New Year's Curtains

Today is December 28, 2009. I took down my Christmas tree and decorations this morning. This is always a little bit sad. I read recently that in England they used to celebrate Christmas for 12 days (hence the song). I think that's a good idea. There's so much build-up to Christmas, and then it's over. In case you were wondering what I thought about that.

[editor's note: as I type this, I'm listening to Pandora radio. Every so often they play an advertisement blip. The last one was for Faith Hill Parfum. Ok, seriously? Faith Hill is a country singer. Since when do country and French go together? I think not]

I'm half-way through my Christmas break today. It has been WONDERFUL so far. I've spent lots of time sleeping, reading, watching movies, and spending time with friends. Obviously, if I had the means I would have gone home in a heartbeat. Half a heartbeat, maybe. But barring that option, staying here and doing nothing has been a really great break. Maybe I needed the rest more than I realized.

Though I've been experimenting in the area of laziness, I have also been working on several household jobs that have been overlooked in the six months since I moved in. The biggest of those jobs has been the completion of the curtain in my living room.

Here are before and after pictures, so you can be awed with me:

My tacky-yet-functional previous curtain. (crowd boos and hisses)

The lovely "after" model. (cheering and clapping from the audience)

Do you feel inspired? Hope so. I'm off to read a book. I love holidays! Happy 2010 Everyone!

Christmas Carols and Language Confusion

It is the Sunday before Christmas, so this morning we sang Christmas carols in church. I LOVE Christmas. I love singing. Hence, I really love singing Christmas carols. I was thinking while I sang today...

Oh Come, All Ye Faithful

So this line caught my attention: "Sing, all ye citizens of heaven above". Guess who's a citizen of heaven above? Well, I know that all of us who're in relationship with Christ are, though we're not home yet. But I was thinking of people who're already there, like my cute funny mom whom I miss more than words can express. It made me happy to think about her in heaven, singing O Come, All Ye Faithful along with the congregation at EFC. And me.

Go Tell It On the Mountain

I hate this carol. A lot. It annoys me. Especially the big, nasty slide up the scale at the end of each verse. Ai-yah. Shudder.

And why is it that, no matter how few Christmas carols I get to sing on any given Sunday of Advent, this is always one of them? It's like a special sixth sense music planners have. "Hmm, I bet Leslie Foster will be here this week. Better throw in Go Tell It On the Mountain".

In other news...

After church I went to brunch with some friends. I was ordering an omelet which came with whole wheat toast. I knew that I don't like the toast at this place, so I asked if I could exchange the toast for something else. I'll re-create the scene for your amusement, below [approximate translation in brackets]:

Leslie: Podria cambiar la tostada?

[could I change the toast?]

Waiter: Por que quiere cambiarlo

[what do you want to change it for?; but I thought he meant, "why do you want to change it?" "Por que" can mean 'for what' or 'why']

Leslie: (confused look as I wonder what difference it makes to the waiter if I don't want toast) Por que no me gusta tostada!

[because I don't like toast]

A moment of confusion passes. We blink at each other. The waiter tries again

Waiter: Pero, por que quiere cambiarlo?

[but, what do you want to trade it for?]

A light begins to dawn in my brain.

Leslie: "Significa, que yo quiero en vez de tostado?"

[do you mean, what do I want instead of toast?]

My bilingual friend, Rachel, jumped in at this point and brought a bit more clarification to the situation. Happily, the waiter was a good sport and when it was all said and done, I got pita bread instead of toast. All's well that ends well, I guess. Maybe one day I'll speak Spanish. But then, what would I write to you about?

Editor's Note: I want to give a Birthday Shout-Out to my favorite 4-year old niece, Miss Devan Foster. Devan, I hope you have an awesome birthday. Can't express how much I wish I could be there to celebrate with you. Love, Aunt Leslie :)

Last night I discovered that I can get Pandora Radio here in Equador. Probably, this doesn't mean to you what it means to me.

Explanation:

I live in Ecuador. But I'm from the Heartland and I LOVE LOVE LOVE country music. I like lots of other types of music, but I love country, and I can't get it here. I don't have the freedom to buy a lot of cd's, and the radio here plays different latino music styles. I like latino music, but my soul longs for country music.

