The Alchemy of Warm Milk

In the best description I have ever read of getting dressed on a crisp morning*, my friend Christina inspired me to think about what I miss most and I'm very embarrassed to admit the first thing that came to mind.

Pumpkin Spice Lattés from Starbucks

If my narrative mimicked hers it would go something like this:

I take the cool walk from my car to the Starbucks storefront noticing a man, sitting out front with a pet bird on his shoulder, who wants to be noticed. I enter and take my place in line.

Well... um... It just doesn't have the same universal feel or classic undertones that punctuate Christina's writing.

I feel disconnected from my life and from myself on this odd island that is little more than a holding pen for people and a breeding ground for banana rats and iguanas. Here normal life literally stops for the many prisoners living in cells (we actually have two prisons here: the controversial and from-the-future high-tech facility for foreigners and a much smaller and more inviting military brig that is located a block away from the hospital) and figuratively stops for many of the thousands of personnel who live and work here for a short time.

After I landed in Guantanamo Bay drug dogs sniffed my bags, I was issued two identification cards with my photo, name, rank, parent command and a color code that indicates my security clearance, and then I waited at a picnic table on a slab of concrete for the rest of my co-workers. Sitting at the wood table, my second of the day (earlier we had a longish layover at a base in Atlanta and I sat at a picnic table on a slab of concrete there, too), as I watched small groups form, was the place where I realized that my social structure would have to be reinvented and that I would need to find new tools, as well as sharpen the old ones, to navigate my way through the next six months.

The day before my flight I was at home and buffered from the Navy by routine and comfort. Now I was in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba trying to figure out how I was going to build a bridge and at the same time play well with even the strongest personalities littering the concrete.

As of today one quarter of my time here has passed and I still intermittently struggle to figure out my place among these men. And now, because of Christina's post, I know that the pacifier I crave most is the alchemy of pumpkin spice and espresso flavored milk. It makes me feel at home: comfortable and buffered. I'm glad she asked about what I miss, because even thinking about the latté relaxes my brain.

In February I'll fly home, Pumpkin Spice season at Starbucks will be over, and I'll savor every drop of my second favorite seasonal drink, the Cinnamon Dolce Latté.

*I can't create a link on this e-mailed post but there is a link to Christina's blog, Driving a Stick Shift While Drinking Coffee, on the right side bar.