No cats in America

If you’ve ever seen the old movie An American Tail, you may remember that when the mice are getting ready to move to America, they are told that there are “no cats in America”.  They are heading off to a perfect land of milk and honey.  Karl and I have used that phrase over the years to help us keep our feet on the ground when we are looking forward to something coming up or making serious decisions.  It’s so easy to see only the positive and good and not look at the downsides of something.

So, I make sure that I address both sides of the decision or situation. This has resulted in a schizoid part of my personality. When I am facing a decision or something new, I have two me-s.  The first ‘me’ sees the goal as the perfect answer.  I look at the positives and tend to skim over any negatives at the speed of light.  The second me always stops the first me and asks this question:  What is the worst that could happen?  I then descend into as many negative scenarios as possible, asking myself with each one if I could handle it or if it is worth it.   My two me-s have worked together quite well over the years, balancing prudence with the fun of risk taking.  Thank God for His leading and protection, we’ve done pretty well so far.

Moving to the Caribbean has given both my me-s (and Karl, too!) a serious workout.  We have played the “What is the worst that can happen?” game over and over.  For example:  We know that hurricanes have leveled this island periodically in the past. (We have Go Bags ready to sustain us for a week in the event the house disappears in a blow.)  We know what the crime rate is here. (We don’t frequent the bars late at night, and stay out of sections of the island that are hot spots.  We also are realistic in knowing that bad things happen everywhere.)  So far, we have found workable solutions to our worst case scenarios, and feel quite comfortable that the benefits outweigh the risks.

At the same time, my happy me looks at the view of the sea, or relishes the amazing variety of fish God has created just under the surface of the clear aqua, or drinks in the surprise of the deer that frequently walk through our yard, or laughs at the antics of the geckos on the patio (and yes, occasionally on the living room wall!) and then my realistic me broods and pouts.

I may have just stumbled, literally, on a Caribbean deal breaker, though.  I can tell you for sure that there are ‘cats’ on St. Croix, and they are big and menacing.  They lay in wait to attack you when you don’t expect it.  And they are mean.  I am talking about stinging nettles!  Here’s the scene:  I was out doing a bit of gardening.  Wait – gardening isn’t the word.  I was fighting the jungle (they call it ‘the bush’ here, but it looks like a jungle to me).  I was using two sizes of clippers and an electric hedge trimmer to cut back the tan-tans and vines that want to encroach on my outdoor living space.  All was well.  I was dirty and sweaty, but making progress until suddenly my arms and one leg were consumed by this awful stinging-burning-itching-screaming badness.  Since Karl had already encountered stinging nettles  (when he was here without me in April), he recognized the pitch and timbre of my anguished “OW, OW, OW!!!”, and came running.  His solution of rubbing my painful appendages with a paper towel soaked Listerine helped only moderately, but hey, he was trying.  (I could do another full blog of how my husband thinks that Listerine is the universal cure for everything from staff infections to sunburn).   I ended up rubbing myself with an ice cube.  After about a half an hour of whining, I was fine, but the scars of my nettle trauma will stay with me for quite a while.

I have been online this morning researching remedies for stinging nettles.  I will arm myself with vinegar and Desitin before I resume my quest for conquering the bush.  I will look for a plantain plant I can grow in a handy location and I will never, ever, ever try fighting the bush again in a sleeveless top and shorts.  Ok, I guess that this experience isn’t a deal breaker, but it was close!