Pause to defend my love my love of country music, for you skeptics:

1. awesome harmonies

2. lyrics that tell stories about real life- things we can all relate to: family, love, faith, loss, fun

Pandora is an online music database. It's free, and you put in the songs or artists that you like, and they stream that type of music. It's the next best thing to having enough money to buy every cd that you want. Sadly, you can only do it if you're located in the US. I don't know why this matters to the kind Pandora people...I mean, it's free either way, so why do they care if I'm logging in from Wheaton or Ada or Quito? But they do.

And...the good news. So last night I was hanging out with my super-cool friends, the Saavedras. Dave picked out my computer for me in October and he asked me to bring it along so he could check it out. Beth and I snuggled Baby Eva (almost a month old and a cute, squishy baby if I ever saw one) and watched Little Women. While we watched, Dave loaded a program on my computer that shields my location when I'm online. So now, I can turn the shield on and get Pandora!!

Please pause here to think about the joy of once again having access to your favorite style of music, after an 18 month hiatus.

Right now I'm listening to Carrie Underwood. Early today I heard Rascal Flatts, Taylor Swift, Tim McGraw, and Trace Adkins.

It sounds like home.

Hope Deferred Maketh the Heart Sick

I don't usually read the King James Version of the Bible, but I was looking at different versions of this verse today, and I liked that one best:

Proverbs 13:12 (King James Version)

¹²Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life

Isn't that the truth? A friend of mine was saying something this week about how people can only be hopeful for something for so long. Then at some point, the hope fails and they feel depressed and discouraged. Hopeless, if you will.

I'm there. I feel hopeless. Hopeless and helpless to change anything. And it's true- old Solomon was spot-on: my heart is sick.

The Drama of the Toothpaste Cap

The other night I was doing my pre-bed routine and I dropped the cap to my toothpaste down the drain of my sink.

Dangit.

All the plumbing in my house is a bit ghetto, so there's no guard of any sort on the drain. Just a hole. I gaze forelornly down said hole and wish that I had been more careful. But alas, I had not, so I grab a flashlight from the kitchen and take a closer look.

I can see it, but it's way down there- a little white plastic island on a nasty black tube-river. I look and I think.

How to retrieve the cap? I don't want to clog the drain. And I don't want dried-out toothpaste.

I determine that I need something long, thin, and stiff to reach down there, and something sticky on the end to stick to the cap and pull it up. Hanger. Gum.

I find the only wire hanger in my house, and after much wrestling, realize that the white cardboard tubing across the bottom of the hanger is a better choice than the wire itself.

I head back to the kitchen for a piece of gum, so I can chew it into sticky-ness. En route I have a better idea- peanut butter! The stuff here is really gooey. I grab the jar and the cardboard tube and return to the facilities.

After my first jab at the cap, I realize that the cap is floating in water; not just lying at the elbow curve of the pipe. Hence, each time I try to poke it, it just gets pushed down.

Dangit.

Another brillian plan occurs to me- molasses! I have molasses, and I remember that it is really sticky. A return trip to the kitchen later, I try again, this time with molasses instead of pb. No luck.

Great idea number three: turn on the water full-blast, and hope that the water backs up enough to make the cap float closer to the top of the pipe. I try it.

And suddenly the cap is gone.

Hmm.

Well, I guess that takes care of that! I brush my teeth and head to bed.

Thoughts Which Are Random

1. Isn't garbage collection fantastic? Think about this: you produce garbage. Slimy, smelly stuff that even YOU don't want. So you wrap it up in a bag and put it on your sidewalk at night. The next day you go out, and it's gone. Apparently someone WANTED your crap. Cause they took it. Some places (like Quito) they take it for FREE! No complaints. No comments on how bad your trash smells or how much you seem capable of constantly producing. Just quietly disappearing in the night.

2. Last night I got a massage. It lasted 30 minutes and cost me $10. It was wonderful. And yet, as I laid, mostly naked on a table, paying a complete stranger kneading my body, it occurred to me how strange the whole concept of a massage is. "Hurts So Good" was the song that was playing through my head. My back is pretty tense, so in order for a massage to be of use to me, it has to hurt a bit. In fact, when the masseuse finished with me, her comment was that my back was very tense and hard. No kidding. Then she gave me some stretching exercises that I hope will help. Weird, massage. Weird, but really great.

