GO

ALL-DEE

2009-02-26T17:35:00.002-05:00

If you are not shopping at Aldi, you're stupid. SERIOUSLY.

I just got back from a trip and I got the following for $48.29:
2 two-quart box jugs of juice
2 boxes of poptarts
3 boxes of sweet and salty granola bars
bananas
a large jar of mayonnaise
a 10-pack of flour tortillas
a pound of ground turkey
two boxes of cereal (1.89 ea)
6 bean & beef burritos
a roll of uncooked sausage
3 bags of kettle style potato chips
2 boxes of fruit snacks
a bag of yogurt covered raisins
4 ears of sweet corn
a box of look-alike Cheez-Its
a jar of creamy peanut butter
a bag of cinnamon raisin bagels
a bag of gala apples
2 chicken pot pies.

If I went to another grocery store, even Food Lion, this bill would be 2x this amount at least. Now consider yourself enlightened: go to Aldi.

my baby danced

2009-02-10T12:05:00.006-05:00

with me.

We took a long walk yesterday, and ended up on the top level of a parking deck that had no roof. We could look out and see a lot of the little city we live in. I've been down lately about some things, and my (rather fresh) husband decided it would be a good idea to sing me a song and dance with me on the top of that roof as dusk was setting in. It was so sweet. Even now, my eyes water thinking about it. I began to cry, a task I hate doing in front of others, including him. But as he danced with me, I felt my God remind me of how much this earthly husband loves me. And the following thought, hit me even harder as the tears continued: How much more does my heavenly husband love me. It is something I've known my whole life, but in that surreal moment, it became a concept that felt so incredibly real. As my other half was squeezing me and moving me to the rhythm of the song in his head, like a scene from a movie, my Lord and Savior was wrapping his arms around us both. An experiential reminder of who He is, and how much He loves us.

I thank you both for loving me so. I don't deserve any of it.

un mes

2009-01-22T13:21:00.002-05:00

We've been married ONE MONTH!

fear

2009-01-07T22:46:00.003-05:00

Do one thing every day that scares you.

This advice from Elanor Roosevelt has always intrigued me. I'm confident if one actually took this advice, there'd constantly be an adventure to write about. Well today, I did two things that scared me - and I'm glad I did.

1. I never learned to drive a stick shift. It's amazing how much my mentality so naturally goes into the "I'm too old to learn something new" mode. It sounds like something a 75-year-old should say, not a 24-year-old. It's a very scary thing for me, and CJ has taken a chance of teaching this old wineskin a new way to hold wine. Today possibly marks the 6-month mark since my last driving lesson. I know where all the gears are, but constantly have to be reminded what I must do with each foot during the shifting process. Today we were at the top of a hill from a small park's parking lot, and I was on the verge of taking the plunge: driving on a real street with other cars. It freaked me out. CJ asked: "Do you feel comfortable shifting from first to second." That's a negative, I replied. I felt uncomfortable with the fact that at the top of this hill, I have to figure out the clutch before I can hit the gas which means I'll end up reversing to the bottom of the hill before moving any amount in the right direction. With traffic constantly coming ... I knew it wasn't a good idea. So we put the Isuzu Rodeo in park and switched seats. I was happy with day's accomplishments previous to the hill situation: a dozen turnabouts in the park's parking lot and some serious attempts to switch between clutch and gas slowly.

2. I applied for a job online, and CJ convinced me to walk into the job site and tell the employer a few things my resume didn't permit me to say. When he told me to do this, I was frustrated. I had applied to the position through a job bank site, and when I talked to the job bank, they said I wasn't qualified enough. So I was angry, and the last thing I wanted to hear was a challenge. But he gave me one nonetheless. And that scary challenge tugged at my core until these feet walked through those doors. I was so nervous, worried I'd be annoying the employer, worried they'd think I was a persistent bother. CJ reminded me of what I told him to do when he was job searching.

This marriage thing is fascinating. How often does God offer us a challenge, and all we want to do is throw a temper tantrum? Those temper tantrums are enticing: they are easy, require no real energy and in the end ... make us numb to the world. Roosevelt was onto something. She understood that certain fears will make us more alive, if we but face them.

Tom, Tierra, Seth and Greg

2008-12-17T12:55:00.002-05:00

The end of a season, the harvest remains

2008-12-17T12:48:00.006-05:00

Many stories walk through the processing center every day during the Operation Christmas Child season. Here are a few of them.

James Outland has lived in the United States for six years. He's orginally from Liberia. Outland said working at OCC is awesome. "And I say that becuase it's a godly atmosphere. It's not what you find in a normal atmosphere. I meet new people every day. Well some of them are not that exciting, but the vast majority of the time you find someone who is touched by what you do and whose heart is warm and inspires you to do more. Most importantly, I am a person of purpose. I like to be defined by my purpose and I like it here because I know that whatever I do here is contributing to the wellbeing of somebody somewhere else in the world. Some child’s life is going to be touched, that family is gonig to be touched. God is going to get the glory so, that keeps me going."

Greg Ainslie, 32, sits in the largest and loudest break room in all of Charlotte eating an Entenmann's strawberry cheese danish. "I figured it out, these things are rehydrated Poptarts." Ainslie can be caught eating one at least twice a day. "I love this place," he leaned into the recorder and emphasized his words. "I luuuve this place. I was next door signing up for unemployment and I dropped in here to volunteer and got a job. And I just see it as God saying "Nut uh, I'm going to take care of you, everything is OK, you don't need to worry."

Seth Brewer walked up to Ainslie's table, sat down and opened his Chic-Fila sandwhich. "A good son would clean his father's gutters," he said jokingly. "Dude, whatever," Ainslie jokes back, explaining his father recently broke his arm cleaning the gutters. Brewer, a first-time associate staff, said he feels guilty at times working here. "I feel I'm getting paid to go to church. It's really a win win win win situation. It makes you that much more aware of your blessings and how we are blessed to be a blessing ... not only might this be the only gift they receive, but the only thing new they receive. When I get to do a presort and pray over the boxes, it's just emotional. The whole process is hard to put into words." Brewer left a bit early one night, and said he wrestled with doing so. "The selfishness of going to a Christmas party or ... saving lives," he said, hand-motioning a balancing scale. Working at the warehouse has been a mountaintop experience, he said.

Felton Kamanda, just moved to Charlotte from Sierra Leone three months ago. He and his father are working at the OCC warehouse. The 20-year-old serves as a back-up. Some days he gets work. Because he has no personal transportation, the days he doesn't work, he'll sit in the break room and talk to people waiting for his father's 7-hour shift to end. The job is his first in the states."This place is a nice place, it's a godly place, a Christian place, it's lovely," Kamanda said. "Glory be to God because it's a blessing to me." Kamanda pretended for a moment to be a child in his home country receiving a shoe box. "I would (be) very happy and excited for that box," he said. "I want to know what is in that box for me. I would be very anxious to open it. I would be so glad and thankful to God."

Tierra Mendez has been an associate staff for five years. The processing center isn't new to her. She started as a volunteer when she was "real young."It's just a blessing to come back and serve God at the same time," she said in the midst of the pink and yellow lines screaming at the top of their lungs. "Just the cause … that kids get to know our God, you know what I mean, in countries where their beliefs are totally different. But just a little gift that can open a window so God can really change their lives, that's why I"m here. I don't have to be in other countries, I can be right here and serve.

Dianna Hardesty, from Austin, Texas, said working at the processing center means “to be a servant of the Lord and to do his will, to touch little children. My absolute passion in life is children, and to know that their lives are going to be transformed through their little gift of love.” Hardesty travels 2,400 miles and has been cleaning the dining room area, where one might find her digging for plastic bottles or soda cans to place in the appropriate recycling containers. Ask her position, and she’ll say she’s a servant of the Most High God. In 2006, she was a cartonizer, but this year her application was misplaced, but she told the staff to give her any position open. “What an honor to serve all the saints out here, this is the best position out here, this is the best job on the planet.”

Ana Smith, a former missionary to Spain, had worked previously on this project through a temp agency in the mailroom. This year she’s happy to be out on the floor with the volunteers. “It's been a huge blessing. I think God is calling me back and this is giving me a little taste of it, almost romancing me back into full-time ministry. I'm also very drawn to anything that has to do with children.” Smith had an interaction with a volunteer that sticks in her mind. “Last week I had a volunteer that kept looking at me. It was an older man maybe about 50s or 60s, and I said, ‘What? what is it.’ And he said, ‘Is that your real name Ana Banana? And I said, ‘Well everybody calls me that and I just put it on my name tag because I needed something today.’ He said, ‘You just keep smiling, I just can't get over it, no matter what anybody says to you or does you just keep smiling.’ And that really, that was a highlight. I needed that. The Lord always seems to have a word for us at some point or another.”

Tom Yokeley has been volunteering at OCC for years. In the middle of making cartons, he told the story of his 13-year-old Natalie, who died at the end of November from cancer. Yokeley talked about how he quit his job to be with her night and day in the hospital. He talked of his 16-year-old son, who has a reputation in his public high school as the Bible boy, and who loved his sister dearly. Toward the end of Natalie's life, she was in wheelchair. "I wish I could reel her in here. She would love this. Every time I write Girl 10-14, I think of her ─I think about what a good life she had for those years and I think about these kids and just how excited they'll be to get a shoebox, it makes their year." Tom's wife works at the Billy Graham Evangelical Association, and he said that's been a good support for them. He took out two laminated pictures, showing off Natalie’s cute face, brown hair and braces. But still, the pain still lingers, and Tom eagerly awaits the next life. "I don't know what people do without God in their lives, especially in situations like this. I'll get to heaven, a place we all yearn for, and ask her why she left me so soon. And she'll say, 'Dad it's so simple,' just like she always used to."

For this writer, being a part of OCC weeks and days before I make some serious promises to my about-to-be husband, has been a way of strengthening the cement right before a foundation will be built. In many ways I have felt closer to God, a mountain-like experience like Brewer said. But for me, I've been learning Colossians 3:23 all over again: recognizing that the work of Lord can involve mundane tasks. It's just as important for the toilets to be cleaned and the cartons to be taped as it is for the prayers to be said and conversations to be had with the volunteers. All of these things are part of the harvest work ─ each necessary for God being glorified. Jesus once told his disciples he wasn't hungry and that his food was to do the will of God. I have been reminded that whatever is next (especially for those of us in need of employment), it has the potential to be a morsel of God's will - regardless the task. Tom's story had my heart aching and my eyes watering. Even in the midst of such strife, he's eating the right food and the energy he gets from that allows him to maintain his post as a reaper. The faith I've seen in so many, the devotions I've heard, the energy and excitement, the encouragement on rough days ... this is all for the Glory of the One who came to seek and save the lost. May we continue to do likewise. Happy Birthday Jesus.

OCC looks like this

2008-12-16T13:07:00.002-05:00

the vows

2008-12-16T11:05:00.002-05:00

I betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love, in mercy and faithfulness. I will encourage you to appreciate deeper depths, higher heights, and wider widths of Christ's love. I give you my honesty and kindness, and I vow to seek the kingdom of God first above all else. I will love you in and through all things. Our love will not be defined by the world, but by Truth, and in that truth, together we will abide. Together we will plant, water, wait, and harvest ... and together we will bear fruit. I set you, this day, as a seal upon my heart to have and to hold, in want and in plenty, in hunger and in satisfaction, in sickness and in health, to love as an example of Christ and the church, until death brings us face to face with our King.

Reactions #4 and #5

2008-10-14T15:37:00.001-04:00

Very good points.

We spoke of this a bit already but, it reminds me when I was smoking pot. It felt cool because it was illegal. It was a risk and there were consequences. It feels too good to rebel especially when you disagree with those who decide what is right and wrong.
-C

this is great, really. you helped me put my finger on why it makes me uncomfortable when politicians advertise their religious affiliations so much. It's not that i don't want to elect christians, I just don't know why I should vote for someone who publicly declares that they are a Christian just because they said they are.
-J

Reaction #2

2008-10-14T15:36:00.005-04:00

I would add that it is "in relationships" that we discern what the truth is to begin with. The fact that we have a Bible at all speaks to the community of Christians who came together and decided what was and was not Scripture. God did not drop a list of rules out of the sky, though sometimes I wish he would. He did not speak to us directly, telling us not to eat of this tree or that tree. No. He gave us the witness of fallible, broken people, some of whom received prophecy from him, some of whom just tried to follow his rules of worship that they might relate to him, some of whom walked and talked with his Son Jesus.

Some of these people got drunk with wine, and it was good (read the Proverbs); Jesus even made some wine for a wedding because he believed in celebrating. None of these people had any concept of an equal relationship between men and women. Girls were property, given by their fathers in exchange for a dowry. Extra-marital sex amounted to financial theft from the girl's family.

Here are but two examples where a community, in loving relationship, must discern God's will for what is the healthiest, most peaceful, most loving way to live. In my humble opinion, this process involves not merely communicating God's truths as though we already understand them, but struggling, in community, to understand and apply them in a very different context from when they were presented in Scripture.

Alcohol, sex, anger, poetry, silence, baseball -- all of God's gifts are wonderful as long as they are used carefully and not abused. Will this drink or this sex or these words I am writing help you and me, or harm us? If they draw people closer together, fostering peace, then they are God's gifts, not to be feared.

To address your bigger point: God forbid a politics based on fear. The politics of Jesus is a politics of grace and love, inviting everyone into God's bounty.

-from J

Reaction #3

2008-10-14T15:36:00.004-04:00

I agree with so much of what I just read. I do, however, disagree with your conclusion. In my opinion, to take God out of the state is to condemn America. God destroyed Sodom and Gomorra for their lack of morality and Christian influence. Abraham pleaded with God that if there were only 10 righteous people left that he would save the city. God also saved the ship that Paul was riding on his way to Rome that became lost in the storm. The reason he saved the ship was because of Paul. I’m not going to say that I look up to McCain spiritually, but I would love to vote for a president that truly has a heart after the Lord. This is not the case because I’m trying to exclude gays or make abortion illegal, but because I think it would be for the best interest of America.

Did you know that there are Chinese people coming to America on mission trips? China is evangelizing us! We are in danger of God’s judgment, and perhaps the reason why his hand is being held back is because of the Christian influence that is still here. Are we willing to pay the price of losing our morals in order to have lower taxes?

And where do we draw the line? I completely agree that we are going to see change through relationship and not through law, but I don’t think that means we should do away with the law. Should we legalize drugs and prostitution just because it is going to happen anyway? I’m not going to change a drug user by making a law against it, but by loving on him…agreed. But allowing him to destroy his life by something we know is wrong is not very loving.

I don’t think we are doing American any favors by separating it from the moral laws described in God’s Word.
-from CM

Reaction to Separate but Equal #1

2008-10-14T15:32:00.003-04:00

I think upon first reaction that I agree with you on all major points
you made. It seems that all too often the church DOES try to control
politics by forcing their beliefs and convictions on the masses
through political means and gains of power. When discussing this with
some people I almost feel guilty, like I should be more on the other
side. I would not personally promote abortion, gay marriage,
over-consumption of alcohol or marijuana. However, I don't think that
just because that is my personal conviction that it should be law. So
many Christians try to say that this nation was founded on Chritian
beliefs, therefore, the Christian church and position should still be
the foundation and the solution to governments problems. I can't
agree, at least not fully. The founding fathers came for religious
freedom. It was because of similar oppression in Britain that they
came here. Yes, they were Christians, but what if they were muslims
coming for religious freedom? I somehow doubt that they would have
agreed with oppression against another religion as long as it wasn't
theirs. For example, I don't believe that politics and government
should preach and force Christian ideals just as I don't think they
should force Muslim/Buddhist/atheist etc. ideals. Take gay marriage. I
disagree based on Christian conviction. However, does that mean that I
should say it should be outlawed for everyone, because I disagree
means everyone should be forced to see it my way through state mandated
laws? I don't know. I realize if I said to most any Christian that I
wouldn't be totally appauled if it became legal that they would be
shocked and appauled by me and likely throw dozens of scriptures down
my throat about why it's wrong. But, what if state law said it was
illegal for me to go to a Christian church? Or illegal for me to send
my child to a Christian school? Or illegal to celebrate Christian
holidays? I think that all too often Christians are close-minded to
the point of not even listening to another side or lifestyle. Not that
we should be condoneing of it, but also not so close-minded that we
arrogantly assume that everyone should, in a way, be forced to believe
and act as we do. Anyway, I think that you got at the heart of the
matter. We should focus more on individuals and relationships as a
means to change hearts and actions and not politics and forced laws.
-from A

Why not to just pick the abortion issue like a booger when voting

2008-10-14T15:30:00.002-04:00

Separate and Equal
The gospel of Jesus Christ says simply that no natural man can fulfill the law. No one is good enough, no one can be perfect. So one who was perfect came from above, fully God and fully man. He fulfilled the Old Testament law by forming a path for relationships between God and man.
Rules without relationships create anger, bitterness, and the word often heard in the church: legalism. Imagine being told by a stern authority with whom you had no desire to talk to or to please—not to cross the street, not to put your hand on a hot stove, not to kiss a pretty girl, not to speed, not to pursue a life of creativeness. Some may not have to imagine this. Authority may be given by someone other than you, but only you decide to respect certain authorities. Respect comes through relationship or through fear. Maybe that stern authority would whip you with a belt if you did such things, but does that ever really rid those desires?
Now think of a loving father, one who takes you to the park when he gets the chance and ties your shoes so you don't trip and makes you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. In love, he tells you not to cross the street ... and then gives you a reason why. He walks you through the process of looking both ways and reminds you of the consequences of not doing so. After a few times of holding your hand as you do so, he lets you do it on your own. If you forget, and he sees, he'll correct you, possibly even yell at you. But as you grow older, he trusts when you cross without him, you'll continue practicing what he's taught.
This is why I believe Church and State should be separate.
Let's take the example of abortion. That stern authority tells you not to get an abortion. Tells you you can't. Tells you you are stupid for having slept with someone you shouldn't have. Continually condemns the things you do. The child is only a reminder of that condemnation because of a misconstrued desire for your "good." Let me be clear: I do not condone abortions. Anyone I have a right to tell my opinion on abortions, I will do so. That right comes with relationship. Morally, I don't think abortions are right even in rape cases. If I were in that position, I am 95 percent sure I wouldn't have one. Just because something is legal doesn't mean it's moral. Legally, it's OK to have an affair. You don't get thrown in jail for that. Legally, it's OK to get drunk. Morally, neither one of these things are right. If abortion becomes illegal, just like Prohibition times, the action will still happen, just under sticky and detestable conditions.
Separation of Church and State was an idea taken from a letter Thomas Jefferson wrote to the Danbury Baptists in 1802. He said:
"Believing that religion is a matter which lies solely between man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legislative powers of government reach actions only, and not opinions, I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their Legislature should "make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof," thus building a wall of separation between Church and State."
The forefathers were escaping religious persecution from Great Britain. This is why their mindset (although many of them Christians) was religious freedom to all. The oppression felt by the crushing hand of the crown was enough to make them sail the 3,325 miles across the Atlantic in hopes of a new life.
Christ said he came to bring us an abundant life. Christians might disagree on many things, but the concept of a relationship with Christ is clear throughout the New Testament. Politics exist within the church, for anywhere a body of humans are gathered, politics exists. But should the church exist in politics? No. Why? Because man's corrupted heart will turn religion into a stepping stone for increased power, persuading people their stance can be equated to God's stance.
It makes me nervous when I hear of a politician being invited to a church in hopes of gaining votes. If that politician comes to the pulpit and preaches the Word, OK. But if he comes stating if you vote for him, you vote for God's man in office, I won't have any of it.
Blaise Pascal said, "Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction."
We are human, and therefore we are fallible. We sin. Our hearts are deceptive above all things and beyond cure. Power corrupts. My will can never perfectly be God's will. I live in a corrupted world, and that pollution is part of why I am here. Can I be a politician and a Christian, absolutely. Just as I can be a doctor and a Christian, a journalist and a Christian. But I should not use my religion as a platform to try to convince readers I'm a better writer than the heathen Joe Schmoe. I am fully a Christian and I am fully a writer. Therefore the two will overlap. (Hence why I wrote this.) But I will not go only to Christians for stories. The truth will set you free, Jesus said. The truth is not that the U.S. is made of only Christian views. When I write columns, my beliefs always come out. I must create respect by showing my serious attempts of unbiased journalism. Then the prostitutes, the gays, the God-haters, the religious right that I rarely fully agree with might actually read my column and be reminded that when I interviewed them, I did so with respect and actually listened to what they had to say. Christians are too loud. You can tell me to shut up, I need to more often than I do. James tells us to be quick to listen and slow to speak. Listening is one of the best relational tools.
In any arena of life, when those who don't have a relationship with me try to convince me to do something they like, whether it be door-to-door Jehovah's Witnesses or gay rights activists ... I might talk to them just to practice my arguing skills, but I'm not really listening to what they say.
The way to reduce the abortion rate or the gung-ho desire for legalization of gay marriages or even the desire for marijuana is not through the government, it's through relationship. When the government creates more laws, it needs more people to enforce them. (Which means more raised taxes.) I have talked to law enforcement officials who say that jails are crowded with pot smokers. Time is spent on the smaller issues, when we have serial killers and rapists living civilian lives. Making abortion illegal will only create more work for police departments who seem to be short-staffed all over the United States.
Church and State must be separate, but personal beliefs and convictions can never be separate. That is why we vote for a candidate (hopefully) based on the issues, we vote for the man or woman whose problem-solving technique is most like ours. Church and State in my head are equal. The presence of an active Church is just as important as an active political life. But neither one comes above my relationship with Christ.
Jesus cannot be our excuse for an insatiable desire for power, an insatiable desire to make everyone believe what we believe. It is by example we must lead, it is by relationships we will change the hearts of men — does that not imitate Christ more than anything else?

