the firearms: a replica 1861 black powder Springfield, and the most recent acquisition, an SKS semi-automatic rifle. Once cleared with the instructions to get my husband's babies registered within thirty days, we took them home, knowing we had to wait one more day before the rest of our stuff showed up on our doorstep.
The next day came with our things, along with the edges of a typhoon that was about 600 miles to our north and thankfully moving away from us. While the off-loading began in sunshine, we were hit with bands of heavy rain forcing the men from DeWitt Moving to stop and get under the tarp they had strung up from their truck to a couple of our coconut trees. During lunch, one of the Chamorro fellows shucked and opened two of our coconuts, unplugged them, inserted straws and we had fresh coconut milk straight from our front yard. Wow. There was a natural fizziness to them as well. The Chamorro fellow told us about the various stages of the coconut and what it can be used for. Did you know that a young coconut, when it is removed from the interior shell is soft and pliable and feels rather rubbery? It's also still very edible, too. Only when the coconut is fully matured in the shell does it become the coconut we are accustomed to seeing in the stores. At this stage it is hard and can be easily grated.
At long last we were left alone. The men from DeWitt Moving Company had cleaned up and driven away. There it all stood, like cardboard redwoods blocking the furniture, imposing, attempting to be intimidating: boxes, boxes, and more boxes. I, however, refuse to be intimidated. After all, now I am in my organizational element! Just one question remains: had I downsized enough to fit everything into our tropical home? Without the luxury of even a carport (I guess sacrifices to the Square Footage Gods had to be made somewhere when the US Air Force designed the floor plans for the larger housing units) my husband quickly came to the conclusion that we need a portable outdoor storage unit (with tie downs to withstand the occasional tropical storm or typhoon) for those things that would normally reside in a garage. We're just happy to be able to mow the yard with our own lawnmower!
Time to get back to work. Unpacking boxes can be a rambling experience. Now where did I put that box of envelopes I unpacked just last night?
No comments:
Post a Comment