The Predictable First Blog Post

So I have been inspired (thank you, wonderful Afrika-traipsing friend, Brooke!). Inspired to keep a blog. The concept is right on the edge of the realm of 'the technology which I embrace', but like all things which were once on that same edge- email, laptops, digital cameras, cell phones- I imagine that soon blogging will take its place closer to the security of the center of the realm.

Since this is the beginning, here's a brief rundown of my first 27 years. I was born in Lima (yes, like the bean), Ohio and grew up on a small farm in Allen County. [side note: When I moved to college I had a very long, very confusing conversation with my new roommate, Joy, regarding where exactly I lived. I guess if you don't live within city limits somewhere you have to resort to claiming a county, or maybe a township. Auglaize.]

Anyway, after graduating from Allen East High School (Go Mustangs!) I packed an impressive amount of belongings for one who'd only had 18 years for the collecting, and headed west to Grace College, Winona Lake, IN. Four years later I came home with a BA in International Languages, a load of experience which far outweighed the knowledge I'd gained in the classroom, and some priority-focusing student loans. I spent three years working at Rhodes State College and then a year teaching EFL (English as a Foreign Language) in China. I currently find myself in the middle of suburbia in Wheaton, IL, working two jobs and finishing a master's in Intercultural Studies and TESOL (teaching English to speakers of other languages). I graduate in December, and that which lies beyond the confines of the 2007 calendar year remains a mystery to me.

July 3rd. Tomorrow my grandmother, Irma Juanita Britton Foster, turns 89 years old. A whole passel of my aunts, uncles, and cousins will gather at Friendship Village to wish her a happy birthday. Grandpa will sit quietly in his chair, nonchalantly watching CNN and Grandma will giggle and shake her head and say, "I can't believe I've lived 89 years! Just you wait until you're 89 and see if you can remember all these kids' names!"

My grandma is a good woman. Once she told me that in all twelve years of school she never missed a day, not even when her family moved in the middle of the school year. Once she told me that sometimes for lunch her mom would pack her a sandwich made with lard and bread and that she remembered tying pill bugs to empty match boxes and racing them.

Grandma was born in 1918. World War I. Lived through the depression, World War II, and the biggest explosion of technology of all time. Imagine the wisdom of all that experience! When I was a kid visiting Grandma and Grandpa at their old farmhouse, Grandma would set up us kids- my sister Brittony, brother Josh, and our youngest cousin, Tami- at a big blackboard in the basement and give us numbers to race at adding. Math's never been my strong suit, but I loved to race for the answer.

I wish I could be there to help her celebrate, but I have to work this week. It seems that life doesn't stop to recognize the elderly. Indicative of our culture, I guess. So instead I'll talk to Grandma on my dad's cell phone, all the way from Chicago. It won't be the same, but I guess it'll have to do.

Then I'll pack up my oriental cole slaw and my brownies and head over to the DuPage Country Fairgrounds to cook out with some friends and watch the fireworks. As American as apple pie. What a charmed life I blessed and thankful to lead.

PS I'm a terrible speller, but I know "Afrika" is supposed to take a 'c', not a 'k'. I think it seems more appropriate with a 'k', though, so I do it anyway. I like to live on the edge like that.