Husband and Wife

2008-10-13T13:31:00.003-04:00

In a little over two months, I'm going to be a married woman. That's crazy!
The scariest thing about it is: am I ready? I'm not worried about being with only one man the rest of my life because I've looked forward to that my whole life, and waited around a lot for a good one. I'm not worried about only kissing one guy; and I'm not at all worried about that one guy being J. What I am worried about is if I am ready to be as selfless as it takes to make this work.

Juggling our own feelings for each other and for our careers and for our families is more than difficult.
Backswinging the bad attitudes sometimes feels like a game of raquetball. I'll smack this one, it will hit the wall and then he has to hit it away again. If it's not one thing, it's another.
Kicking away the past and pressing on to the future takes quite the effort sometimes.
Sharpening our minds to understand what it takes to be a responsible adult and put away childish things only makes me want to throw a temper-tantrum.
Organizing our lives and all the paperwork involved: doctors bills, appointments, checking accounts, rent checks, phone bills, car, health, renter's insurances. Good grief Charlie Brown.
Surviving: can we stay afloat in a sea of time spent on red tape, cooking, cleaning, phone conversations, shopping, mowing, moving, shaking (hopefully our booties a little bit).
Routine can be a great thing, but also stirs the desire for more within us.

Will we be in survival mode? What is the point of marriage? What are its goals? It seems as though marriage turns into a race ... "We've made it 5 years, can we make it 25?" I don't want to just survive. I don't want the goal of marriage to be quantified. I want it to be magnified, riplified, exemplified. Marriage should be a picture of Christ and the church, really that is its purpose according to the Bible. Therefore, it needs to be magnified because it needs to magnify the essence of love that Christ has given his church. Just like the ripples that one drop of liquid can make, marriage should have the ripple effect. The love J shows me, and the love I show him should not only riplify (take that Webster) between ourselves, but also toward others. As we leave a home of "love, mercy and truth" everyday, those qualities will follow us around like a shadow.

But is that too much to ask for? Maybe not. I hope the groove we start to find when the rings are exchanged is one that will include such things, one that reminds us to look to heaven first and then to each other. In our case, the wedding might happen more than once, (hah!) but the marriage doesn't. Sitting still, dealing with the issues, not running from the problems ... these things can make me cringe more than the word "keish" does. (My sister and I were scarred for life when we were forced to eat keish growing up.) But that is part of marriage's purpose: in such a relationship as this, it takes someone like J to look inside me, through me, around me, and tell me what he sees. I now have a better understanding of who I am and what I need to work on to be a better person. We both do. The refinement process is wonderful and oftentimes full of laughter, but it can wear me out sometimes.

I'm so thankful God gave me J, who makes me laugh at the worst times to go through this life-long refining process. I couldn't have even imagined a better or crazier kook to partner with ... I must remember that when God said "Eye has not seen nor ear heard, nor has entered into the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love him," he's talking about every step in life.

Church doesn't equal relationship

2008-10-03T09:23:00.001-04:00

photos from Panama

2008-09-03T16:39:00.000-04:00

photos from travels to china

2008-09-03T16:36:00.000-04:00

21.28.30.90?

2008-04-07T17:45:00.004-04:00

A Google search will give you differing answers as to how long it takes to form a habit. I suppose a self-search might give you the right answer.

I've decided to go with 28, because that's what my fourth-grade teacher always said. So I figured I'd test it out. I've never worked on my upper-body strength, and it's rather obvious, but I can't say I ever really cared. I've always been a runner, even though that's hard to say. In college I'd run for 20-30 minutes about 4x a week. To me, a runner is someone who runs for an hour at a time. When I lived in Honduras, I got up to running an hour for a while. Then I moved back to the states, got two jobs and returned to the 20-30 minute thing ... when I can.

So the newest thang: doing pushups. My fiance's arm muscles are defined and HUGE. (This is my blog and I write my opinion) He can do quite a few pushups ... the kind where your nose touches the ground and your back is flat ... after not doing them for a long time. This seems to be a law of nature when it comes to men vs. women, or maybe the men in my life vs. me. Anyhow, I wanted to start working on that strength, so I did.

If I do my pushups tonight, I'll be at day 26. On Thursday, the habit will officially kick in. I think, though, it already has.

I get sleepy pretty quickly, and there have been a few times where I'll lay in bed and be on the verge of zonking out. "OH NO" my head pops up out from under the covers, like a sixth-grader remembering its Science Project day (thanks Brian R.) and I realize that two minutes later and I would have kicked myself in the morning, having to start the counting all over again.

Somehow the brain forms a new pathway, and it alerts me when I'm slacking. I'm not very good at doing pushups, in fact, as for the nosedive kind, I can only do about ten at a time. But for the other, simpler kind (the man-version but nose not touching the floor), I'm now able to do about 50 at a time — a feat near impossible 26 days ago.

It really is amazing and revolutionary when it comes to changing patterns: ridding old or gaining new. I'm a visual person, most people are. So having a calendar with the numbers on them, reminds me of my accomplishments and that my body is subject to my mind.

Life is, whether we want it to be or not, a pattern of habits. It's good to be aware of the habits I want to form ... and well, start pushing.

My food is ... my satisfaction

2008-04-01T18:00:00.006-04:00

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. - Matthew 5:6

Since my freshman year of college in 2001, I've wanted a tattoo. I know: taboo.
Well, boo — I got one. I imagine most old friends can't imagine me with one, even though my close college pals have heard me say this for a long time ... and one caucasian asian has tried to talk me out of it. But I think she, along with my mom, always knew one day it would happen.

So here's the tattoo. It's on the flop side of my left wrist, right underneath where my Timex Ironman goes, when I'm wearing him.

The image is a small stick man no bigger than a quarter with a hole for a stomach. It comes from an Algonquin Indian symbol for the Hunger Moon, which was the moon representing the second month of the year, the same month I was born. The snow moon was in January, and after the snow fall, the crops died and the people hungered. This tattoo means a lot to me ... and I think that's how it should be with tattoos.

Jesus tells us on his sermon on the mount, that we can find satisfaction if we hunger after the right things. At one point in the gospels, when someone asks Jesus if he's hungry, he tells them:

MY FOOD IS TO DO THE WILL OF HE WHO SENT ME

And Job, back before Jesus' time, told God "I've hungered after your words more than my necessary food."

We will always be hungry on this earth. This is a reminder to me that eating M&Ms the rest of my life — going after the fleeting desires — won't satisfy the deep longings. But seeking the eternal, going after what God desires ... these will be the true meat that quench the profound growls of the human soul.

The Bible says our spirits groan for the kingdom come. But we don't always listen to our spirits. His word says to honor God with our bodies. And some argue a tattoo cannot honor God. I will let them argue that. We all have our own opinions about such.

But I must say, every time I look at my wrist, I am reminded of the fleeting and of the eternal ... and I hear the ache and feel the longing for a heavenly home.

Build up for yourself treasures in heaven where thieves cannot steal and moth and rust cannot destroy. -Matthew 6:20

the article

2008-03-20T18:08:00.004-04:00

This is upsidedown, my sorry comp skills wont get it rightsideup ... not yet anyhow

JYo

2008-03-20T17:43:00.003-04:00

A former co-worker and buddy of mine (the adjective former is not describing buddy) just got some royal treatment and got to write about it.

J. Yo went to a spa, had a massage, a facial and had laser hair removal on the back of his neck because the freelancer didn't show. He wrote about the experience, and how spas aren't just for women.

Personally, I think he eagerly wanted the assignment so he could throw that on the table. But he knows that nothing beats an Ace, and I got that when I went sky-diving and wrote about it for the daily we work(ed) at.

Still, I'm sure way more people get to see his name (and cucumbered-covered eyes and green face) in the Cary Magazine publication, all fanc-i-fied with cute font and a nice lay-out.

Well done Jon! I gotta hand it to you, I'm officially jealous, but I'll still call you a pansy when I can get away with it.

*****

Once I figure out a way to have the article on here, I'll do so. Tried a few things with the PDF file, but couldn't get it on blogger.

a city seat

2008-03-17T14:23:00.003-04:00

A part of me secretly hates politicians, and the other side, wants to be one.

After extensively covering a rather crazy election(s) for a city council seat, I have to tip my hat (if I had one) to one fellow who, after fighting hard, came out on top.

This should-have-been November race didn't end in the eleventh month. After allegations of vote-buying and a tied recount and well cars being keyed and people being wrongly persuaded to vote, a new election was ordered for March. That election didn't end in a tie — many of us at the newspaper, and many in city government took a big sigh when one person was left standing.

But that sigh wasn't just because the whole process was over. That sigh, at least for me, was because I believed the better man - or should I say human being - won. The best thing about this guy, is time after time when I interviewed him for a story, he said that although he certainly wanted to win, he wasn't fighting to win the seat, he was fighting for the principle.

The principle of democracy.
This man was outspoken about the perils of One-Stop-Voting, a process that election boards have used to make voting easier and more convenient and boost voter turn-out. However, as the city councilman said often, it can easily be manipulated.

“One-Stop Voting is a disgrace when it’s abused,” he said. “The concept is fine, but a lot of work needs to be done for it to be effective.”

And he's right. Democracy does not involve a U-Haul filled with voters who are promised an ice-cream after they vote. And there is a phrase "with intentions of returning" that the election board used to uphold a man's right to vote — this being a man who only by his testimony (which fluctuated on its own) lived at a certain house for a time. He said he didn't live there now, and other renters who he did not know were currently occupying the home. He said if they ever leave, he plans on returning... even though he's lived outside of Raleigh (where he never voted) for the past four years, and before that lived in an area outside the voting rights for the precinct of this election.

Hmm. Let's think on that.

Did he really just want the right to vote, or was there something else behind this. Oh wait, I forgot to mention, he was related to the opposing candidate.

All I can say is that if a politician, who is human and will therefore screw up sometimes, can try with all his might (literally ... not many would be willing to deal with all the junk he and his family dealt with) to uphold a basic foundation this country was built upon, thank God that politician is doing what he's doing.

I'm not saying I've always agreed with everything he's said. Nor can I promise I always will. But if he has the character to understand that even if vote buying has always gone on, he's not going to take part of it, in fact he's going to fight that mentality. Because to him, democracy does not involve dollars, but intelligence.

People need to inform themselves about the candidates and their platforms. Not once did he say, "I want all my voters to get out and vote for me."

What he said, "I encourage the people to get out and look at the issues and then vote."

And if nothing else, that is certainly worth a big long sigh that says, you know what, not all politicians are out for themselves. In fact, those I've met on the local level, are really there because they are trying to improve the area they live in ... whether they agree with other politicians, or the media, or not.

So kudos to this politician
and maybe one day
I'll lay down
the paper
and pen
and
try
to
uphold
democracy
in a similar fashion.

un dia

2008-03-14T09:55:00.000-04:00

we're getting married next april. wooohooo!

green arm pits?

2008-02-29T12:51:00.003-05:00

I've been using anti-perspirants my whole life, well since I hit puberty. And now I'm hearing that shouldn't be.

They might cause breast cancer and Alzheimer's because of the aluminum in them. It clogs the pores which isn't good. I can't imagine that it was always a bad thing to stink the way we do. Once perfume was invented, the human body's natural smells were toppled by the fragrances of flowers, and eventually the fragrances of chemicals.

If you think about it, animals are attracted to each other by their smells — those pheromones and such. Then there's the olfactory epithelium that Ashley Judd wants taken out in the movie Someone Like You.

I try to simplify life sometimes, which doesn't always work, but I imagine what life would be like 200 years ago, when sandals were always in style (at least in my head) and it was socially acceptable for men to wear dresses. It just seems that as far as taking care of my body goes, natural is always better, be it food, shampoo, soap or deo.

So the next question is who do I buy natural deodorant from. and whose will work the best?

Tom's natural deo I've had for about two weeks now, and it's seemed to work pretty well except for the other day (I'd say about day 12 of using it) when I smelled some serious funk. But that could be a mixture of my lazy bathing days this week and clothes that haven't been washed in a while. Yes, sometimes, I admit, it's not pleasant to the senses to be around me.

Burt's Bee's has some. Although I've never seen it in stores. They've been recently taken over by Clorox, and Tom's by Colgate.

There's real purity and pure and natural and FloralActive and a whole lot more.

I've read I could just sprinkle a little baking soda on a damp washcloth and apply to the arm pits.
pits pits. that's kind of fun to say.

I'll write again soon when I've experimented a little more with this new information that makes me stink.

A little FYI

From Wikipedia:
Research has shown that the aluminum salts used in antiperspirants have detrimental effects to a number of species such as non-human primates, mice, dogs and others. An increased amount of aluminum is also present in the brains of many Alzheimer's patients, although this link does not seem to be causal.

From care2.com:
Most people think that antiperspirants and deodorants are the same thing, but they aren't. Antiperspirants work by clogging, closing, or blocking the pores with powerful astringents such as aluminum salts so that they can't release sweat. (Note that aluminum can accumulate in the brain.) Deodorants work by neutralizing the smell of the sweat and by antiseptic action against bacteria. Deodorants are preferable because they don't interfere with sweating, a natural cooling process.
(http://www.care2.com/greenliving/deodorant-or-antiperspirants.html)

Say no to plastic bags

2008-02-04T08:48:00.000-05:00

A recent New York Times article refers to the reduction of plastic bags in Ireland. The article, by Elisabeth Rosenthal, said:
"In 2002, Ireland passed a tax on plastic bags; customers who want them must now pay 33 cents per bag at the register. ... Within weeks, plastic bag use dropped 94 percent."

When I lived in Italy, it cost extra to buy a plastic bag at the grocery store. I always kicked myself when I forget to bring my tote bag, and patted myself on the back when I remembered. As inconvenient as it was at times, it made me very aware of the waste I created.

I still remain confused as to why certain states don't charge 5 cents more on aluminum cans and glass bottles and then give that change back when consumers bring in their waste.

National Geo just put out an article saying that the U.S. is one of the worst at recycling, and to no surprise, one of the biggest consumers and creaters of trash.

In San Carlos, California, a man is being sued by the city for canceling his trash contract b/c he has no need of it. He recycles and reuses and has a dog who eats the scraps. In the county I live in, officials and restaurant owners were annoyed at a new state law saying restaurants had to recycle glass.

I'm not sure why it's that difficult for the big picture to catch on to us little folks. Bringing a tote bag everytime takes no more effort than walking from the parking spot to the grocery store. Putting glass and alumninum in the recycle bins instead of in the trash cans is not a demanding task.

Whole Foods is doing away with plastic bags for good. I wonder if lazy America could fight environmental waste like the Irish do.

Cooking less and eating more ... an idea from Co-Op America

2008-01-16T09:27:00.000-05:00

When the Betz-Essinger family sits down for dinner in Birmingham, AL, it doesn't take the children long to identify where their meal came from. "Is this a Caroline?" they ask, "or a Leigh Fran?"

Caroline and Leigh Fran are not brands of frozen dinners—they are the two friends with whom Ruthann has shared the preparation of weeknight meals for more than a decade. Through an arrangement known as "cooperative cooking," the friends each prepare a single, large meal that will feed all three families, and package it up. One share goes into their own refrigerators, and then the women meet to exchange the other two shares.

This cooking strategy brings you enormous benefits. You only make one meal each week – and others cook for you the rest of the week. You get more time with your family. It builds and strengthens your community of friends. And it saves time and money – making it easier and more affordable to buy local and organic.

a new website

2008-01-14T18:03:00.000-05:00

www.robesonian.com

So my newspaper finally has a better website. You can read the stories, post a comment, email stories to a friend, and find out which stories are the most popular.

Thanks to some hard work of people that have computer skills I can only dream about, this website is up and running. There are a few kinks that have yet to be worked out, but I have to say, I'm actually going to look at the website of the place I work at, instead of ... well, prefer to tell people it doesn't exist.

So check it out if you have a chance.

a random forward I got...found it interesting

2008-01-14T16:25:00.000-05:00

Urine Test

I HAVE TO PASS A URINE TEST FOR MY JOB.

Like a lot of folks in this state, I have a job. I work, they
pay me. I pay my taxes and the government distributes my taxes as it
sees fit. In order to get that paycheck, I am required to pass a random
urine test with which I have no problem. What I do have a problem with
is the distribution of my taxes to people who don't have to pass a urine
test. Shouldn't one have to pass a urine test to get a welfare check
because I have to pass one to earn it for them? Please understand, I
have no problem with helping people get back on their feet. I do, on the
other hand, have a problem with helping someone sitting on their
backside, doing drugs, while I work. . . Can you imagine how much money
the state w ould save if people had to pass a urine test to get a public
assistance check? Pass this along if you agree or simply delete if you
don't. Hope you all will pass it along, though . . . Something has to
change in this country -- and soon!

Recycling vidrio

2008-01-09T09:02:00.000-05:00

LUMBERTON — Although state law now requires that they recycle all glass containers, local bars and restaurants serving alcohol can forget finding a site in Robeson County to take their bottles.

“I’m not familiar with any place in the county that recycles glass. There’s no market here for it,” County Manager Ken Windley said. “They (bars and restaurants) will have no choice but to contract out of the area to get rid of their glass.

“At this time, the county has no plans to collect and recycle glass. We would lose a lot of money. It would cost us three times more to recycle than it does to dispose of glass in a landfill.”