3. Big restaurant birthday parties stink. The problem is, you get there and the nice wait staff has set up twenty-seven four-person tables end-to-end. You all crowd around them and then realize you can only talk to five people: one on either side of me, one directly across from me, and the two on either side of him or her. So here I am with 30 people, waiting an hour and a half for the food (because the group is so big) and only talking to 5 people. It's dumb. I'm 29 years old, but I just figured this out. Hence, I intend to have 6 birthday parties this year, and only invite five people to each one. I think it's a sign of my advancing intelligence.

4. Next week I get to go to a work conference. It's in Santiago, Chile, a country to which I have never been. Know how much it costs to enter Chile? $130. Yep, one hundred and thirty smackers just to walk out of the airport. This is craziness. But the nice thing is that I won't be paying that redunkulous cost. The school pays for my whole trip, including exorbitant and superfluous fees and even a food stipend. Isn't that weird? I pay for my own food while I'm in Quito, teaching for the school. But should I go sit through seminar after seminar, requiring a sub to take my classes, sleeping in a hotel and flying internationally, the school pays for my food. I do not understand this reasoning, but if you want to pay for my food, I will always say yes. Santiago, here I come!

We have reached the end of my random thoughts for now. Over and out.

Homeward Bound

Simon and Garfunkle isn't good to listen to when you're already feeling melancholy. This song just finished:

Tonight I'll sing my songs again,
I'll play the game and pretend.
But all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity
Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me.
Homeward bound,
I wish I was,
Homeward bound,
Home where my thought's escaping,
Home where my music's playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

Ah, home. An illusive concept in my world. I guess it makes sense that it's hard for me to define home at this point. In the practical sense, I've moved 19 times in the eleven years since high school graduation, including five international moves. [Editor's Note: if anyone wants any packing tips, feel free to ask] But spiritually speaking, I'm not home, either. I'm a visitor and some days I feel my visitor status more strongly than others.

Is that good? Bad? Neither? In any case, I miss things tonight. My family. Ohio. Fall. My new nephew whom I've never even met. My nieces who are growing up without me. Old friends- the kind that know me deep and love me still. Old memories. Old securities. Even things I've never had I find myself missing this night. A husband. Kids. A settled, rooted existence. Knowing where I'll be in two years- or at least thinking I know.

I look forward to some day in the future, when I won't miss anything anymore. When I won't be struggling with a foreign language; with students and coworkers; with someone else's culture; with loneliness; with my own humanity.

One day I'll be home. Safe and at rest and home.

"True Beauty" My Sweet Bippy!

Tonight as I was turning off the tv, I ran across a show called "True Beauty". Intrigued, I flipped over to the station.

Turns out this is a reality show, and although I didn't watch enough to see the whole premise, the part I DID see was a group of maybe 10 beautiful people who'd been "evaluated" and give a "beauty score" between 1 and 100 by a medical doctor.

Yes, that's what I said. A Beauty Score. So they stood them up in pairs and told them all where they ranked. One of the guys, incidentally, had the guts to point out how ridiculous the whole thing was (he scored a 94).

I my mind I just kept thinking, "Seriously? Is this for real?!"

Wow. Such a sad commentary on our times. I don't even have anything profound to say about this. Just....wow. As my friend, Lauren, would say, "What the Hecuador?!?"

Like Pot Roast to a College Student

I've been teaching English as a second language since 2005. I started teaching older teens in China. Then I taught adult refugees and immigrants in the US. Now I'm teaching middle schoolers in Ecuador.

Though I have enjoyed all of my differing groups and ability levels, it seems that for my current students (ESL kids, 11-14 year olds enrolled in a private, international Christian school) have shown themselves to be the least grateful.

Not that this is a problem. I LOVE my job, and I love my kids. And actually, I hadn't really thought about it until tonight. And this is why:

Tonight I volunteered at Spotlight Listeners' Club. This is an international radio broadcast geared for English Language Learners (ELLs). The program, which lasts about 15 minutes, is presented in a very slowed-down version of English, and a script is provided for participants, to aid in their understanding of the program. [if you're interested in learning more, check out the website: http://spotlight.hcjb.org/]

My church hosts the club twice a month, and after being pestered (ahem) I mean, pursued by a friend at church for a year, I decided to come volunteer this school year. Tonight was my first night.