The mandatory recycling bill, passed by the General Assembly in 2005, became effective Jan. 1. The new law requires that all establishments with permits to serve alcoholic beverages separate, store and recycle all beverage containers generated in their place of business. It also prohibits the disposal of containers either through landfilling or incineration.

Bob Shiles, a fellow Robesonian reporter was assigned to this story. His words don't bother me at all. The county manager's words, however, tick me off so bad I would like to catapult the county's landfill right on top of ... .

Being a self-proclaimed environmentalist, I often think the world would be better if everyone saw it through my red-lined, black-framed glasses.

I try to do simple things like use old cereal boxes to wrap Christmas gifts and keep the lights off as much as I can — no it's not just because I'm trying to save money. I remember as a child being embarrassed because my father would pack my school lunch sandwich in the same bag the deli meat came in. But now, I do the same thing.

The sad thing about Windley's words is the mentality behind them. "It costs too much to recycle" is a perspective that should be buried in that dagum landfill.

There are ways in which recycling doesn't have to be expensive. One issue I have with this city (me and the few environmentalists I've hooked up with here) is that trash pick up is a monopoly. It costs the same amount whether you fill your whole trash can or use up one-fourth of it. Or even if it's completely empty, you still pay $19 a month.

City of Lumberton, Robeson County, here's an idea: Do what other people have done. Start charging people more if they throw more away. Have them buy garbage bags at a local grocer for a certain amount. The more you use, the more you pay. What does this do? It uses the ridiculous amount of power that money has to infiltrate what is not only good, but necessary for future generations.

If the cost of recycling is too high, then only the whacky like me will continue to do it. But if the leaders of this county use the smart brains God gave them (thanks for the phrase mom), I 'm sure they can come up with a way to cut the costs whether it is for a business or an individual.

Please someone tell me, what is the cost benefit analysis of the bigger picture. The cost of recycling glass somehow is more expenseive than throwing every bottle away just to make new ones? Do what New York and California and some other smart states do. Tag an extra five cents on every glass bottle or aluminum can at the grocery store and give people back that money when they bring it back. It ain't rocket science.

If the cost of throwing trash in a landfill is so low, that landfill is only going to grow and grow and grow. And the daughters of the sons of the daughters of the leaders today will bury their dead, grow their gardens and plant their building foundations on top of waste ... all because their forefathers said it cost too much to learn how to reuse and recycle.

Resolved

2008-01-02T12:54:00.000-05:00

RESOLUTION — the act of resolving or determining upon an action or course of action, method, procedure, etc.

The common adjective that preceeds this word is a the first (or last) holiday of every year. My normal process for this time of year involves sacrificing something. That verb sacrifice is way too strong. Giving up. Yes that's better. One year, I gave up buying clothes at deparment stores, and vowed only to shop at Good-Will or the like. One year it was icecream, easy in the coldness of winter to vow to negate such a great summertime joy.

This year my resolution involves something I've recently looked into, the corporate realm and somewhat sad societal effects of the big wig Wal-Mart.

My vow: no shopping at Wal-Mart this year — for nothing. Yes two negatives in one sentence. Unfortunately, the name of the corporation has become quite a negative, even a triple negative, in my book.
Why?
1. Very little is made in the U. S. of A, which means most is made in China or other third-world countries probably by under-paid workers who have very little of a voice and very little rights.
2. The demand for Wal-Mart quickly and easily puts out any mom and pop shops trying to stay afloat, reducing the very little sense of community that left in our country.
3. Half of the things I think I need when I go to Wal-Mart or Target, I really really don't need at all.

But the second-half of this resolution is for me to shut up. Seriously, I know some of you who are a daily part of my life (sorry mom, dad and jordan) have probably gotten very annoyed at my outspoken annoyance with Wallie World. I can't force anyone to do anything, and I just have to trust that I am informing those I know and they will make their own decision about what they do or do not do.

And resolution no. 2 for the year is a different kind than I normally do. I don't like to have the "i'm going to run everyday" kind of resolutions, and I don't think I ever have. And if this weekly activity doesn't work out as much as I would like it to, I'm at least trying. So this year, I'm going to try to write more. Blog more. at least once a week. It will keep my wheels turning and hopefully improve my writing skills.

As for exercise and eating healthy ... I'll keep post-poning those until I'm old. And I have a feeling that I'll never get old.

Feliz ano nuevo!

I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book. - Groucho Marx

Why I hate Christmas

2007-12-11T09:00:00.000-05:00

I don’t hate Christmas on its own, but the consumerism that drives the holiday makes me want to, as Andy would say, throw a house.

Schools from all over the county are having the students write Dear Santa wish lists. The newspaper will then publish them.

I want a iPod. I want a Jeep. I want a razor phone. I want a dirt bike. I want a lap top. I want some money.

We want to know where greed comes from? It starts in Kindergarden. Or at least is institutionalized then.

What do kids think? First of all, that if they are “good” they will get what is on their wish list. They say they love Santa. But that definition of love is based on one thing and one thing only: receiving materialistic items.

I hope and pray my future children will know that love can never be measured by what is solely tangible.

Christmas supposedly is about good will to all men. I don’t see how this is anything but the opposite of that. I know that consumerism and greed follows us wherever we go. It is not simply something birthed in only the fortunate ones living in first-world countries.

For as I would walk the streets of Honduras with one of my students, he would say “Buy me this, buy me that” consistently. And he is what many Americans consider “less fortunate.” But I tried to instill in him the idea that he does not need all that he sees. And of course, he taught me to look at this concept in my own life.

I wish that students would make lists of things they are thankful for instead of what they want. Or that they would make a list of things they wish Santa would give another child. Or instead of making lists at all, they would learn about the millions of children all over the world whose parents can’t afford Christmas at all. If Christmas is for giving, why are we as a society watering the seed of selfishness?

opinion about recent news events:

2007-12-05T11:03:00.000-05:00

You go Jennifer Love Hewitt
a size two aint fat at all

You go venzuelan college students
Hugo's gotta wake up...

the country isn't his, and it isn't a ball of clay he can form
into socialism or fascism or any other -ism he wants.

you don't have to be a dictator to help the poor.

la piedra

2007-11-27T21:29:00.000-05:00

rock me away

TAKING THE PLUNGE

2007-10-14T18:08:00.000-04:00

I’ve waited all my life for a 60-second plunge — and it met all my lofty expectations.
After being invited to participate in a tandem skydive — the price was right: telling you about it in this column, a debt that is now paid — I called my sister, who reported she has chills. Then I call my boyfriend to make him jealous, a ploy that worked.
I decide against calling my mother.
I arrive at 11 a.m. Saturday at Raeford Parachute Center which, conveniently enough, is at the Raeford airport. I enter a central hub and the photos and newspaper articles displayed on the wall heighten my anticipation. Put me in that harness, and let me fly.
But the weather isn’t cooperating, so I take a seat, and read “The Screwtape Letters.”
John, who will pilot the plane, sits next to me. His is a voice of reason: “Sometimes you just have to wait these things out — there’s not much else you can do.”
He tells me about his 25 years of piloting and his 29 years of jumping from planes. But my mind races. I want to jump — not sit.
But there will be no flying today. Instead of boarding the PAC 750 that cruises at 195 mph, I board my Volvo 240 that sometimes can’t even reach 70 mph, bummed that Mother Nature is adding another day to my lifelong wait.
On Sunday, I make the same drive, and Tony — the owner of Raeford Parachute Center — greets me.
“This is my friend Gena,” Tony tells assembled divers who are hanging around.
I meet Roy, who will jump with me and video-record my adventure. “What a sweet job,” I think.
I meet another Tony, my tandem partner. Roy returns.
“Don’t tell my mom, but I’m about to jump out of a plane,” I say to his camera. He zooms over to Tony, who’s been jumping out of planes since I was soiling diapers.
“Don’t tell my mom either,” Tony says jokingly.
I put on my blue jumpsuit.
“You ready?” Tony asks.
My goofy grin is my nod yes.
“Say something to the camera,” he says.
The words won’t come, and all I can offer is, “I don’t know what to say” — cleverness that is forever captured on video.
“People of all walks of life come in these doors — doctors, lawyers, plumbers, carpenters, five-star medalists,” he says. “People don’t realize who they are jumping with, because here, you’re not a doctor or a lawyer — that’s the beautiful thing about it.”
Roy, Tony and I walk up to a life-sized model plane to rehearse.
“Head up. Arch your back, and point your toes,” Tony the Instructor tells me.
There’s plenty of room in my empty brain.
Twelve of us pile into a PAC 750, a plane made for sky-diving, and straddle two benches. The plane roars to life — signaling a new adventure.
Tony leans his head down on my shoulder as we wait and wait and wait for the plane to ascend two and a half miles. Two people disappear from the plane.
We inch nearer the door. Two more jump out.
For the first time, I feel fear — and I smile.
“Roy is going to go out first. Wave to the camera, and then when we jump out, do what we practiced,” Tony says.
My stomach gurgles. I wave. We jump. I am tardy arching my back and then I look up at the plane. This feels flippin’ fabulous.
Tony taps me on the shoulder, a signal to look down, relax and enjoy my 120 mph freefall that will last a single minute.
The wind tries to rip the skin from my bones.
The sky is a perfect blue and the ground is a satellite map. My mind is empty again.
“This is awesome,” I yell to the camera, which Roy has positioned an arm’s length from my smiling face.
I mouth to the camera, “I love you mom,” and then look down at the freshness of an Earth that is growing larger. I give the camera two thumbs up.
I am grateful that 60 second feels like forever.
After an 8,000-foot plunge, the canopy deploys, putting on the brakes. The wind stops whacking us. I stand on Tony’s feet and push my harness up to release the tension. My left ear pops. Tony loosens my harness and asks me how I’m doing.
“Great. Absolutely great.”
He gives me control of the parachute. We circle to the left and then to the right.
The five-minute ride ends when my knees catch a little grass. We come to a rest in a seated position — Tony underneath me. The bright purple and pink parachute swishes in overhead.
“You can stand up now.”
Everyone asks me how it was.
“It was all right,” I say kiddingly, and then I tell the truth. “It was freakin’ awesome.”
I can’t wait to show the video to mom.

so close

2007-10-06T16:50:00.000-04:00

A 16-year-old gets a brand spanking new car. He wrecks it the next day, and his father buys him another one. I saw that too often in high school, and I hated it — but I was glad it was never me.
I can’t say I’m the world’s most patient person — in fact, I have the worst time being patient. Ask my mom. (Or better yet don’t, because she might not yet know what I’m about to do.) But I have to say that I’m a pro at learning about patience. It sneaks up on me in random places — like at a sky-diving joint in Stoke County.
I’ve wanted to go sky-diving for about five years. And today the dream was supposed to come true.
My brother-in-law asked me the night before if I was excited. My response — I try to have no expectations in these kinds of things. I try to keep my head clear so I don’t stay up all night thinking about what it might be like.
But after an hour of driving, a little getting lost, and arriving at a place that looked very similar to the scuba-diving shops on the Honduran islands, I was finally ready to let my mind go wild.
I sat down in the puke-green cushioned fold-out chair in the 8’ by 8’ room watching a video and signing my life away — Mom, you’re not allowed to sue if I die, OK?
I watched as others talked about their adventures. I looked at the pictures, letters and newspaper articles on the wall. I felt that excitement in my stomach grow, and suddenly it was like my water broke. I was ready. Nothing can stop me now. Get me in that jump suit. But on that harness, and let me fly.
But the damn storm clouds stopped my momentum. And I was told to just wait around for a while and see if they go away.
Wait? I have to wait. What does that mean? So I sit down at a red table outside and look at The Screwtape Letters I brought with me, not thinking I’d actually get to open them.
John, the pilot, sits down next to me. “Sometimes you just have to wait these things out — there’s not much else you can do.”
In Gena’s world, for the most part, I’m in control. Clouds, red lights, and meetings are all scheduled into the calendar I keep in my head. With as much stuff as I have going on in my life, I rarely have time to just sit down and chill out. I forget what that’s like.
Honduras brought that out of me. It taught me that I didn’t need to know every detail before planning a trip, or walking into a new situation — which really helps out in the line of work I’m in.
Patience patience go away, come back on a Sunday — maybe in May.
I enjoy listening to people’s stories, but they need to be scheduled in. This wasn’t part of the plan. John talks to me about his 25 years of piloting and his 29 years of jumping out of planes. But my mind can’t relax. I want to jump. I don’t want to sit. So John shows me the plane I’ll jump out of. I sit down and listen to him tell me what all the gadgets and buttons do. “Flying is fun. It keeps your brain engaged,” he says. He tells me if I ever take flying lessons, I’ll see a whole new dimension to life.
I wonder when I can sign up. But still in the back of my mind, I’m yelling at the stupid clouds for getting in my way. And then I yell at myself for not being more flexible and going with the flow. The skies start to open up and we see some bright blue. A little bait to see if I’ll bite. But then as more time passes, it’s the only blue showing, and I’ve got something else written on my list of things to do today. So I tell Tony, the owner, we’ll reschedule, and he apologizes.
“No worries, Tony.” You can’t control the weather, I think. And think some more. There is always a reason for that. As life is its own science project, there will always be dependent variables thrown my way. I heard a saying once that patience is like a tree with bitter roots but sweet fruit. I swear that bitterness is more memorable, but waiting for something I want so bad, only makes me appreciate it more. I know this for a fact. Hopefully the next 48 hours will awaken an appreciation for being as close as I’ve ever been to a dream come true.

Correct me Lord

2007-10-05T16:21:00.000-04:00

Jeremiah 10:23 "Oh Lord, I know the way of a man is not in himself; it is not man who directs his own steps. Correct me Lord, but in justice. Not in your anger lest you bring me to nothing."

The sad thing is, lately, I've been convicted of some serious offenses to God. I gotta look at my sin -- all sin as disgusting. B/c it is to Him. The sweetness of His mercy, tho, is that even as I walk in that sin, and know I am walking in it, he still gives me time to turn around. Time and time and time again... oh that he would never bring me to nothing from his anger...but that I would always remember how capable He is of doing that...AND ... how much I actually deserve that!
Delete

An update

2007-10-04T14:04:00.000-04:00

Fireworks. Beach bands. Rodeos. Ferris Wheels and candy apples. I have had my fair share of the Robeson County fair this past week. I'm in tight with the president of the fair board, since I see him sometimes twice a day. It's been a lot of reporting, a whole lot of stories, but it's been fun. I get home completely exhausted and basically pay monthly rent for a place to lay my head...quite literally. So far, all the "OH MY GOsh YOU"RE MOVING WHERE???" responses I heard over the past two months, has only proved to me, that you really do make the place you live in.

I have gone hang-gliding. I rode on an Elephant. I ate chitlins (is that how you spell it?). I've learned about horse-therapy. I've taught Spanish 3x a week for the past month and a half. I ride my bike every once in a while. I climbed a tree in the middle of my run through the beautiful city cemetary. I danced to a beach band with a 7-year-old girl who just met me that night. (It was LOVELY) I danced with Andy to a Mariachi band at the fair rodeo. I'm supposed to go sky-diving. I watched a chain saw competition. These are things I've experienced in that Oh-my-gosh-place called Lumberton.

La vita e dulce. Quite seriously, although I don't have much time to watch TV, (not that I pay for cable, i'm so cheap) or even read a book for pleasure lately...life is full, and pregnant...ready to give birth to more adventures, more insights, more pains and joys...right where I am. I just gotta chase 'em down...and well I certainly plan to.

hope life is full for you too. if it's not, come visit me!

the sky tonight is gracious

2007-08-25T15:39:00.000-04:00

...you spread your tree branches out
and blanket over me...

ThReE wEeKs

2007-08-23T22:59:00.000-04:00

After a whirlwind of events over the past three weeks, I finally have a chance (and the internet connection) to post. My life has drastically changed over the course of two months. Although it seemed to go by slow, the time between returning to the States and getting a job...now in retrospect, blew by.

Well, what really blew by was the last three weeks of work. I think I've gone through just about every emotion possible lately, experiencing reverse culture shock in addition to the shocks of growing up, committing to a job, paying bills, moving to a different city, and mostly...being a reporter, or rather, staff writer.

Quite possibly the coolest thing I've done so far is hang glide, for free, and yes, for my job. So really, I got paid to glide a plane a half a mile above Lumberton. Can anyone say swwwweeeet. Andy can. He got to do it too. (I'll try to get a picture up soon)

So, it's not always that sweet inside an office where, for the majority of the day, I'm the only female voice. But, so far, I've handled it. I'm still new at this,though, and I'm hoping the guys take it easy on me for as long as I work there. But like the weather, men are unpredictable.

This week was rather adventurous as the county I now live in has had almost 150 continually burning fires. I went on a fire truck with a volunteer fire department into the midst of a fire that consumed more than 800 acres of land. I've written a couple pieces about fires and firefighters, and I got the inside scoop of the N.C. Forest Service. There are some seriously amazing people out there that really care about what they do, and why they do it. I learned how fascinating fire can be, and just how hot these firemen are in Lumberton's 100-degree weather.

For the most part, I'll be covering city government, which sounds blah, but once you get into it, can get pretty sticky. I suppose it makes for a more interesting life, but then again, I really wish politics well, just weren't.

But I've met the mayor, the police chief, the fire chief, and I often hang around the city manager who takes me in "authorized personnel only" areas. And I have to say, it feels pretty cool, even at 10 bucks an hour.

If only I can get my writing to match up with the newspaper style, maybe I can give these editors a break from having to seriously rewrite and reword my work.

Some Ol' Poems

2007-07-17T10:54:00.000-04:00

I found poems these while cleaning up my past, they are from a 2003 poetry class:

THE PHOTOGRAPH

In the brisk, expected flash of brilliant light,
His ivory teeth protruded in a smirk-like manner.
Momentarily, his true countenance arose:
His joy rejuvenated; his eyes stimulated with exhilaration.
Then she wedged the black gadget of memories back in her purse.

ARTISAN

The latex-covered hands anticipate the authoritative words.
"Turkey on wheat" demands the impatient, hungry student.
Swiftly the hands obey slopping on the slimy turkey.
Grace and beauty describe ballerinas, she only fashions sandwiches.
Day after day the hands comply without question, without fault.

SUBMERGED

I take off my shirt and it's drenched in remembrance of him
Those buttons, this thread, that collar--all scream his name
In those linen-lined cuffs lie the draped memory: he danced with me
He touched my lips, my muscles, my blood
And somehow left a love that will forever caress that shirt.

WITHOUT HER

He carefully placed the cotton fabric between his gnarled fingers
The silver needle went in and out with rhythm, that
Mimicked the only sound in the house: the ticking of the clock.
He wasn't going to let the only remnant of her slip away
But time has no feeling, and neither does his pricked, bloody hand.

PEACE

You carried my cross, my nails bore into your wrists.
You suffered my through my ugly shame without complaint,
And pain became your peace.

You carried me, nine months you suffered.
Cesarean danger yielded life--
And pain became your peace.

For one year I carried that burden of my past.
You and I bonded due to our like suffering
I felt the thorn before the beauty of the rose,
And pain became my peace.

THE HYPOCRITE'S VEIL

Her skin hides her past sins like a curtain:
Underneath a cage her rage subsides
She knew the truth, but chose not to pursue.
Many times she took no heed to recede
She says she lives by truth, but where's her proof?
One flash of lust dusted off purity--
A foundation whose creation was weak.
Feeling heightened into frightened measure:
His hands held her hips. Then he kissed her lips.
Every touch she realized as such vice--
But she stayed there where sin lingered in vain.
After, she cried--more ugly shame to hide.

THAT PLACE

In a year brimming with change, space befriended me.
I returned to that place I first saw your face:
A dumbfounded distance fifteen feet away.
"How's your day?" replaced sublime words,
"I'm so attracted to your mind," disappeared.
A dense friendship effortlessly dissipated--
You retired, but your words still linger lifelessly
Waiting to find significance once again.
Our impenetrable connection collapsed, and
All the words I narrated as impeccable truth
Are now merely a form of literary entertainment,
A memory of three hundred days ago.

A DEMON'S DISCOURSE TO HIS PEERS IN HELL

You hateful messengers of vain temptations
Damn your--I mean our--fuming sarcastic vows
Cut those hideous smirks from your poisoned faces.
Is this vain life worth the Devil's approval?
I'm tired of flapping and fluttering
In an aurora of deceit.
God's power is too great, too magnificent
His glory is too amazing.

I have given my soul too long for a fool's paradise.
This hateful home to choruses of vile demons
Will no longer be my resting place.
Fueled by revenge, we've poisoned innocent minds,
In the name of envy, I've despised creation.
Oh! Wake up from this aggravated slumber!
Open your hate-intoxicated eyes to the truth
Can't you see? We are but whimpering pawns
Used as the Deceiver's clinging bait
By mocking, cursing, tempting--
We relish in other's torment
What pitiful existence we are engulfed in.
Appearing as angels, our sorry slander crucifies love
But what for? Stop your wretched whispering
Listen to me you graceless idolaters!
Won't you cease the dismembering of the saints?

The Almighty has defeated evil already,
And soon He will dismember you.
I am throwing away my wicked essence;
I cast aside all deceit and envy
And sprint hell-bent for love.
No longer am I Satan's fingers of allurement,
I am falling back in rank with the glorious army
From which I came--will you join me?

WINGS OF GLORY

We humans are created to fly
More than any species of land or sea
But oh, how seldom we try!

Wings of gold underneath us lie,
The Griffon Vulture strikes our raging jealousy
Oh how we are created to fly!

Rather than soaring through a midnight sky,
We settle for a dark street of dull reality.
Why oh why? How seldom we try.

In essence, we think we live simply to die
But surely in crawling, we cannot truly see--
Oh how we are created to fly!

Lost in average misery, we cry.
Dreams to us are absurd hyperboles
Oh if only we'd more often try!

A mountain peak; a stream of glory; both testify,
Adventure exists to set us free
Oh how we are destined to fly
If only, if only, we'd get up and try!

RAW

2007-06-28T23:08:00.000-04:00

I have identified myself in many new ways this year: I taught 5th grade, I climbed a mountain (even though I was ready to shoot myself for doing so the whole way), I ran more than I ever have before...but my biggest accomplishment has been in simply better understanding who I am. Even though the only audience I wrote for this year was...me, well and you guys...I have written deeper than ever before becuase I have learned and lived from the depths.

HONDURAS means DEPTHS, and even though I took a path that wasn't really a step closer to my dream job, and I did very little to advance my career as a writer on the outside, I'd say this year has the potential of having the best effect on my writing.

Very soon (I hope) I will make a career out of what I love to do. But sometimes when what we love becomes our source of income we lose the very freedom we need in order to love at all.

Every year, every day brings me one step closer to eternity (which God has written on the hearts of all men--Eccl 3:11) This year has been one of the most meaningful in my life. I dove into the depths of my soul, my desires, my confusions, my heart--and somehow I'm still alive, treading water, reparing and preparing for the next watering hole. There were days I felt so free, submerged in the lifestyle as content and natural as any other large mouth bass swimming around. And there were days I felt like a sparrow wondering what good wings would do me under water. This environment, my mind, this pen, my current state of being have all been a huge part of me recognizing the HONDURAS of myself.

There's some serious shit in this water. Stuff I gotta learn how to clean out. Stuff I never saw before. And when the rains came hard and heavy (and they came often) what a muddy muck they left. But wow, on a hot sunny day with huge puffy white clouds in a beaming blue sky--there aint no other place I'd rather be than swimming in the honduras of this place.

This is what I can take with me in the portfolio of my mind. Snapshots of the good and bad gena, the happy and sad gena, the fake and the real gena...me--raw.

With every future word I write, any story I tell, and article or music review--they will be stained or even merely wrinkled with the watermark that holds a thousand memories from an enlightening journey towards eternity...

Near

2007-05-17T21:38:00.000-04:00

I was so excited to have a real shower and as I turned the water on, I noticed a little cockroach squirming to get to a corner in the shower. I thought, "Ah, he's not that big, I'm sure he'll leave me alone." After throwing a bit of shampoo and scrubbing it around, I looked at his corner. He was gone. I was a little unnerved, but thought, "Ah, he's probably running around near the toilet somewhere." I lift up my leg to start that awful process only women have to go through (the jury is still out if it really should be done or not) of shaving their legs. I lifted up my right leg, and there he was, sitting on top staring at me. I swear he planned it all beforehand. I jumped and flung him off. Then I just laughed.

I found out that the water pump isn't broken at my apartment complex they just decided to turn it off. So after more than a month of buck bathing, my boss talked to the dueno and asked them to turn it on from 6 to 7 in the morning so I can shower. Tomorrow I get to shower in my own apartment!

Today we went to Wonderland with 4th, 5th and 6th graders. It's like an Emerald Point water park. It was a wonderful refreshing day away from the classroom. 6 out of 8 of my kids went. There was one particular slide that a child could only go on with an adult. Guess who that adult was? Yep. After about 15 times of this one rather scary drop slide, I was exhausted. This is a picture of Josue and me after probably the 12th time.

Two weeks left of school, big hiking/camping trip this weekend, and well the next step in life still yet to figure out.

ma's day

2007-05-12T04:44:00.000-04:00

Tonight we had our mother's day program at school. Despite the fact that I usually get super stressed out during the weeks we have them, my mood seems to change during the night's events. "I'm really in Honduras teaching children English" is one of the thoughts that normally enters my mind.

Tonight I was really wishing some of you guys were there to see the poem and skit my students did. I'm going to try to get some of the videos online. Four of my kids made dinner for their mom, the other four were their hands (like those skits from whose line is it anyway). The stage got messy, but not as messy as their faces. One of my students didn't show up, so my hands made the salad. I could not stop laughing, and neither could they. It was precious.

Tonight I missed home.

wazzup

2007-05-08T21:33:00.000-04:00

The rain fell rather slowly at first, I thought I'd get home without getting too wet. I threw on my peach rain jacket, one of my best Goodwill finds so far, and began the five block walk. It started coming down faster, and faster. All I could do was smile as I kept my slow but steady pace and watched the rest of the Honduran world try to speed home to avoid the wetness. Suddenly I looked and saw something jump near my feet. A toad. The biggest toad I've ever seen. At least the size of two of my hands. I stopped. Stared. Smiled as I thought of how everyone else must perceive me, the gringa with the bright peach rain jacket, just standing in the rain staring at a toad.

On the way to cook up some of my soon-to-be-famous chicken wraps at my friends' apartment, I turned the corner and walked past the field near their house. It was sparkling green all over. A bazillion (yes I counted) fireflies were covering the field, the cows, the tree. It looked like a scene out of a tale of fairies, like Midsummer night's dream or something of the sort. Mystical and exhilerating (as were the chicken wraps).

School is winding down. I have about three weeks left, and as I hope and wait for certain job opportunities to come through or not, I am learning once again the rather difficult process of waiting on the Lord. It's true I'll stop in the midst of the pouring rain to admire a toad the size of a softball, but there are many times I don't stop. I don't admire. I'm too consumed with the idea of getting home or else my hair will get wet, I'll have to wash my clothes again. I'll make puddles on the kitchen floor if I stay out too long. Sometimes it's just too hard to wait. To sit while chaos continues around me. To relax when I don't know what's going to happen next in life. To remember that God is God and I am man...well, woman.

Pray for me, if you will, that I will not get frustrated because I cannot control the things I want to. That I will be satisfied not with myself, but with my God. This, too, I pray for you.

Another campamento

2007-04-30T12:48:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I went camping once again with a group of 13 other friends. We headed to the same finca we went to last time, but to a different campsite. The river was right near by and around 11pm after dinner and the campiste was all set up, a few of us went to test out the water.
Cold, refreshing water.
moonlit sky.
laughter.
reminders we are alive.

This morning, we went to a favorite watering spot of mine. Last time, i jumped off the cliff into the water and was petrified to do so. This time, I jumped off a higher spot. Fear swirled deep within me as I looked down (I honestly have no idea how high it was, I just know that after I did it, even some of my honduran adventurous friends were saying I was loca). I kept looking at the spot and thinking, "Oh my god!" over and over again. But I couldn't just keep standing there. If there is one thing I hate, it is wasting time. I was doing just that. Either jump or walk around. It takes less energy to just jump. I was absolutely frightened, but once it was over, I was so excited that I did it. I'm sure I'll be back at that spot sometime soon, and I'll take a picture and post it.

The picture here is of the bridge we crossed to get to our campsite. Word is, there's a camping trip in three weeks with a 9 hour hike to the spot, the highest mountain in Sigua, and a 9 hour return. Rumor has it, I might be going...if only I can get this body in better shape.

painting rocks and nasty tanks

2007-04-09T20:34:00.000-04:00

My dad once said that the chicken busses in Nicaragua first start out as school busses in the U.S., then once we’re done with them, we ship them to Mexico. Once the Mexicans get all the use out of them they can, they send them to Nicaragua. This might be a common theme in Nicaragua, for I found the same pattern true with Bill’s tank tops: nasty.

The trip was very chill, we did a lot of nothing; although we did catch a few glimpses of the Villacruz parade, complete with large figures of dead Jesus, live Jesus, and Mary. Then I went to Managua on Saturday to catch the bus on Sunday. I saw the movie The Last King of Scotland, which might appear in another blog soon. Around 4pm I arrived in Sigua, crashed and woke up the next morning.
This is a picture of David, my david, who I’ve been teaching English three times a week. He doesn’t come from a very rich family; but as I walk around downtown with him, I realize all children and adults are the same. “Can you buy me this?” “How about this?” he asks his uncle, who is a friend of mine. “No perro.”

Last week, we painted rocks together and went to see his cousin’s soccer game. He’s my new buddy, and he learns English very quickly. I have the idea in my head of sending him to a bilingual school. There is one right around the corner from his house. His desire to learn English is phenomenal, and I imagine he would do really well in smaller class sizes. So I’m proposing the idea to you all. If anyone would be interested in adopting him, that is, paying for his bilingual school education, please let me know. I know this is a huge commitment. I wouldn’t want it to just be one year and then he’d have to return to public school. So think about it long and hard, and email me if you are interested and we can talk details.

There’s some new pictures of jewelry-making fun, the trip to Nicaragua, and life in Sigua at my flickr.com sight. Be blessed!

Bunnies and Bracelets

2007-03-28T15:41:00.000-04:00

Next week is semana santa which means a whole week of freedom for everyone in central america...lots of places close down (including schools!) to celebrate easter, whether religiously or well...not so religiously. I am heading to a nearby country to visit my college buddy william who is serving in the peace corps in the agriculture field. Which for most means, that he lives in the very rural area and smells of the campo. Needless to say I am happy to be on the road again and get some reading and bracelet making in.

So yes, my new obsession is making necklaces and bracelets. I have taught the trade to a few of my friends here in sigua and we are attempting to sell our handcrafts. Each day one of us teaches the other a new type of knot or style that we have made. It is almost a competition: who sells the most, which one looks coolest, etc. After a little more than two hours of work last night, I have a new version which I think is BE EE A U-tiful. But I do have a tendency to fill myself up with a lot of pride. I will try to get some pictures up soon. My kids are all excited about the jewelry Im making which today meant no science class and taking orders from them about what type they want.

On Friday we have pool day here at the school which will officially mark one year of my presence here in Honduras. It´s a rather strange feeling, for I am a nomad and have a rather difficult time committing to anything, and therefore one year being in one place...well is rather exciting. I might just celebrate by, hmm, going on a vacation. Pool day means no classes and lots of kids getting wet. In addition, an easter egg hunt followed by children smashing the eggs found on the teachers head. (there will be sprinkles inside). Should be loads of fun.

I went camping this past weekend and spent the night right next to a trite river underneath a good size tree. After machetying the area, we set up camp, and had a blast once again with nature.

I doubt I´ll have another chance to write for a while, so happy easter to all, and I hope admist the craziness that holidays can bring, we can remember the words of the psalmist and be still and know He is God. The most amazing love is the unmerited love that God chose to offer us. By His blood I am healed. By His blood I am saved. By His blood I am a child of God. May the sacrifice Christ made on the cross only push us to sacrifice our selfish desires in order to love stronger, deeper, and more authentically.

happy bday jor! tanti auguri!!

Che's dad

2007-03-17T15:15:00.000-04:00

"Christ was the greatest man on earth, but the Church ruined his preaching. The church is the biggest business ever invented by the Jews and managed by the Italians." -Ernesto Guevara Sr.

Vivo

2007-03-17T14:36:00.000-04:00

As much as I want to be a journalist, being a teacher has that same real rawness that draws me to the field of journalism. I have had people ask me what real difference I can make as a journalist. I suppose in a way, everyone has to struggle with their line of work and whether it is making the type of differences they want it to. Regardless, as a teacher, as a student, as a journalist, as a friend, I am learning and re-learning valuable lessons. My faith is a consistent reminder of this. For in teaching, I see God in a new light. I see him as a teacher and me the student. I pray that by some mysterious miracle, I can portray to my kids the love Christ has for me. I see Him over and over again in the classroom setting, in the depth of my heart, in the bar, on the beach, in my notebook, on the bus. For he is everywhere, within every atom. If I try to hide in the depths of hades, you are still there, says David. And how true it is, for whether or not I read my Bible every day. Whether or not I go to church, He is softly and subtly chasing me down in the movies I see, in the books I read, His story is the story of redemption that exists within every form of entertainment, within every house...whether one with a wooden door or fabric door...He is coming after me with his bold love that begs me to treat others with kindness, love them as I love myself, to judge them not, to help the widow and the orphan, to share the truth of who He is. It is a truth that no church can give, that no book can clearly portray. It is the truth that will forever be revealed in the midst of relational people. A supreme truth that can only fully be expressed between a mother and a daughter, a teacher and a student, a boyfriend and a girlfriend, a grandpa and his grandson. For words on a page can only push us to act, a preacher in a pulpit can only desire us to move, lyrics of a song can only challenge us to understand. It is the daily movement, the routine, the ugliness and prettiness of actual relationships that really hold the power of the cross, the power of redemption.

...living and powerful and sharper than a two-edged sword...

Dreams

2007-02-15T14:17:00.000-05:00

14.2.07

Dreams...inconsistent angel things, voices bred with star-laced wings. But it’s so hard to make them fly, fly, fly. –Sixpence None the Richer

Recently, I’ve seen the inner depth of some Hondurans. Those depths are the same as anyone’s: wondering if our lives can make a difference in the realm of the whole world, if we can actually pursue our dreams, if we have a talent for the dreams we plan on pursuing, etc.

Befriending other writers has me typing and penciling a lot more these days. I’m starting to look at people like I did while I was in fiction class in college. As I half-heartedly listen to their stories, I pick out their distinguished features that would make for a good description:
“Hola viejo,” I say to him. His eyes brighten and as he smiles, all the wrinkles come out from hiding on his sun-damaged brownish red forehead. “Hola chiquita,” he replies back, his long speckled grey beard moves steadily with his words. If you watch and listen closely, the tone of his voice, the rhythm of his words, and the movement of his beard all correspond to each other like blinking stars in the sky speaking a language only they can understand.

It’s fascinating to hang out with well-educated natives. They have so much to say, and so much to offer about their opinions on life, God, politics, and literature. We stay up all night some weekends talking about these things. The theme seems to always go back to dreams. These guys are full of potential. Full of intelligence. Full of talent. But though they have the desire to travel, they don’t have the means to do so.

“If by me dying, God gave Gabriel Garcia Marquez 100 more years to live, I’d die right now,” says one of them. And it makes me think. I’ve traveled so much, and they haven’t at all. The analyzing and writing that comes out of me from my trips...I imagine there would be 20 times as much from them.

Would I give something up so they could experience just a taste of what I have? Christ said that no greater love has a man for his friend than to lay down his life for him. Love is sacrifice, and I see this over and over again in life. What one man sacrifices for, another takes for granted. Life is certainly something to ponder.

“Have you ever lived any of your dreams?” I ask.
“Not one,” he replies, “Have you?”
“In a way, I am living one right now.”

“How do I translate ‘take it for granted,’” I think, as we watch the sun rise above the fog over the bluish-purple mountains, giving it a glow so strong, it’s hard to see the actual sun.

Kook-a-rachas and Zach Morris

2007-01-20T12:46:00.000-05:00

20.01.07

I really don’t like them. I don’t know if it is their crunchy body. Maybe it’s their long antennae. But whenever I see one, I jump. Dead ones I don’t mind so much. In fact, I’ll hot glue them to a stick and make a movie at the expense of their carcasses. But live cockroaches and this girl just don’t mix. My boys had a fun time this week killing two for me. The one was big and his little friend decided that amidst the commotion, he would climb inside my running shoes on the ground. That meant that the Miss ran out of the classroom squirming as if one was crawling up my back. Thank goodness my boys aren’t as cruel as my dad and throw little papers at me after killing the insect as if it were still alive. This is why my father is not allowed to meet my boys.
Last week we had vacation Bible school at my church. I helped out with the 8-9 year olds, and as exhausting as it was, I had a lovely time. (Those British adjectives have a way of sticking around). I will try to get some pictures of that up soon. Using my Spanish lately has made me realize just how awful it is. I still consider myself fluent, but in the heat of the moment when I am to say something, I get the thought out but in a confused, drunken kind of way. It’s amazing these people still smile at me.
I brought a Saved By the Bell DVD to school this week and my kids are in love with Zach Morris. In fact, Cesar and Zach are very silimar in many ways, and we all have a good laugh at how comparable the two are. And, as a bonus, Slater mentioned that he wanted to “ditch school” and one of the girls was like, “Hey that’s one of our vocabulary words!” I’m so proud of those crazy kids.

Back in Action

2007-01-06T16:34:00.000-05:00

The return trip to Sigua wasn’t as hectic as the one home. There was no mad dash for the airplane this time with a 50-lb. carry-on bag on my shoulder, thank goodness. Seeing as that is 10 times the amount this girl can bench press, I think the gods were looking favorably upon me. I found two of my fellow teachers hanging around in the Atlanta airport, so we had a few hours to catch up and get our last American meal before the road home.

I was ecstatic to see my kids again, and get right back down to the business of keeping their attention by their favorite saying, “Hey look at me—I’m beautiful.” At least this time I got more smiles than usual, maybe a reminder to them that I had returned for real. The majority of them thought that none of us Americans would return, for it often happens in this line of business.

A huge thanks to all of those that participated in the sponsorship program, those kids were in heaven. And then of course, “Take out your math books,” brought them back to reality. Each child had to choose one gift to give away either to a friend or sibling. They have written quick emails to you, which you should have received, and the letters are to come soon. They are continually asking questions about the people that “spent so much money on us!” Thanks for those who participated in other ways to make it possible: my flight home, new gifts, moo-la, b&n cards, raspberry-flavored green tea, and of course your prayers. It’s good to be back here, riding a bike that works—unlike my dad’s ghetto-fabulous one :-) speaking Spanish again, although it’s a bit rusty right now, and certainly being with those crazy kids of mine.