The participants seat themselves according to their perceived level (basic, intermediate, or advanced). I sat with the beginners and spent five minutes during the ice-breaker time asking their names and facilitating a conversation related to the topic of the evening (God's Plan for Your Money). They each thanked me sincerely, in broken English, at least twice.

Then after the program, I was assigned to help an intermediate group. As our leader was introducing the volunteers, I noticed a group of participants who were nudging each other and nodding in my direction- I had been scoped. They came and we spent about 40 minutes playing a budgeting game and then about 15 minutes of me prompting conversation.

At the end, as a group they asked me if I would meet with them for more practice. They talked about how they're usually nervous about using their English, but that I made them feel comfortable and they wanted more practice. In the end, we compromised by agreeing to look for each other at the next Spotlight.

But the point is the appreciation of the participants. I miss that. I'm sure that one day, my ESL students will recognize that I love them and care about them and worked hard to put them at ease and help them learn. But for most of my pre-pubescent teens, that day is not likely to come soon. I had forgotten the joy of having people acknowledge and express their appreciation for what I do. Like I said- I haven't been lamenting the loss, but the reminder tonight was really great. A mini-high in the middle of my school week.

I think it's like pot roast to a college student. You know- a kid grows up in a family where home-made dinners are served most nights, and the kid couldn't care less. In fact, he probably would rather have a Big Mac than a homemade feast any day.

But one day, that kid goes to college and lives off mass-produced food and ramen noodles. By Thanksgiving, he would donate his kidney for a homemade turkey dinner. Like my various students. AAI kids have been raised on teachers who care about them; who go above and beyond to help them be successful. They live and breathe it and as a result, they often don't know how good they have it. But the participants at Spotlight tonight- they may have never had a teacher who's kind to them. That's not the way it usually is here. And they want to speak English desperately. So much that they're willing to travel for over an hour to come practice English. No doubt their reasons vary, but their internal motivation is consistent. They want to learn and they can't say enough how much they appreciate our willingness to help.

Pot roast for a college student. People who appreciate what they're getting, and are generous in their thankfulness. Ahhhh! The whole things makes my heart happy. Thanks, Spotlighters!

Student Surveys

Just this week I was lamenting the fact that I didn't have anything to write about, and then something happened. I got the results from my student surveys from last year. At AAI each full-time teacher is required to survey at least two of their classes. I had planned to survey all my classes because I'm interested to hear what they had to say. But alas, the end-of-the-year craziness got to me and I forgot. Thankfully I remembered in time get in my two required classes.

As you might imagine, there's a bit of bias involved when surveying 12-14-year-olds on their classes and teachers. Because I know this, I went into the whole thing with the idea of, "This is going to be funny" rather than, "This is going to tell me whether or not I'm a good teacher." I was right. It was funny. And it doesn't really tell me too much about my teaching, other than most of my students seem to like me and I apparently give too much homework. As a side note, in one of the classes I had a student who really hates me. See if you can pick out this student's comments...

In any case, I would like to post some of the funnier responses so you can chuckle with me...


Q: What one thing did you like about this class?
A: It's small and colorful, I wrote a lot. [what?]
A: Projects [I have never had a student express excitment over my assigning a project. I think this is just a lie]
A: Learning something new about God every day [my personal favorite]


Q: What one thing did you not like about this class?
A: The rules
A: The teacher
A: Homework
A: Too much homework
A: Homework and tests
A: Doing homework
A: The rules
[for the record, I'm pretty sure I'm on the "light homework load" end of the middle school spectrum. And I only have four rules.]


Q: What did you like least about the teacher?
A: She gave us homework
A: That she gave me detentions
A: Writing name on board
A: That was funny [I have no idea what this means]


Q: What did the teacher do to make the class interesting and relevant?
A: Seeing a movie [we never watched a single movie in this class]


Sadly, this is the end of the funnies, since I only remembered to survey two classes. I shall do better this year so that next fall we can all giggle together again.

Here's a picture of one of my classes this year. Aren't they great?!?



Good night and God bless.

Since I've Been Gone...

So life was uninteresting and then my computer died. Hence it's been almost a month since I blogged. My apologies for the trauma this may have caused you. Since I've been gone, here's what's been happening:

-I painted my apartment. It looks awesome, if I do say so myself.

-My computer's monitor died and now I have to buy a new one. Gross.