*****
I was sitting in the teacher’s lounge from about 7 until 8:15, lounging around—mostly trying hard not to fall asleep because I had class in ten minutes. The principal came in and said,
“Miss Gena, you were supposed to talk about patience Dec. 18 for the school assembly, but seeing how we didn’t have school that week, you have to do it today.”
“Oh okay,” I said.
“You know during Civic Hour.”
“Oh so in ten minutes?” I asked.
“Si.”
Luv-eh-lee. I sat back down in the small, wooden chair meant for pre-school kids. Put my headphones back in my ears and thought, “Welcome back to Honduras.”

Life and Love and Why

2006-12-29T17:23:00.000-05:00

As we grow older, our definition of love changes. It constantly changes, grows, and rearranges, just as we do. A healthy sign of any particular language is that it is changing: new words are being added to the dictionary. Even though sometimes, our ideas of love might not be anywhere near the truth...when we are depressed or annoyed...it is a sign we are alive. I suppose it is our hope as a human race that the older we get, the closer we are to the raw truth of what love really is. Lately, I have been amazed at how drasticly my personal concept of love has changed. The idea of "harsh love" has never been more apparent to me than now in the role I serve as a teacher. The cute, silly, young romatic love that Hollywood makes a fortune off of in those Romantic Comedies, never lasts longer than the two hours we sit in plush movie-theatre seats. Real love is immensely different, often a mix of large amounts of pain and anger, mundane-ness, and serious joy.

Amy Carmichael once said, "If by doing some work which the undiscerning consider 'not spiritual work' I can best help others, and I inwardly rebel, thinking it is the spiritual for which I crave, when in truth it is the interesting and exciting, then I know nothing of Calvary love."

And this is what almost scares me. For having lived in Honduras now, about 8 or so months, certainly the "honey moon" phase is way over. Life is routine now, and sometimes mundane. But in correlation, that is what love is all about. Love really comes alive, not through a one-week mission trip where I can act like the Pied Piper and get all the little kids to help me carry bricks (although, this is one aspect of love, just not as deep), but through the day-to-day tasks of teaching and yelling, demanding more, and laughing at the silly mistakes I make, and the silly things my kids say to me. (Two of my girls recently told me I have a large toosh, hah) And the same goes in any aspect of life. Living overseas to many people brings forth the idea of constant adventure and fun. But living overseas, in many ways, is the same as living in the states. Sure there are less conveniences, but life finds its routine no matter what soil we land on. And in the routine, we figure out, struggle with, and learn what love really is.

The odd thing is, it is the people I get frustrated with the most, who I love the most. Love endures all things, says the Bible. That means, it aint no fairy tale. Not that I ever really believed it was, I certainly had ideals that could never be a reality. Nonetheless, the year 2006 has brought me one large step closer to the concept of what real love is, even though I yet, have a lot to learn. It has shown me, one inch deeper of what it means to be a Christian. To hold onto God when no one else around me is. I've wrestled more with the concept of being Christ-like than I ever have before, which is a lot, as I've consistently wrestled these ideas a million times in conversations during college. (thanks to all those who contributed) Yet this time, I've wrestled more with myself. If being Christ-like and loving Christ means loving people in a very non-romanticized non-hollywood-like way, if it means realizing just how sinful I am, and just how deep his grace for me is, if it means that walking this path will not get easier, if it means that I have to not always want the ideal "spiritual for which I crave" or rather, the "adventurous", then well, maybe I am one step deeper in my faith, even though the mistakes I've made are stronger and deeper than ever before, and the learning process is ridiculously harder.

I imagine that 2007 can only get worse. But in getting worse, it gets better. For truly, the definition of love can only grow stronger as I wrestle more and live longer.

Sponsorship

2006-12-09T15:47:00.000-05:00

8.12.06
I could pretend that I don’t want anything for Christmas. But I won’t do that to you, not this year anyway. Living in another country has two very extreme, opposing effects on me. One is realizing just how blessed I am and how I lack nothing. The other is realizing how much stuff I could have but don’t. The second normally happens when I look at magazines or think about returning to the states, and even when I go to the tiny, little mall Siguatepeque has. Want is all around me and I am certainly not numb to its effects. I get rather excited thinking about going to Target and even Wal-mart, where I can find everything I want in one place. And so many choices. Barnes and Nobles. Oh man. I get really excited thinking about all the food I’m going to eat. My plan is to gain 20 pounds and then just live off the extra fat for a month when I return here.
My children will receive a smile and a hug for me before Christmas vacation. I want to bring them back a few goodies from the states. I realize that during this holiday season every charity in the world is asking for your money. And so are your kids and your parents, and possibly your friends. My kids, in all reality, aren’t that poor compared to others around them. They attend a private institution. Some of them are on scholarship and I know that many of their parents sacrifice more than the children’s attitude portrays. Regardless, if you feel so inclined to help me out, I would certainly appreciate it. It would be great if I could get eight people to sponsor each child. Then I could tell that specific child that you are the person who bought them these gifts and have them send you a thank you card. I think it would not only be a nice Christmas gift for them, but they would realize that other people outside of their knowledge care about them. Possibly it would have a ripple effect later on in life and they would turn around and do the same thing.
If you are interested, let me know. If you are interested in sponsoring them with prayer, please let me know. It would be awesome to have some of you seriously praying for these children. I will tell you their full names as well as more info about them:

Daniela – she is the daughter of the director at the school. With her mom taking care of everything else, she doesn’t often get the time she needs from the parents at home. She takes charge of the other girls, but can be incredibly sweet at the same time. When she pays attention, she gets great grades, but getting her to that point is never consistent. She loves the color pink and playing jacks.
Melissa – she used to be incredibly apathetic towards school. I have seen a huge change in her since. Although she is still very talkative and plays checkers or jacks any chance she gets, she is showing such an effort in actually learning what goes on in school
Elizama – she is the epitome of the latin culture. She is passionate one moment about school work and completely unpassionate the next. She entered the bilingual school last year and still has trouble with english which can easily frustrate her. Yet, she is a gifted student who picks up concepts quickly, especially in math and science. She loves word searches.
Katy– she used to be the ring leader of the girls, but this year she is much quieter and less in control of her peers. Although through all the social issues she’s dealt with, she is very much on top of her homework. When she misses school she is the first to contact me, a luxury I have with no other student. Her mom works as a nurse and goes to school at night, yet she finds time to come meet with me when I ask and surprisingly really cares about her daughter’s progress.
Augusto – also known as the class clown, this guy likes to dance (sometimes in the middle of class) has a fun-loving personality, never liked to read until Narnia came into his life. Loves playing computer games during computer class instead of doing his work.
Abastida– he is one of my favorites. I know those aren’t supposed to exist right? Yet at the same time, he is one I have a lot of difficulty with. I imagine he has some form of ADHD for when he is paying attention, he is amazingly intelligent. However, the majority of the time I have to spend getting his attention and maintaining it. He’s a sensative child who really expresses sorrow when he knows he is making me angry. He gives the best hugs I’ve ever received and loves to play checkers.
Gilberto – he is one of the most gifted students I have. He rarely gets a grade below a 90 and if he does, he always looks at his mistakes and learns from them. He probably has the best English accent and although he started the bilingual school in second grade, (the majority of them started in pre-school) he is the one everyone goes to when they don’t know how to say something in English. His mom is the kinder teacher and very involved in Josué’s life.
Ramirez – he is the most intelligent child in my class. Without studying, he gets a 100 on just about every test we have. He keeps me sane when I get frustrated that the children aren’t paying attention or getting the concept I am trying to teach in every way I know possible. He loves to tell me about what happened in the video game he played the night before. He enjoys playing scrabble and checkers. Hidden

Things to buy:
*A 3rd or 4th grade level book to read, depending on the child
*An activity book (coloring, cross-word puzzle, wordsearch, hidden pictures)
*A box of $1 crayola washable markers
*A box of standard pencils
*A toy car or baseball cap for the boys
*A pair of earrings or any little accessory for the girls

If you are interested but can only buy some of the items, let me know. I will be in North Carolina for a bit when I first arrive on the night of the 16th, and then in New York for Christmas. I return to Honduras on the 2nd of January.

da Books

2006-11-09T22:04:00.000-05:00

HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Just finished this one...have to say I really enjoy the wacky writing style of this guy. You kind of have to be on your toes to catch all of the humor that sneaks its way into every sentence. Thanks anna and scott for sending it my way.

Anderson Cooper's Dispatches from the Edge
Fascinating story line. Although not as detailed and specific as I thought it would be, still an interesting read. I really liked getting the journalist's perspective on worldwide disaster events. He made me want to get off my booty and start writing some articles that would attempt to right some wrongs. I must say though, I wasn't impressed with his writing skills. I guess as an on-the-spot TV reporter has different writing/speaking skills than a print journalist. The fast-paced lifestyle pours into his detail writing, or lack there of.

Left To Tell
For a woman who isn't known as a writer, this woman is an amazing story-teller. In addition the story she tells is beyond impressionistic. This book should be in your hands within the next 24 hours. The truth about the Rwandan genocide and its aftermath has opened my eyes, once again, to the blessed life I live. You won't want to put this book down.

The outfits

2006-11-07T19:45:00.000-05:00

Mother Nature and a Red Checkers Piece

Cat in the Hat

2006-11-07T19:42:00.000-05:00

A little boy in 2nd Grade and his cute costume!

Da Boys

2006-11-07T19:40:00.000-05:00

Santos and Jorge on Costume Day

The Gals

2006-11-07T19:38:00.000-05:00

Me, Emma, Rebecca, Lauren, Sarah

7.11.06

2006-11-07T19:33:00.000-05:00

A big, red piece of cardboard, black and white shoes, a black shirt, and a white skirt. Really, that’s all it takes to make a Halloween costume. We had costume day at school the 27th, and I was racking my brain trying to figure out what I should go as. I thought of the cartoon Doug, and his super-hereo other-self. But then I asked the principal if I could wear my underwear encima de mis pantalones, and she just looked at me like I was crazy. Then I thought of Popeye. However, I realized that none of my kids would understand who I was trying to be. My children play checkers at least 5 times everyday. So I decided to be a red checkers piece. Despite the fact that I had to explain at least 50 times who I was, my kids got a kick out of it.
I went to Tela, a beach town, right after costume day with Ethan, Lauren and Sarah. Despite the rain, we had a blast. I re-learned how to play Yuker, ate a lot of really good pizza...of course not as good as Aniellos, but made with real mozerella cheese...went dancing with the clan, and totally relaxed. Our hotel room had a shower with serious pressure and cable TV, both things I have learned to live without.
We finally finished reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe in my fifth grade class. Today we watched the movie. I’ve never seen my kids, or really any Honduran kids, so excited about reading until now. “I’m going to miss this book!” said Amy. Santos asks me for my copy of it everyday. I told them if they can bring me about 140 Lemps, I can buy them each a copy during Christmas break. They were excited. Cesar, one of the biggest trouble-makers, but simultaneously my favorite, told me, “Reading used to be my worst subject, now it’s my best.” His English was a bit more scratchy than that, but at least now when he jokingly says, “I’m going to kill you,” he doesn’t say “I go to kill you.” Something we’ve worked on since the moment I stepped foot on the school grounds.
We still have behavior problems that we are all working on. It seems as though in a lot of ways we American teachers are fighting a culture in our attempts to control our classroom. Parenting here often comes unwillingly. Out of boredom, out of a lack of education, out of...well the list could go on. So many moms are moms before they get the chance to grow up, and then the dads desert them or go off to find pleasure elsewhere. So when it comes time to obey, obedience isn’t something practiced at home, so why should it be at school? Throwing garbage on the ground is kosher at home, but not here. Being a bully is never punished at home (I think because it often happens outside the vicinity of a mother’s view—or because when the mother is angry, she is a bully to her children....and of course there is plenty of domestic violence)
And so as teachers, we fight not only apathy towards school work, but apathy towards treating others with respect. I’m sure any teacher anywhere has to deal with these things, and to those teachers reading this, kudos to you! One day when I’m rich, I’ll buy you all a drink for all the hard work you do.
In other news, I’m getting more involved in my church. On Saturday I “spoke” at the children’s church thing. The theme was about putting God first, which was an eye-opening speech to write for I, like Paul, am the worst of sinners.
I have also recently felt a common bond to Moses. I love my kids so much, but their attitude toward me vacillates. One moment they love me, the next they hate me. I suppose it is like this with anyone who is on a different wisdom-level than those they are trying to lead. How in the world did Christ ever die for the sins of those of us creatures who are unthankful, with miserable attitudes towards him and completely selfish? The days my children are well-behaved, I adore them. But there are many moments where I want to kick them. Seriously. Somehow those are the moments where the love of Christ somehow submerges amongst the chaos, for it is the essence of the Gospel. It says that a blameless man will take the place of the culpable, which means that when I adopt that as a lifestyle, I say goodbye to any selfish rights a normal human being claims. I, too, must die to myself, and watch as death itself moves backwards...
I can’t wait for Christmas vacation. Very very ready for some of Meema’s cooking, Aniello’s pizza, Zizi Jo’s cookies, and Ma’s apple pie! And of course, so excited about seeing the crazy Italian family.

Running of the gringa

2006-10-18T17:05:00.000-04:00

I find myself running with honduran children more often than I find myself correcting my students' English. Well, possibly. Yesterday, I had running club with only one of my girls from school. She was the only one to show up, so we went running together and when she wouldn´t go on her own anymore, I held her hand and we ran together. In addition, last night I went to the cancha to play with my cancha boys and they said they wanted to go running. So two of the littlest ones grabbed my hands and off we went six honduran children circling me as we run down the street together.
Running club is twice a week with 5th, 6th, and 7th graders and I´m sort of in charge of it. We were meeting up wtih another school, but I think we will just have it on our own since having parents arrive on time to pick the kids up seems to be an issue. I´ve started teaching English classes to a group of five of my neighborhood kids between 3rd and 7th grade. Thanks for those oreo cookies Anna, they certainly enjoyed eating them with me!
This weekend I might be off to the beach again. It´s Ethan´s birthday, one of the other teachers. He turns half a century old. Hopefully this time, we wont return with any sicknesses...

School is, well, interesting. I'm learning possibly way more than my students are. I enjoy watching them learn and explore, but I think I've realized....I am happy to have this experience in a lot of ways, but I much more enjoy the relationships I can have with other children when they randomly run with me in the streets or play with me in the cancha.Maybe it's just a part of growing up, but I don't really like all the organization that goes along with a teacher-student relationship. But to be a good teacher, one must do so. It's very different because the majority of my previous relationships with children have been in settings that don't last very long, i.e. missions trips, camp counselor for a week, etc. So the effect they have on you and the effect you have on them, essentially is still part of an extendified (it should be a word) first-impression. Much much different than a long-term relationship. The fun can't last forever. I suppose that is the struggle of any parent, though.

God is good and faithful. I see him in so many aspects here. Mostly through the sweetness that comes from the children. Even if I yell at my kids or work them very hard, they still smile at me, hug me and love me. I just wonder if they can see any of Him through me.

Cartwheels in the Cancha

2006-10-05T21:34:00.000-04:00

There is a cancha right near my apartment. It has a soccer field, a basketball court, and a swingset. Monday night I went to play basketball with three of the other women teachers at my school. Rebecca is the only one who can actually say she plays. The rest of us, well, we had fun. There were about 10 kids who ended up playing with us. After half an hour of playing bball, we moved to the soccer field and they were asking us if we could do cartwheels and handstands. We all could, so we attempted to show them up. After a round of gymnastics, we sang a few songs including the Hokey Pokey—each of us with a child on our shoulders. We lay down in the grass and lifted them up into the airplane position. We swung them around in circles. They dog piled me.
I am going to be teaching an English class to some of the neighborhood kids and on Tuesdays and Thursdays our school is going to join up with another bilingual school to have a running club. I think the reason some of my boys want to join is so they can say they beat Miss Gena in a race. I went running with some of them on Tuesday, and they were like, “Miss Gena, you are crazy! How can you run that much.” The reality of it is, that we didn’t even run one mile. I imagine they’ll soon be faster than me.
Please pray for me in the midst of my classroom. I don’t always know how to handle the children—how to maintain control of the classroom and keep them focused. Some days I love it here. Some days I don’t. The frustrations of translating, the petty rules a teacher has to follow, the diarrhea, the many forms of creepy creatures, the annoying rooster that crows like he is about to die every morning. But there are too many surreal moments, like the cartwheels in the cancha that drown out the bad and remind me how sweet life can be.

Retiro

2006-10-02T18:35:00.000-04:00

Sweet nature. The R and R that I longed for when I went to Trujillo which didn't seem to really happened, certainly came around this weekend in the form of a trip with my youth group to a placed called Panacam. It is actually a tourist site with cabins equipped with real toilets and toilet paper, snickers bars for sale, and Economist magazines to read. Only about an hour away from Sigua, this is my new favorite place. On Saturday we went on a four hour hike up a mountain (see the foto below)and then back down the mountain. On the way was a few lookout sites as well as beautiful waterfall. However my camera decided not to work well when I attempted to take pictures of the cascada. GRRR. Regardless, the hike was beautiful and I saw a lot of plants only found in rain forest-like areas. They kept asking me if I was tired, everyone was tired except me and one of the leaders who often goes on long hikes. I was ready to go again at the end, and they all said I was crazy. I dont know if I really would have gone for another 4 hour hike, but I definitely wanted to hang out with the flora and fauna some more. We passed through a section where there was supposed to be a lot of cobras, but we saw none. I really wanted to see one, but it was better that God protected us from venimous snakes. However, on Sunday we took a short hike to another waterfall, and on the way we saw a little baby cobra. I was happy to have seen one.

The retreat was great in a lot of ways. It was a good little get away from Sigua and all that can stress me out here. I didn't have to translate for anyone, in fact, there were two boys on the retreat who attend bilingual schools and I had them translate a word each for me. The rest I dealt with by explaining what I was trying to say with other words. It was sooo sweet to see the beauty of nature and feel a part of it, and surprisingly enough I returned home with less mosquito bites than I have fingers, which is a first.

There are certain moments in my life where I feel the peace of God so strong. I had the chance to sit and contemplate life and God, and write about it while looking at a beautiful view of the lake. That is what I call rest. I felt at peace.

I made a lot of new friends as well, quite a few really awesome ones that I plan to hang out with more here in Sigua.

During the retreat, they have this mail box that you can write little notes to someone else and the leaders will read them during the breaks or inbetween speakers and such. One little boy wrote two to me, saying that I was guapa (beautiful). On the way home we sang songs on the school bus. One of the songs goes like this... The person sings the first part, the audience repeats it all.

Beeyay yay (beeyay yay)
Beeyay yay yaya (beeyay yay yay)
Yo tengo un amigo (I have a friend)
Quien se llama _____________ (Whose name is __________place name in there)
A esa si (or no) lo quiero (And I love him/her or I dont love him/her)
Porque __________________ (give a reason here)

Then the person who was called out has to do the same to someone else.

So I said, I have a friend named JeanCarlos who I love because he tells me I'm guapa. The whole bus started laughing and then poor JeanCarlos had everyone going "ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" to him, as they often did during the mail box time when someone told someone else of the opposite sex that they thought they were pretty. Now I have a 9 year old boyfriend in Nicaragua, a 12 year old one here, and a creepy old man named Stefano somewhere in Italy. Hey life is good.

Today we had off from school because tomorrow is Fransisco Morazán (1792-1842)day. He was President of Central America, who enacted idealistic liberal reforms, then unsuccessfully fought to maintain the unity of that nation as it fell apart into separate states in civil war. (thanks Wikipedia, for that)

Last night I hung out with some other gringa girls and made chocolate chip cookies. We attempted to watch a movie but ended up discussing the sociologic aspect of hondurans, which I'm sure I will write soon about all that I am discovering in this culture.

Hasta Luego.

youth group

2006-10-02T18:29:00.000-04:00

Turns out honduran retreats are a lot like american ones, just all in spanish.

more fotos

2006-10-02T17:54:00.000-04:00

a view from the top of our hike

daFoToes

2006-09-22T18:44:00.000-04:00

PARADE FUN TIMES

True-He-Yo

2006-09-22T18:40:00.000-04:00

Cheese. It is the answer to everything. Are you feeling sick? Eat some cheese. Have you had a headache? Eat some cheese. For the past two days I’ve been a bit under the weather with a little bout of dehydration. I told Silvio today and he said, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier. Here I have some cheese for you.” Despite the fact that I had no appetite for a good 40 hours, I’m sure if I had laid eyes on a block of cheese I would have been healed. Pazzo, yet so, well, predictable.
Friday the 15th was Independence Day here. All last week there were parades around the town square. I marched twice, once with the preschool and once with middle school. It was certainly a slice of culture to behold. All of the children were dressed up in one form or another. (Pictures to follow soon). When Friday rolled around, we American teachers were off to the beach. We headed up to Trujillo, a place about 7 hours from Sigua. It is a quaint little beach town that we could see in its entirety from our hotel up on the mountain. Not too many tourists either. Columbus apparently landed there on his fourth voyage to the Americas. It also is renowned as the place that William Walker was killed by a firing range.
Although I’m quite happy we saw Trujillo, and I’m happy my skin looks just a little bit closer to that of a Catrachos, I’m even happier that this weekend, I’m sticking around Sigua. A little R&R – there’s nothing quite like it.

Photo Fun

2006-09-06T22:19:00.000-04:00

Finally, I have a digital that works...sometimes. Anyhow, here are some long awaited pictures.

Three in One

2006-09-06T22:13:00.000-04:00

Visitors of mine, Sheila and Josiah, just left yesterday to head to El Salvador and visit their son and brother, Josh. It was so nice to have people from home here visiting. It’s still a very surreal feeling though, like they belong to my other life, similar to what I felt when Bill was here. It was awesome though, they loved the Wendy’s and the pizzeria and the ice cream shop. They brought my kids a suitcase of books, and we had a class period of learning about the Mid Ages. We made shields and flags. Jorge had a lion on his shield and he named it “Lions of the Lord” and Santos’ named his “Eagles of the North.” We gringos were pretty impressed with the creativeness that came out in the craft time.

I have now been in Honduras longer than I have been in any other country. Maybe that counts for something. Today my boss told me, “You are pura catracha,” or pure Honduran. Considering that in two days, I’m dancing to a Shakira song for the kids at school, I’m something other than a normal American to them. Today I found myself listening to all kinds of pop latin music down here on the tele in order to see Shakira shake her hips and hope I can do something similar without making a fool of myself.
But I’m not pura catracha; the Italian in me comes out. My buddy Silvio recently introduced me to Luigi whose parents own the two Italian pizzerias in town. He basically manages one of them. Today I was hanging out at the pizzeria down town and Luigi gave me a free coke. We chatted about Italy, Argentina, and Spain. It might become a regular hang out place. We Italians (okay so I’m a half-Italian) belong in or around a pizzeria no matter where we are. I’m sure of it. It felt like a slice of my hometown.
And the American in me certainly seeps out every moment of the day. I’m trying to learn to take it easy – to not be so uptight about everything. To relax and realize that things don’t always have to go as planned, whether it be the details of my day or the details of school administration stuff. Life is meant to be lived, and even though it’s hard to be as laid back as the Hondurans, I’m taking it a step at a time.
So Friday is kid’s day which basically means there is a big fiesta at school. This is why I get to show off my dance moves. Then we’ll eat candy and popcorn and watch movies. This is a holiday the U.S. needs to adopt from Honduras. Independence Day comes around the following Friday which means no work. Some of the other teachers and I are planning a trip to the beach. After all the parade marching the couple days before I’m not sure we’ll be ready for more sun, but getting away for a bit will be nice.

When the Sun Goes Down

2006-08-15T13:27:00.000-04:00

When the sun goes down and the cool breeze blows in the dark streets of the small city, there lurks a short, little man behind this tree or that telephone post waiting, stalking, and longing for the blood of gringas.
He sends out his relatives like a pack of wolves to find out exactly where the gringas are. They sniff, bark, and make their move. Be careful when you go to this city. For those you think are friends only enjoy this dark, sad tale of a one-sided love. When they are supposed to be your knight and shining armor, they turn out to be jokers laughing at every detail you tell…

The trip to Nica was full of ups and downs. I arrived at the Tica bus station with my friend Josh waiting for me, which was rather nice when you are a girl traveling alone. We went to the mall, which was in its own way a little culture shock to me even though I just returned from the States not too long ago. We saw the Pirates 2 movie and ate at Subway, which was quite a treat. The next day, he set out for El Salvador and I took an hour bus ride to Masatepe. I had a bit of a fever as soon as I arrived that lingered a bit into the church service at night. Church was rockin’ (quite literally) and I was so excited to be in a place where church is fun. My stalker buddy found me afterwards and was talking to me about something on the internet then finally went away. The rest of the week, I helped out teaching English class at the school. Apparently the gringa pursuer called a few times to the school to find out my whereabouts and my schedule. GRRRRR. But I spent my time catching up with some of my friends on their lives, their dreams, and the different difficulties they are going through. Two of my guy friends now have girlfriends, which is a huge deal there. It pretty much means they are getting married, just not sure of the wedding date. They were both so cute: couldn’t stop smiling when they talked about their girls. Sweet.
On the day before I left, I got really sick and didn’t think I’d be able to visit my PC buddy in Matagalpa. But praise the Lord, all the junk inside my stomach found its way out in one way or another (yeck!) and two of my Masatepian friends and I set out for the North. We met up with Bill, ate some Nicaraguan food, and went to a movie (which was rather dumb, but there isn’t much choice in these places). The next day before heading out, we had some REAL Italian food. Down a rather small street in Matagalpa lies an Italian restaurant that makes their food with mozzarella cheese! I was, for a short while, in heaven with that pizza we ate. If Bill put up a fight, I would have seriously punched him for the leftovers. But amazingly enough, he didn’t. (Probably because he ate part of a big salad, a whole small pizza and then two slices of the large).
Now I’m back in Sigua and happy to be here. In Masatepe, the water and electricity work when they want to. After this week though, I realized how often I take that for granted here in Sigua. I love the people in Masatepe, but I love the set up of the town of Sigua. Supermercados, Wendy’s, and people who speak English. I’m happy to be here. Work starts tomorrow, and new teachers are on their way. My boss just had her baby on the 13th. I like holding him and watching him sleep, but I’m so glad I get to give him back to someone else. He’s precious, and he sleeps a lot. One day…

Besos and Tortillas

2006-07-31T16:40:00.000-04:00

I got a kiss. I got a kiss, hey hey hey hey. I’ve gone to Emanuel church about four times now. Twice since I’ve been back. Both times, I’ve sat next to a couple with a little boy about 8 years old. I still don’t know his name. He’s been watching my every move. Tonight at church, I poked him in the stomach when he raised his hands to stretch. He first smiled, and then he frowned. Maybe I went too far, I thought. But then, after the service (the kids leave during the middle), he came up to me and said adios. I leaned down and said adios back and he wrapped his hands around my neck and kissed me on the cheek. Two words: church rocks.

I’m turning Honduran. On the way to church today, I wore high heels. Not a smart idea to wear high heels…EVER, but especially to walk a far distance on rocky roads. I don’t know how these women do it. That’s all they ever wear. Next time, I’ll wear my crocs there and throw the tacones on when the church is in view.

Eva did indeed teach me how to make tortillas. It’s rather easy, and although my circles aren’t perfect, they turned out edible! I cooked her dinner that night, and had extras so I gave them to Silvio. I don’t know if they just don’t want to insult me, but they really liked my cooking. Maybe it’s in my blood. Maybe it’s in the name, haha. Cooking is my new favorite pastime. For me, it’s an art. I never really know what I’m doing, but thank goodness, most times the food turns out asi asi is when I’m not cooking for anyone else. My PC friend enjoyed my cooking too, but I think it’s because he normally eats beans and rice…all the time.

I’m heading to Nicaragua next week to visit some friends I haven’t seen in a while. I’m excited about being there, but not so excited about the trip. I’m afraid my camera and mp3 player won’t come with me, they’ll be safer here. Because all the roads are so curvy, it’s hard to read on the bus rides. Maybe I’ll find some more kissing children.

2006-07-28T15:42:00.000-04:00

Let faith support us where reason fails, and we shall think because we believe, not in order that we may believe.
-A. W. Tozer

Spit

2006-07-28T15:41:00.000-04:00

I can spit farther than Bill.
I'm proud of it.

Blah Blah Blah

2006-07-26T15:08:00.000-04:00

my writing here is crappy...sorry:

The rainy season has brought more creatures into my apartment. I’ve been back less than a week, and I’ve seen about 20 of these little cocoon-like things hanging in random places on my walls. Tonight, I looked and realized there is a little worm-like guy inside of there. I think grown up, it’s a moth-like guy. But this ain’t the place to grow up.

Hydrocortisone cream is my new best friend. The ants are my skin’s new best friend. Grrr.

School starts for real around the end of August, but right now we are in the middle of summer school. I started teaching Math to 2nd graders. I’m not sure who thought that would be a good idea, but I’m actually enjoying it.

My friend from college came up and visited me for a bit. It was rather weird having someone from college life in the midst of Honduras life, but it was great to hang out with him. We went to the movie theatre here which costs all of 30 Lempiras, which is less than $2, and traveled far too long on busses to see a 400m waterfall. Bill swears that waterfall is not as tall as the guide book says it is. I’m not good with numbers or distances, but it was a pretty big waterfall. He’s been in Nicaragua in the Peace Corps for almost a year now, and after hearing his stories about how he lives, it made me realize just how blessed I am. I have my own apartment, constant running water, no bed bugs, and I shower everyday. I also have four grocery stores to choose from, and I can buy just about any kind of basic American candy.

My new roommate moves in tomorrow. We’ll have bunk beds in the room that serves as a living room and a bedroom. The apartment is really meant for one person, but only in America does one person live in a one-bedroom apartment. I mean, this is Honduras for Columbus’ sake. Speaking of him, the name Honduras literally means depths. Columbus named the country this for its deep waters off the Atlantic shore. A little FYI for you geeky folk.

I’m supposed to learn how to make tortillas soon from my neighbor, Eva. Hmm, I’ll let you know if they are edible when I finish.

Four

2006-07-14T19:57:00.000-04:00

I'm in the states for about four more days. I try rather hard not to think about how I'll be gone for a year. I'm not very good at committing to things. Amazingly enough, I lasted at my last job (during college) for that long. I didn't think I'd make it. I've wanted to live in another country for quite some time now, but as the day approaches, I feel anxiety, fear, and excitement all in one. I think I was pretty lucky because I had a few months to see if things worked out for me down there in Sigua. And because I lived in Nica before, Sigua seems so developed to me. As I've written in my previous posts, I have fallen in love with the kids I teach down there. There's not too much to complain about. But will the lovey-dovey stage quickly fall apart as I return and my mind plays the "oh my gosh I'm here for THAT long" game?

I've always lived a life of comfort, and even though folks are always amazed at how I can travel in some of the conditions I've traveled in, the thought process was always, "Okay only four more days of this, or only one more day on the river with the crocs." This time, it will be like, "Okay only 360 more days." I hope my mind doesn't revert to that mentality. I pray I can just enjoy the time there and learn as much as possible from my students, from my environment, from my fellow human beings.

I really am looking foward to new adventures, both in and out of the classroom. But a whole year of no targets, walmarts, chic-filas and rootbeer? It's amazing how quickly life seems to change. It's as though once college was over, all this adult-like thinking took charge. Even the things I thought would always stay in that "idealistic state" are starting to fall to the ground of reality. Falling in love is no longer just what happens. I suddenly have to look at the logistics of a future mate: education, financial stability, if he would ever consider living outside the US, if his dreams somewhat line up with mine, if his parents could handle me and my italian- ness (including the crazy italian family--madonna mia!). And in the category of careers, it's no longer just teaching for a year in Central America. I suddenly have to prove to others that this is a stepping stone to a better career. And I must list what skills I will gain from this experience that will help me move up in the ladder of success. Do I plan to stay for one year or five?

Not that life was ever not complicated (yes, double negatives and I'm an English major :-P), but suddenly it seems all the previous complications were so much smaller. And where does God fit into all this? I used to think if there were two paths in front of me one was definitely from God, the other wasn't. And maybe like those "elect"-like thinkers, that is true, and we just always pick the right one. I think God can be found, well, anywhere you go...no matter what happens to you. What would life be like if I was living in the states working at a newspaper writing the cops and courts beat. I wouldn't be learning the same exact things I am about life, love, and God, but I'd be learning about those things nonetheless. I certainly prefer to be teaching PE (which usually means me playing soccer with my 11 year olds) to sitting at a cubicle typing up a story that means nothing to me. But maybe there will come a time when I have to, as they say in Honduras, "Hacele huevos." (Suck it up, pal) Maybe I will have to follow my head instead of my heart, at least to get to a point where I can fund the following of my heart. $250/mth might not even be a rung on that ladder of success. But maybe success isn't a ladder at all. If only one was paid by how many people he made smile that day. In my idealistic world that I've held onto for so long--and will continue to as long as I can--I am rich with a currency that has no monetary value. But there are too many ladders. Too many economies of monetary blah blah blahs.

Can't I be four again?

america

2006-07-13T20:05:00.000-04:00

This is what America is good for. Icecream and candy at midnight!

bare 'em proudly

2006-07-05T15:36:00.000-04:00

I think there should be a national barefeet day. April would probably be the best time to have it because the asphalt wouldn't be too hot for the majority of Americans. Maybe places like Arizona and Texas could celebrate the day in December or something. But I think that everyone should have to follow the guidelines. If anyone is seen wearing shoes, they will be fined $50 and all that money would go to a charity like the Paraplegia Foundation (www.paraplegicindia.org) or something of the sort. So even the big wigs like Donald Trump and George W would have to go to work that day without shoes on. I mean, we have probably some of the cleanest streets in the world, and the nicest feet because they are always covered or pedicured or (hopefully) daily washed. Why not enjoy those clean streets in a way we never have before. I tell you, it's too bad I don't run the world.

So I cut my hair recently. It hasn't been short in about two years. It hasn't been this short ever. The man who cut my hair had really long fingernails. I think someone should give me a cookie for allowing a man with long fingernails to touch my hair for about an hour. I think that's the most disgusting thing (quite possibly in the whole world). A man should not have longer fingernails than a woman. Yeck! Anyways, when he first cut it, he had the front part coming down over my forehead. I've never had bangs before and now I know why. I completely and totally look like a boy. Thank God my parents never thought bangs would be a good idea for me. I had enough troubles with my monstrous glasses that engulfed my face. (I've never found a better use for the word engulfed, EVER, b/c that is what they really did!) No worries though, when I style my hair, unlike nasty long fingernail guy, I dont have bangs.

Check out www.locksoflove.org if you have 10 or more inches of hair that you dont know what to do with.

The Fighter

2006-07-04T02:21:00.000-04:00

A man goes off to war. This isn't his first time. He was trained to fight. He feels comradery with his fellow soldiers. He fights for himself, for his country, for his family. He suffers. Some days he is scared. Some days he feels powerful. The King calls him back home for a week of vacation time. The man comes home (because if a King tells you to do something, you do it). The King says eat this good food, drink this great wine, go and sleep near the warmth of your wife. But he refuses the comfort of a warm bed, a roof over his head, a beautiful wife to lie next to. Instead he sleeps outside.

Every believer must fight if he wants to maintain the rights to believe. In my life, there have been quite a few of those belief fights that have lasted one or two rounds, maybe three. But a boxing match does not compare to a battle, and one battle doesn't compare to a war. There are levels of fighting, and I think we all must pass through each type at one point or another.

The hardest battle any believer must face is one in which his words, his so-called beliefs line up with his actions. In the Christian lifestyle, there are some actions that may seem very easy to match up. But in the right environment, with the right amount of peer pressure or loneliness, what used to be a definitive black and white issue transforms into a battle one is unconsciously fighting. When the shit hits the fan, unconciousness disappears and he must then decide if he will continue to act in a manner that does not match his beliefs, or turn around and do as the biblia says and repent. I always wanted to be remembered as someone who stood up for what she believes in. But this believing gig isn't getting any easier. If it was, though, it'd probably be a sign of a warm bed when where I should be sleeping involves a trench and a sleeping bag.

Reefs

2006-06-06T19:12:00.000-04:00

The rain drips froma rippled tin roof
A rooster crows in the middle of this dark, wet night
And I can hear the flop of my flip flops

The barbed wire fence is no longer foreign
Nor the toilet paper in the wastebasket
These are my thoughts as I flip flop home.

The Geko sings and reminds me of its presence
I hope it eats any mosquitos in my house
I flip and flop against the background of chirping crickets

The grass is wet but my toes are dry
I could get used to this place
Flipping and flopping along the more than rocky path

The firefly is passing by my window
My favorite color bursts and dims
As I flop flop flop to my front door.

The dog fight starts: yelps and barks,
Then distant barks and growls
And the flop is silenced when I turn the key--
This is my key, my apartment, my waterjug

The dogs are quiet
Silence. No silence.
There is always a flip flop in my head

I click click the pen
I click click the light
Ruffle up my pillow and flip flop in bed--
The barking dogs quiet my head.

Cacoon

2006-06-06T18:56:00.001-04:00

The analyzation process of my mind never really goes away, but sometimes it is annoyingly strong. Usually it is a pattern that I could mathematically figure out to an extent if I wanted to. But so far I haven't wanted to.
School ended last Friday, the same day as my mom’s birthday (happy bday mom!) and from that time, or maybe a little before…my mind has been analyzing things in its deep analytical state of being.

About two weeks ago, I finally started to connect with one of my students, Tania. Up until that point, she was #11 on my favorites list. She wasn’t a very good student, but she wasn’t a very bad one either. One of the middle floaters. I finally clicked with her on a personal level, that is to say, outside the classroom. Well, recess. I would start tickling her or smiling and she responded in a similar manner. Then, this past week during exams, she would arrive early and sit at her desk (or on top of it like I do with mine) and study with another friend.

The grades on her exams were evidence of the change taking place in her. She didn’t get 100s on all of them, but she did on one. She still ended up with B’s on her report card, but she moved up on my list of favorites. (I doubt that counts for much in your world, but it does in mine)

From this experience, I better understand why teachers do what they do for so long and so little pay. To see change happen right before your eyes and to know that even though you aren’t completely responsible for it, you played a part; it is one of the most beautiful things in life.

Sometimes I wonder if I am making much of a difference at all here. I’m not an experienced teacher, I have yet to figure out how to effectively discipline my kids, and sometimes I just really want some Chic-Fila and sweet tea. Or Aniello’s pizza or Gina’s pasta and bean soup. And the thoughts of what I miss overbear the thoughts of real purpose.

Most change is hard to see. It takes long, it hurts, it smacks us in the face. Especially when it is change within ourselves. We have to fight ourselves. One desire is punching another desire right now inside me.

Outside my comfort zone of North Carolina (even though I’m starting to create a new one here in Sigua) I’m realizing a lot about who I am. Most of it right now is in the stage before words. The metamorphosis process where the creature is inside the cocoon, behind closed doors, waiting for the moment when it is ready to express itself in a form the rest of the world can understand. That’s me right now – knowing that behind my newly tanned (yet still so white) skin, something is changing. And although at times I cannot understand myself and I often don’t want to accept who I really am deep down inside, life has its own way of seeing in me what I saw in Tania – that people are not only capable of change, they are made for it.

Bowling, Basil and Bad Taste

2006-05-20T17:08:00.000-04:00

If you have never gone bowling for roosters, you should. It's a new game I made up. Take a soccer ball and try to hit as many roosters as you can with it while it rolls on the ground. Now before you PETA people jump all over me, hear me out. Roosters dont just crow at 6am or 8am. No, here they crow whenever they feel like it. Most often it seems to be at midnight or 2 am or 4am. Then of course, in the middle of the afternoon too, when you are trying to take a nap. So it can be rather fun to scare them with a soccer ball.

My Italian neighbor is growing basil to add to his food. Yesterday, I bought a little planting pot and he gave me some good, rich soil and a few buds of basil to grow. I'm rather excited and must say that I might try to grow some other stuff, if I can figure out what other stuff I want to grow. I'm not exactly Miss Greenthumb, but just wait...I might be soon! Green, after all, is my favorite color.

I went to the fabric store the other day to get some fabric to make some curtains for my living/bed room. I had the measurements and everything and I was rather excited about this adventure. I picked a plain, greenish teal color and had the lady cut it for me. (My apartment is in desperate need of some bright colors) Then I was thinking in order to make it more opaque, I could get another color and put that color on the back of the green, so that from the outside you would see the bright pink, and when you are inside my apartment, you see the green. So I left with a strip of green and one of pink. I figured even without a sewing machine, I could use safety pins and hem and cut as I saw fit...at least for now. However, there was not enough fabric, somehow maybe the lady didnt quite understand what I was saying when I was referring to the width of the window. (Of course its her fault, not mine!) So I now have hanging in my apartment two sheets of fabric. The left side of the window is covered in teal green, the right side in bright pink. Beautiful I tell you. No wonder Im not an interior designer!!

Two weeks of class with the kids, then teacher work days, then home for a bit!

Mothers Day

2006-05-08T15:56:00.000-04:00

This week for school we are working on Mother's Day projects. On friday we have class until noon and then we head home, and the students come back with their families to celebrate the holiday. Apparently this holiday is almost as big as Christmas here. In my class, my boys are going to come up with a rap of their own and then, of course, dance to it. My girls are going to read a poem. And possibly, if we can get our stuff together, we are going to act out a drama:

The father and mother of 7 children are going out to dinner. All day long, the mother slaved away cleaning the house for the family. The children arrive home from school and the parents leave for their date. When they come home, the place is still clean except for the kitchen. The children were trying to make a cake for their mother, but instead made a huge mess. The mom at first starts to cry because she cleaned so nicely before. But then she realizes the motive behind the mess and the whole family makes the cake together and the drama ends. Kathy, one of my students made this story up while we were trying to brainstorm on Friday. If she can write the script out and translate it in Spanish it might just be a success

A quick, stupid moment of this past week: Antoinette (a new teacher who just arrived from LA) Stephanie and I went to the Chinese restaurant for the first time on Saturday. We had no idea what the food would be like or how much they would bring us. We each ordered an entree and then added some fried rice to that. The woman could have warned us, but either she was thinking "hey lets watch these stupid american girls try to eat all this food" or she was thinking "well they are american they do eat a lot" (we arent quite sure yet what goes on in the minds of the people here when they interact with us) but she brought out SOOO much food. So much that she had to roll it out on a double shelved cart. No lie, we left there with enough food to feed all three of us for the next three days. Tonight is, once again, left over chinese food night.

One rather interesting thing about this culture. Last week the President said that Honduras is going to try Daylight savings time. So we teachers had a meeting on whether or not we wanted to participate in this event. We decided to change our clocks back an hour and have school start earlier. So as I sit in this internet cafe, my watch says its 5 minutes to 3, however in the cafe and most businesses here, it is 2pm. Who knows how long this will last. Miss Lena, one of the teachers who has been here a long time says she gives it two weeks.

Stephanie and I swear we are going to learn how to dance the bachata and the merengue, possibly the salsa. We are determined to find someone to teach us. We also swear we are going to learn how to cook. And let me tell you, Betty Crocker is our new best friend. The director, Nidia, has a Crocker cook book in ENGLISH! which we were rather excited about, not only to learn to cook, but yet one more book in the language we know best.

For now, I must go. I must catch up on grading homework and today I head into town to try to find some decent paint brushes. Somehow I was chosen to draw and paint a picture of a mom and two children for the mothers day event. Not easy to do with old Crayola paintbrushes that still have paint stuck on them. Wish me luck.

A tribute to my mother

Do I become a runner
When I lace up my shoes
Or is it when the sweat drips down my face?

Did I become a writer
When I first picked up a pen?
Or is it when others said I had talent?

When did I become a teacher?
When I bought a grade book
Or when I first cared to challenge my students?

There are moments in which
My identity transforms
There are moments I am
Who I never thought I would be
And moments
When I am exactly who I knew Id be

Is when my foot first touched a football
That I became a soccer player?
But the days of training are over
Have I lost that piece of me?

BUt you gave me a constant identity
I will never question if I am still your daughter
The moment I breathed life
Was the moment it started
No action, no outside force, no physicality
Can define or take this away from me

At the moment of birth
You gave me more than life
You gave me a necessary constant--
One thing that will never change
Your blood runs through my veins

So even though part of my journey
Is learning who you are
And realizing who I am
I will always be yours
I will never have another mother.

And as you watch me change
From football player to writer
From student to teacher
From runner to traveler
Maybe you will see
The you in me that you like
Maybe you will smile
And rejoice in the identity
You have given me.

so this is life

2006-04-28T18:33:00.000-04:00

I finally have a cell phone. If you care to call me, its free for me! Which is rather exciting on this end. But you might want to check with your phone company how much it will cost you. My number is 504-892-8410. Im not positive what the country code is here. Ill try to find that out for you.

This week we had exams, only two of my kids failed in two classes. For Honduras, thats good! School is going well, Im starting to see how much work it can be being a teacher, especially at the end of the semester. But I must say, I certainly enjoy teaching. Normally I have one or two favorites, but with a class of only 11, I have about 11 favorites, all for different reasons.

The apartment is coming along, slowly but it is. Today at school we had a cake to celebrate our boys futbol team victory in the tournament (two of the boys that received medals are in my class!). One of the teachers asked if anyone wanted to keep the cake box. I said I would. My students asked me what I would use it for, and I told them to hold my socks in my closet. WHHHHAAAAAAAAAAT! said one of them. Yup. Its true. I have a box of underwear, one for socks, one for tshirts. My closet is more like an open air pole and shelving unit. Theres not much to it, but I really learning to make due with what I have.

Im also learning more and more about my consumer mindset. Its a difficult lesson to learn, but its good for me. My apartment to my eyes looks rather bare and empty. However, I have a new outfit everyday. Something that my neighbors cannot say is true for them. I keep thinking of all the stuff I can get when I return to the states for a little while in the summer. My mind swims in thoughts of Wal'mart, and I become sad thinking that I wont be able to fit all I want in my suitcases to bring back here. This is probably one of the hardest things for me. To leave behind that mentality seems impossible.

I wish I could send pictures of my students, they are all so cute. Hopefully I will have some when I return so you can have some faces to go with the names of them.

Genas stupid act of the week:

I went to the bathroom and forgot to put the toilet paper in the garbage. Instead I plopped it in the toilet. You should have seen my eyes pop out. I was laughing at myself but at the same time, thinking FREAKING CRAP now i have to stick my hand down there and get it out. Yeh, life down here is grand.

oh p.s. weve been told that we must reduce our time on the internet at the school due to rising costs. therefore if you send me an email but I dont reply right away, it is because my internet access has decreased, not because I dont want to write back.

Amphibians, Reptiles, and other coldblooded creatures

2006-04-20T16:04:00.000-04:00

The word "frog" right now brings many thoughts to mind right now. In my science class, I am teaching about the five main types of vertebrates: Amphibians, Reptiles, Birds, Mammals, and Fish. I think about Amy, one of my students whose answer to the question "These type of animals have bones," was "frogs!" (I was looking for vertebrates there) And I think of semana santa last week when Amy's uncle David taught me the word for frog in Spanish "sapo". I told him I was positive that frog was "rana" and "sapo" must then be "toad," but we had no access to a dictionary utnil a few days later.

I finally got into my apartment on Sunday. I'm learning to deal with rather large cockroaches. Thank God for RAID, my new best friend, which prevents me from hearing that awful crunching sound when the cockroach meets its nemisis, Adidas. The size of these creatures are about as big as my first finger, sometimes as long as the "bird" finger, as Stephanie calls it. I think Im gaining ground though, I haven't seen one in my apartment for a whole day!

Teaching is going really well. I love my class, even though I often have to yell QUIET! I tell them that their butts need to kiss their seats. Oh yeh, Im a GREAT teacher. hah. That's all for now from this skim-milk drinking, warm-blooded mammal.

El Baile

2006-04-03T11:45:00.000-04:00

At first there were only the musicians on a small, wooden box of a stage. The acoustic guitarist seemed to be running the show. The flute, the bass, and the percussion all had their eyes fixed on the guitar, watching his fingers so they knew what to do next. There were no music stands, no notes to read, simply music. After two songs, a woman elegantly dressed with long curly black hair and an immense amount of makeup on her face sat down next to the guitarist. Though the makeup was more than sufficient, it didnt make her look fake or gaudy in any way. Her eyes were fixed on the guitar as well. Her voice followed the guitarist fingers. To the ear who is accustomed to hearing music that seems to flow together well, a flamenco song can almost be labeled as noise. But for those who know the meaning behind it, the agony expressed throughout the lyrics is, in its own very paradoxical way, beautiful. After she sang one song, the dancer came out in a black and white polka-dotted traditional dress. Suddenly, everyone on stage shifted gears. All eyes were on the dancer now, the guitar moved to her beat, she called the shots.

Although this only lasted about half an hour in total, it must have been one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. The rhythm was purely fascinating, the talent - beyond incredible. It seemed as though there were no rules, but the guitarist and the dancer were making them up as they went along...and somehow the others instinctively knew exactly how to follow them.

Last night I went with my cousin and her friends to a salsa club. They have taken classes for about a year and a half. There is a group of about 8 in their mid-20s. Even though I once won a can of Mountain Dew at a dance-off, my dancing skill means nothing in light of them. It was a similar feeling I had watching the Flamenco when I watched this group dance. They owned the dance floor. Yet, unlike the Flamenco, there was no audience for these guys. Sure, they show off their moves, but they do not make money from it or even care if others watch. Somehow, the reward of all their hard work in learning each move, is simply dancing those same moves. Even when a partner would go dance with someone else, and no one else wanted to dance, these guys would dance by themselves. There was no second guessing what one was to do when the salsa music was playing.

I suppose it is how anyone feels when they are able to show off (for lack of a better phrase) the talents they have attained. There is freedom that comes from putting into practice what one knows. For instance, when I was in Spain, I was so excited that I could speak the language and understand what was going on around me (well at least a lot more than I can here in Italy). The flamenco dancer was free, alive, and content when she was doing what she has cultivated her life around. The same for my cousin and her friends while dancing. The pain, the hardship of dancing the wrong steps so many times, of saying the wrong word or in the wrong tense, the agony of feeling you can never get something right and you want to just give up...this is what turns into freedom. Like a catepillar into a butterfly, like a seed having to die to bring forth life.

Spain, Florence and Venice

2006-04-03T07:18:00.000-04:00

"Do you know where this street is?" "No, Mi dispiace." "Do you want to take a ride with me in my car?" "Oh absolutely, you are probably about 50 years older than I am, I met you two seconds ago, and you have already given me the cheesy line of 'Youre the most beautiful thing Ive seen in all of Rome' Yes please, open your car door because in all honesty I cant think of a better way to spend my Saturday night." NOT!

So for some reason, and I cant understand why, all the men that show interest in me are older than my father. No joke. There are plenty of beautiful Italian guys my age, but nope, they dont say one word to me. Lovely.

Oh and just a little detail for those in the Ruocco family, this man's name was Stefano. No lie. But no, he wasn't smoking a cigarette. But Im sure if he was, I would have fallen in love! (Just kidding Meema)

Ive been all over the place lately, I went to Spain for a week with a friend from the TEFL course. Her and I had quite the adventure on the ferry ride which should have taken 16 hours and ended up being more than 24. I still am amazed that I did not puke from the tipping back and forth of the boat. In case that wasnt enough, about 75 percent of the ferry was filled with Italian teenagers who seemed to spread out in the lobby and discoteque area like a contagious disease. No offense to the teenagers reading this. It just seemed as though the only place to be was in the hall or in our small sleeper room which consisted of two bunkbeds and a tiny bathroom. But in contrast to the sleepers on the trains, it was a luxurious ride! Sherry and I met a girl named Maggie who lived in Italy but was from Hungary. She had a friend in Barcelona who was going to help her get a job there. He too was Italian, but he spoke some Spanish. Maggie spoke very little English. So, when all four of us sat down to eat once we were on land (although it felt as though the ground was still rocking back and forth) Andrea had to speak through me if he wanted to talk to Sherry. And if I really wanted to say something to Maggie, I had to tell Andrea and he then translated to her. We contemplated the idea of all livnig together in Barcelona. We decided that probably after 2 or 3 months, we'd all be trilingual or quadralingual.

On the train to Madrid, Sherry and I were in a sleeper car. This Spanish woman was directing all of us in the cart where to go and what to do with our stuff. These sleepers hold six people, two columns of 3 beds. This woman decided that she should press her body up against mine to help us lift Sherry's suitcase onto the top bunk. That imagine in itself isnt very pleasant. But let me add more. She smelled bad, and she was one of those people who wears clothing about 10 times too small. Maybe she was trying to suck in the rolls of fat with the tight shirt, Im not sure. All I know is that the body smudge was not very pleasant. I had to get out of there. So Sherry and I went to the snack bar cart to sit down and eat our recently purchased canas (pastries) and drink our water. But there, we encountered a lovely man behind the counter who yelled at us and said if we wanted to eat there, we must purchase something from him. Grrr. I let all the atmosphere get to me and instead of charming the man and trying to work something out, I just became incredibly agitated and rather ticked off. I went and sat on the floor and ate my pastry which turned out to be not so good. Why should it be?

But then we arrived in Madrid, saw some beautiful sights, Sherry got a job, and looking back on it all, it makes for quite the story. In addition, in Barcelona, we saw a Flamenco show for all of five euros. I must say that was the best thing Ive probably ever spent my money on. Because of my Spanish culture class in college, I knew a little behind the history of the dance and really appreciated actually seeing what I had studied. I also saw some famous Spanish paintings both in Barcelona and Madrid which I studied as well. Spain is a fascinating place and Im sure I will return there again soon...just hopefully not on a ferry!

I returned to Rome and the following day my family arrived. Mom, dad, jordan and anna. We too had quite the adventure seeing as much as we possibly could in Rome, then heading to Florence and Venice. One night, we went to Zio Franco's house and had some of Zia Marias good cooking, shared gifts with the family and attempted to talk in Italian and English. It was a lovely night, and I am definitely going to miss Franco and his family.

My poor family had no time to sleep and no time for jet lag as we were constantly on the move. Overall though, it was a great time I just wish we had more than one week to see what we saw. Train jumping (catching the wrong one once which put us an hour behind...my bad!) and sleeping in a hostel...oh yes my mother slept in a hostel. Clean sheets though and one big room all for us. Not a bad deal for 21€ each. We had a lot of good food and mom and dad took way too many pictures. I hate looking like a tourist. It was inevitable though.

This is a rather long blog, sorry, I dont like writing this much. But I finally had the chance to sit down at the internet and catch up on whats been going on. Tomorrow I head back to the states, but not for long. I got a job in Honduras as a teacher at a montessori school there, so in two days time, Ill be in Central America again. I will keep you all posted.

La Luna

2006-03-13T15:24:00.000-05:00

Dearest Mr. Moon, please tell me a story from the midnight sky. I cannot sleep and all I see are all your eyes peering at me. Surely with them you have seen many stories unfold. Wont you tell me one? I have no where to go and nothing to do, please Mr. Moon if you want to do your job and put me to sleep, tell me a story. I'm much too old for a human to gladly tell me one, and my mom does not live with me anymore. Please, can you be her for a night and I can pretend I am three. Please Mr. Moon, I long to hear a tale of love and pain and redemption. Oh wont you tell me a story under this Roman night sky, I've just turned 22 and I dont want to be an adult for a couple of hours. Please and thankyou Mr. Moon.

the Page

2006-03-12T06:01:00.000-05:00

My new favorite song (try to listen to it if you can):

im tired of waiting in this hollow state
pushing aside
things i want to say
its taken my heart to give a little bit

pulling my dreams to feel myself sink
the page is blank the pen is down
im working it out

its been a while i have something to say
but the page is blank my pen is down
im working it out

what's this feeling inside, thats coming out
the page is blank my pen is down
im working it out

the pen and the paper i wouldnt know
but the page is blank my pen is down
im working it out

(thanks for introducing me to appleseedcast cuz!)

la dulce vita

2006-03-10T16:12:00.000-05:00

Siphalticus. Yep, you guessed it, it is a name of a disease. Not just any disease. It ìs the rare disease that spreads within the human blood only after being bitten by man-eating termites. If you find you have been bit, rush to the nearest pharmacy\grocery store and pick up the following:
1. Milke (it helps rebuild the bones that are wasting away after being bit)
2. Hard candy (the disease makes a persons tongue explode if they are not sucking on hard candy 24\7)
3. Medicine: aspirin, bladder expander (i will explain later), and phlemoxicilan
4. Diapers (the adult ones, Depends seems to be a favorite brand)
You see, this disease gives you an uncontrable bladder, so do all you can to stay near a toilet.

This is the role play I made up in teaching students the difference between SOME and ANY. In a class of four people, one person is the doctor advising the two sick ones to get these things. The sick then go to a pharmacy and ask the other student for these things.

I mean, seriously, why wouldnt you want to learn in MY CLASSROOM?

School is done in one week. This week was long and hard, next week we have exams and then on Friday we will receive our certificates, if we pass. I taught this cute, little 7 year old Esmerelda with my flatmate Sarah this week. We received an A + which was rather exciting.

In other news, I head to Futani tomorrow morning, the little town my grandparents grew up in. I am excited about finally getting to see the place Ive heard of all my life. My cousins keep saying that I shouldnt expect to see much, but its more the nostalgia than anything else that excites me. Neither of Franco's daughters will be with me which means Ill have to use my horrible Italian and listen much more carefully than I ever have. I can get away with understanding the jist of what someone is saying to me, but speaking back is a definite problem. There is so much lost in translation.

In a weeks time I'll be heading to Greece for a week with three of the girls I am in school with. Rather exciting as we attempt to see the ancient world for as cheap as humanly possible. I'll keep you posted!
p.s. this picture is in a park i went to on the outskirts of Rome

Congratulations

2006-03-05T13:42:00.000-05:00

According to the 7th grade, my sister is the hottest teacher at her school. A big shout out to her. haha.

So Florence didnt happen, but Pisa did. The friend that went with me went to App State in Boone and we both decided that Pisa is the Italian version of Boone, although it is a bit warmer and a little more touristy. But its a college town, and as we passed through the square to get to the leaning tower, there was a peace demonstration. Rock climbers were climbing the square's ancient building and tacking up a NO WAR sign to the columns. The Bob Marley in the background only made us smile.

"Used To"

2006-03-03T10:25:00.000-05:00

I taught twice this week, and I can honestly say I enjoyed the classes. In one of them, a student was trying to read "I used to do sport." Instead the pronunciation came out, "I used to do pot." I tried hard not to laugh out loud.

So the course is halfway through and even though it is difficult, I am sure I wont regret it. Im learning more about my own language in further depth than ever before (I know how can that be...I was an English major for pete's sake). Linguistics, phonetics, serious grammar... oh yeh I know you all wish you signed up for this course. I have three more teaching sessons and in week 4 Ill have an exam on all those previously listed subjects. woohoo.

I saw the catacombs yesterday, and I must say of all the things I've seen in my life, they have made the top 10 list. It was one of those eerie feelings, and it's possibly not what you would feel if you were there. I only saw a portion of them due to time and the law (you cant see all of them because of the poor ventilation in many areas). The guided tour cost €5, and besides the awe I felt in walking the tomb caves (apparently Peter and Paul had been/worshipped there), I also felt like such a teacher as the tour guide's L1 (or first language) was obviously not English. I wondered where he learned his English, and began, in my head, correcting his English and diagramming his sentences. I hope that will soon go away like when I first learned how to type without looking at the keypad when I would think...in my mind every word I thought, I would attempt to type on an imaginary keypad in my head. Yeh, odd, I know.

Supposedly I'm off to florence tomorrow, but it might not happen. Either way I'm sure I'll venture off somewhere, and I'll be sure to share the experience with you all. Mom, I ate a hazelnut gelato for you...so you owe me €2. haha. It was molto buono!

As I mentioned before, the long train ride to school seemed like a pain, and although it does make for a long day, I use it to read The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor D. I think he's my new favorite author, not only for his impecable writing skill and amazing descriptions, but also because he saves me everyday from the embarrassment of not knowing where to put one's eyes while riding any form of public transportation.

I made some new Italian friends...Fabio and Fredrico, who work in the coffee shop across from school. I practice my Italian with the uncle and nephew and my name is the easiest for them to pronounce. "Oh Gena, nome italiano" "Si," I say. I found out that Fabio speaks Spanish a little -- this has the same effect on me that gelato does -- a sensation of extreme joy. He makes cappucinos with smiley faces on them, they are simply amazing (for a non-coffee drinker to start drinking daily) and they are only €.80. Possibly one of the cheapest things I have found in Italy so far. When I say the Italian word for "wait" (aspetta) they laugh at me because I pronounce it as my grandparents do...e/shpe/ta...they right away say...Napoli...and I try to tell them in my broken Italian that my grandparents are from there. It makes them smile and laugh. It's a good thing I haven't told them the other words my grandparents have taught me! (Yes, meema and peepa and peepa...I'm talking about all those words I just seem to know so well, I can't imagine why?!)

Okay that's all for now...I'll leave you with some Dostoevsky,
THE MAN WHO LIES TO HIMSELF AND LISTENS TO HIS OWN LIE COMES TO SUCH A PASS THAT HE CANNOT DISTINGUISH THE TRUTH WITHIN HIM, OR AROUND HIM, AND SO LOSES ALL RESPECT FOR HIMSELF AND FOR OTHERS. AND HAVING NO RESPECT HE CEASES TO LOVE, AND IN ORDER TO OCCUPY AND DISTRACT HIMSELF WITHOUT LOVE HE GIVES AWAY TO PASSIONS AND COARSE PLEASURES, AND SINKS TO BESTIALITY IN HIS VICES, ALL FROM CONTINUAL LYING TO OTHER MEN AND TO HIMSELF. THE MAN WHO LIES TO HIMSELF CAN BE MORE EASILY OFFENDED THAN ANY ONE.

Coke vs. Pepsi

2006-02-24T05:04:00.000-05:00

So I had my first teaching sesson two days ago. I think it went well. We discussed Coke and Pepsi in class and my student, although not a soda drinker had a lot to say about the businesses. At the end, we had a role-play where I was Pepsi and he was Coke and the senior teacher was a representative of Mercedes Benz needing a sponsor for their new car campaign. She was quite concerned about the status of Coke because of the child labor that they have used. My student said, "Well, dont worry, we fired all the children." As we all started laughing, he then said, "And we hired all their parents!"

Next week I teach twice, once for 90 minutes myself and once for 45 with a partner. I actually really enjoy teaching, even though Im quite nervous beforehand. In other news...I tried gelato and it is fabulous, however Im trying hard not to eat it everyday. It rains here a lot right now and the cold weather helps me still the craving. Although the pastry sweets here are probably just as enticing.

In our apartment, we have a bathroom that has a shower hose where the water comes out. However, there is no place to hook the shower hose so it can be used as a shower. Yesterday while I had the afternoon off, I was determined to become an engineer and figure out to find a solution to the problem. Shower-baths were taking too long and I was ready to stand up for a shower. Karen was as well. I tried to get the picture on here, but unfortunately I cannot. However, I used the top of my clinique soap box to create an angle for the shower head to rest upon so that we can take a shower. With a whole lot of eletrical tape, my contraption worked. (Pops are you proud?) I imagine this talent comes from my father, while my teaching capability and the natural way I talk with my hands comes from my mother.

With this course, we dont have much time to do anything else during the weekdays, due to the long commute and the afternoon work. Yet last night, I wrote a poem...I'm sure I'm the next Shakespeare:
The day is done
My feet are dirty
Tomorrow I hope to see the sun
And get out of school early.

Non Parlo Italiano

2006-02-21T08:10:00.000-05:00

So far, so good, I guess. I continue to remain frustrated at my lack of the Italian language. But life here is certainly interesting. Lesson number one in Italian is that you say thankyou as graztie. However to pronounce that correctly...it is grat - ZE(like saying the letters) - AY (as in the ay in day). The interesting thing is that when you often hear this in the U.S. its normally grat-Z without the A at the end. So there, now the next time you come to Rome, you'll be one step ahead of the stupid american standing next to you. School was rather overwhelming yesterday with all that we are going to do, but I guess most first days of school are like that. Unfortunately for me and the other folks I live with, we are an hour commute away. School is split up into two sections with a big part of the afternoon empty. This means lots of wandering around Rome or doing schoolwork, only dreaming about finding a bed to lay our heads down in. By the end of the day, we get home, grab some dinner and then take a bath and go to sleep. Fortunately for me, I live with two great Brits, Duncan and Sarah, who are quite lovely and have influenced me into using adjectives like lovely, as well as saying half four, which means 430. I also live with Karen, a girl from Long Island, who amazingly enough doesnt have an accent. She studied linguistics in college and hates the sound of her hometown accents. So we all go through the same hour commute everyday...a 10 min walk to the train station, a 40 min train ride, a 5 min metro ride and then another 7 or 8 min walk. Lucky for us, some of the train ride can be used for getting homework done, the day of, if necessary. Im sorry if this post is full of horribly placed commas and missing punctuation, I havent quite figured out the Italian keyboard yet. Tomorrow I actually teach my first class, and last night I had my first pizza in Italy. This afternoon will be a first for the icecream, which I have a feeling will be the start of a very bad habit. More to come soon...

tanti aguri

2006-02-16T09:40:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning with my mind trying to translate random words from english to italian, with my spanish getting in the way. All I recalled about the upcoming day was that I was heading to the Vatican Museum with Zia Maria Rosada and her 3rd grade class. As I walked out of the bedroom, Maria greeted me with Tanti Aguri. I stopped a moment, tried to figure out which language she was speaking and then realized she said Happy Birthday. I said gratzie automatically and then it clicked that it was my birthday. She made me this wonderful cake which I would have eaten more than one slice if I hadn't eaten so much for lunch. I need to just plan on gaining weight while I'm here!
After day 2 of being in Italy, my italian hasn't improved much and my english has gotten worse. I was typing an email to a friend in Nicaragua and I didn't know how to spell disappointed in English on freetranslation.com so I could get it translated to Spanish. It's all the more obvious here that I'm losing my mind. I walk around with a small notebook and ask anyone around me how to say this or that.
Franco, my mom's cousin that I never met before, picked me up from the airport and he and his family have been so ridiculously nice to me. It's as if I'm the president of the United States and their long lost daughter all in one. Franco has the look that I typically associate with Italians. Dark hair, a little silver going through it, a gold link bracelet on his right hand, a checkered button-down shirt that is covered by a sea-foam green sweater accompanied by black pants and shiny black shoes. Thank goodness for his two beautiful daughters, Arianna 28 and Elisa 24 who both speak English. They also have a 20 year old living with them while she goes to school, her name is Serena and she is from Futani, where my grandparents are from. Last night I felt like a school girl again as all four of us were in one room, watching Mona Lisa Smile (i understood none of it, but I've seen it before) and exchanging Italian and English words. The girls got a kick out of blueberries and blackberries. They thought when I said Raspberries, I said redberries. They kept going with all the colors...greenberries, yellowberries and orangeberries. Too bad its not that easy.
Monday I start school, and its possible I'll see the Coleseo before that. If only the frustrations of the language barrier would go away...I feel like I'm back in 7th grade just learning Spanish and living in a place like Nicaragua. It's true that b-c I know Spanish I'm a step ahead in learning Italian, however the two languages are just different enough that words I think would be the same aren't and frustration forces me to write down the correct translation in my little notebook, just to forget it two seconds later. Regardless, I have a solid feeling I'm really going to like this place. More to come soon.

Message of the Cross

2006-01-25T23:30:00.000-05:00

What would you give up if you knew you could save a young girl from a life of prostitution?
We humans like to label everything. Sin is no different. Two of the bazillion labels we give sin would include social injustices and social behaviors. To me, I would think it unjust for a girl to have to live a life of prostituation because of poverty or some other faction, as I'm sure is the same for you. Yet, if I knew a person who randomly, yet willingly had sex with plenty of partners simply because they were a player, I would not consider it an injustice. Here is where I can get myself in trouble. If I am willing to "save" a girl from a life of prostitution by some sort of sacrifice, what will I really be "saving" her from? If by save, I mean give her an education, a good job, a respectable standing in society -- in the end I have saved her from an "unjust" life to a "good" life. But if that is all I give her, truly I give her nothing -- for nothing in her new life will change her eternal life. What is "good" after all?
If I have the mindset that I want to "help" the poor -- which I do, I must recognize that giving someone the means to a better life must signify giving them the means to the Good News. God sees things at a much higher perspective. If I give Juan Carlos from Nicaragua the same life John Smith has in the US, I may get a pat on the back from those around me. But in my heart, I must know that Juan and John live very similar lives on the inside -- we are all searching for something better. Affluency does not equate happiness, and even though I have seen this time and time again, I must constantly be reminded of it. The best gift I can give anyone is Christ. For he, and he alone died for the prostitute and the player.

D and his travels

2005-12-31T21:41:00.000-05:00

A friend I met in Panama wrote these words:
Inside my thoughts: I know I am not unique when I question what I want to do with my life. I wonder... how many older adults have lived agreat happy and complete life, but when they look around they realize it’s not the life that they asked for? It just happened, day by day, and they never did anything to change it. At a young age, life unfolds innocently and carefree. Parents, government, and social expectations largely define, guide, and determine the course of a child’s life. Bythe time I was 22 I had only made a few real important decisions. Then in a short period, the path so nicely laid out in front of me disappeared. The sun still rises, and sets. Days pass. But now it’s up to me to move forward (or in some people’s opinions move backwards). Each step I take is my choice. Which direction do I move? I know onething for sure: I do not want to randomly end up somewhere. I’m sureif left to chance, I would wake up someday having lived a great and fulfilling life--yet one that you did not choose. I’m not a mindless living blob that purely reacts to environmental stimulation. I am a thinking, acting, decision making person that can actively determine what my contribution to the world is going to be. So now... what will those be?? While I think it is important to be open minded and flexible enough to adapt to life’s offerings, I also think it is important to have a motivated purpose--or gift you give to the world. And that’s the inside of my thoughts for now....

I guess D, and I, and probably a lot of other people are in the same position, that is in our mind. There are so many options open now that I am done with college, and sometimes I think there are too many. Mostly, I want to live a life of purpose. I dont want to get caught up in the routine of doing things just because that's what I do. I hate the way life can sometimes suck the life out of itself. I want to stay passionate, have a cause to fight for. But the truth is, maybe I, too, will wake up someday looking back on life and realizing that the path I wanted to take I never did. That life somehow had it's own plan and mixed me up in it. There are a couple of options I'm looking into right now. I think I mostly need to figure out what desires I am willing to sacrifice, at least for the time being. I'm too idealistic sometimes, but idealism is something I still find in others, and something I still admire. Like D, I want to give the world my gift, that I think has something to do with speaking Spanish, writing, and giving children a better future. I hope the path I want to take is the path I do take...I guess we all do. Providence will decide, and meanwhile, I'll keep writing and hoping.

Meet Farris

2005-12-30T17:44:00.000-05:00

Meet Farris Hassan, a 16-year-old prep school student from Florida who decided to travel to Iraq on his own b/c of his ideals. His mom did not know about his trip until he was in Kuwait. Farris says,
"I feel guilty living in a big house, driving a nice car, and going to a great school. I feel guilty hanging out with friends in a cafe without the fear of a suicide bomber present. I feel guilty enjoying the multitude of blessings, which I did nothing to deserve, while people in Iraq, many of them much better then me, are in terrible anguish. This inexorable guilt I feel transforms into a boundless empathy for the distress of the misfortunate and into a compassionate love for my fellow man ...

Love and kindness are never wasted. They always make a difference. They bless the one who receives them, and they bless the one who gives them.

Going to Iraq will broaden my mind. We kids at Pine Crest (School) live such sheltered lives. I want to experience during my Christmas the same hardships ordinary Iraqis experience everyday, so that I may better empathize with their distress. I also want to immerse myself in their environment in order to better comprehend the social and political elements ... know going to Iraq will be incredibly risky. There are thousands of people there that desperately want my head. There are millions of people there that mildly prefer my demise merely because I am American. Nevertheless, I will go there to love and help my neighbor in distress, if that endangers my life, so be it ...

If I know what is needed and what is right, but do not act on my moral conscience, I would be a hypocrite. I must do what I say decent individuals should do. I want to live my days so that my nights are not full of regrets. Therefore, I must go."

For more info about him, check out www.miamiherald.com

Not there

2005-12-21T11:03:00.000-05:00

I am happy I’m not there anymore. (there isn't a tangible place)I never thought I’d say that. But it’s true. When you are there at the wrong time, you put yourself in a cage. And at first it looks as though the cage is good, it will protect you from outside harm. It will entertain your mind because you have the hope you will come out at the right time. But the cage closes in on you, and you forget to feel. You forget to understand. You don’t get hurt, but you don’t get anything. You are sad at certain times, but there are no passions allowed in a cage. You aren’t thoroughly disgusted with yourself because you do nothing. You aren’t overtly proud of yourself because you dont do anything. The cage is gone now. And I screw up. But I learn about myself every time I do. I get yelled at, I recognize who I am, even if it’s not who I want to be. You learn to get up, even if you are just going to fall again. You make up rules to live by, that you sometimes break. You annoy yourself with all the thoughts of what if and when will this happen and how do I want to live my life. This is life outside the cage. Open the door.

You’re free to dance-
Forget about your two left feet
And you’re free to sing-
even joyful noise is music to me
You’re free to love,
’cause I’ve given you my love,
And it’s made you free
I have set you free!
-ginny owens

Craig's Journey

2005-12-19T21:37:00.000-05:00

A friend in the Peace Corps wrote this:

It's another day in Bangladesh. I still can't believe I'm here. Christmas is coming, Thanksgiving has passed and I almost forgot it was that time of the year until the office texted me today saying I have clearance to come to Dhaka on the 24th, 25th, and 26th. "OK. Cool. But for what?" It actually took me a few seconds to understand why. "Oh yeah...Christmas!"

Don't worry...unlike my site-mate Kathryn...I haven't completely lost it. She's struggling to get through each day and understandably. The current situation has been difficult for a lot of people and volunteers are continuing to leave the country. (Notice I didn't say call it quits, throw in the towel, or give up. That isn't the case at all. A lot of people can't handle this country for one week let alone four months. Heck...one volunteer didn't even get on the plane when we left from San Fransisco and another left after the first two days of training.)

After recalling the reasons I came to Bangladesh and comparing them to my recent way of thinking I've come to realize that my reason for being here evolves into something different everyday. Before I boarded the plane in New York on August 6th, I had a romanticized vision of changing the lives of many and that Bangladeshis would be so happy to have me here. That's the cliche Americans attach to the Peace Corps and it's the same one I used to explain why I joined. I don't blame myself...I blame naivety...that little thing that nags away at our brains when we focus too much on the status quo. I don't know what Peace Corps is.

I probably won't do anything noticeably effective here because this culture isn't too keen on change. It's difficult to explain, difficult to cope with and at times my work here seems useless. Yes, I'm learning a lot about Islam and Bangladeshi culture. I'm teaching people English. I'm making new friendships. But I don't feel productive. There are too many things holding Bangladesh back from real development and I think my two years here are more of an observation than anything else. I'm trying...I'll always try...but I think it will take a long time for me to find an angle...maybe I never will.

It's hard to change a conservative culture and I wonder if the only reason I think things are backwards here is because I'm a Christian man. It's hard to change people who don't want to change and...because I'm so stubborn myself...maybe I'm a hypocrite for trying to get them to see things my way.

But what the hell...it's an awesome adventure.

El Enemigo

2005-12-14T21:46:00.000-05:00

My old enemy came to visit today Hoy vino a verme un enemigo
a man hermetically sealed Se trata de un hombre encerrado
in his truth, En su verdad
like a castle or strong-box En su castillo como una caja de hierro
with his own style of breathing Con su propia respiracion
and a singular sword-play Y las espadas singulares
sedulously stropped to draw blood. Que amamanto para el castigo

I saw the years in his face: Mire los anos en su rostro,
the eyes of tired water, En sus ojos de agua cansada,
the lines of his lonliness En lineas de soledad
that had lifted his temples Que le subieron a las sienes
little by little to consummate pride. lentamente, desde el orgullo.

We chatted a while in Hablamos en la claridad
broad mid-day, in windy De un medio dia pululante
wind that scattered the sunCon viento que esparcia sol
on all sides and struck at the sky. Y sol combatiendo en el cielo.
But the man showed me only Pero el hombre solo mostro
his new set of keys, his one Las nuevas llaves, el camino
way to all doors. Inside him, De todas las puertas. Yo creo
I think he was silent, Que aldentro de el iba el silencio
indivisibly silent: Que no podia compartirse
the flint of his soul Tenia una piedra en el alma:
stayed impenetrable. El preservaba la dureza.

I thought of that stingy integrity Pense en su mezquina verdad
hopelessly buried, with power Enterrada sin esperanza
to harm only himself; De herir a nadie sino a el
and within me I knew Y mire mi pobre verdad
my own crude truths shamed. Maltratada adentro de mi.

So we talked-each of us Alli estabamos cada uno
honing his steely convictions, Con su certidumbre afilada
each tempererd by time: Y endurecida por el tiempo
two blind men defending Comos dos ciegos que defienden
their individual darkness. Cada uno su oscuridad.

-Pablo Neruda, traducido por Ben Belitt