-I started my second year at Alliance. Still seem to love working with those crazy middle schoolers.

-I met a handful of new teachers and like them. Very excited about new friendship possibilities.

-I finally took two pairs of pants to get altered. This decision only took me about six months to follow through on.

-I inherited two dwarf hamsters. Their names are Jaws and Marsha. Jaws likes to nibble. On everything. Marsha is my favorite, so I named her after the favorite daughter on the Brady Bunch. I think. I've never actually watched the show, but I assume that since the other girl's whiny complaint is, "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!" that Marsha is the favorite.

-I went back to work and thereby rediscovered the joys of being up before the sun. That would be sarcastic, except that I live in the Andes Mountains and I have an awesome eastern view of some great peaks from my bedroom. They are best seen before the sun makes it over the mountains.

-I got 13 home room kids in my bodega (that's Spanish for a storage closet, which is what my classroom was before I got it). We are cozy. One kid gets to sit on a desk cause I don't have room for the number of seats we need. But happily, this should be remedied by next week.

-I straightened my hair for the second time in my life. It took 30 minutes, which is exactly 10 times my normal budgeted hair-fixing allotment. As I was walking down the hallway that morning, one of my favorite students, who was running in the opposite direction to get to her class before the bell, yelled out, "Nice flat hair, Miss Foster!" She was sincere. ESL student. I mean, do YOU know how to say "straightened hair" in a second language? Me either. I laughed a lot.

-I realized that I have dandruff and went in search of some Head and Shoulders. Did you know that there are lots of scents now?! I was really excited about all the possibilities. Not as excited about paying $4.50 for a bottle of shampoo. Oh well.

-I made the tough decision to buy the expensive shower curtain. So I did. And then I got home to find out that there were two problems. First, it was about 8 inches to long. Second, it is made to slide onto the shower curtain rod, and mine is bolted to the bathroom walls. Then I noticed that it wasn't a shower curtain. It was just a curtain. Happily, a friend wanted to buy it from me to use in her classroom. Now that I have to buy a new computer, maybe I'll just put that $25 in the computer fund.

Well, now that we're all caught up, I'm off to bed. School tomorrow, but it's Friday! Whee!

Bathrooms...Klos....Banos...Loos

Spanish class is over. Oh, thank the sweet Lord. I thought I might die. But on the up side, I didn't. And you'll all be proud to know that I earned an 86%. Not that the grade means anything except for the mental satisfaction of passing.

In other news, I start back to work two weeks from today. Wow, writing that made it seem closer. Hate that. This week I'm hoping the guys will come paint my ceilings and that my landlady will give me the ok to buy the paint to paint my walls. I don't have anything on the walls in the meantime and I'm anxious to decorate a little.

Today in class we took a mini-field trip to an art museum and I used the restroom while I was there. It was so nice that I thought about the niceness factor for the duration of my visit. My visit to the loo, that is; not the museum.

It has been my experience that the term "nice public bathroom" is variable as one crosses borders. Here are some multiple-standard examples:

In the US: contradiction in terms; no meaning.

In the Dominican Republic: it is free of insects which are larger than my hand

In Germany: the lady cleaned the toilet immediately before I went in

In Russia: there is a toilet seat (not just the bowl)

In Argentina: you can flush the tp

In Romania: there is someone to stand where the door should be to block the view while I do my thing

In China: it's a western toilet (as opposed to a squatty-potty)

In Ecuador: it has have toilet paper

Anyway, back to today's art museum toilet. Not only did it have toilet paper, it also smelled good (especially good in a country where usually the pipes can't handle tp so everyone throws their used tp in the trashcan); flushed well; had locking doors and a hook for my purse; soap and water AND paper towels. I mean, high quality.

Makes you wonder which country's public toilets I'll get to critique next, doesn't it?

[Editor's Note: Leslie's experiences with public bathrooms are not necessarily representative of the average public facilities of each country.]

To Shower Curtain or Not to Shower Curtain...THAT is the Question

I'm in the process of furnishing my apartment. Well, sortof furnishing it. I already have the needed stuff- a bed; a fridge; a table. But the stuff that makes you happy to walk in....like your pictures on the wall or some candles or such- that stuff I'm working on.

I have this ongoing argument in my head. I'm pretty sure this is my mother's fault. She was the bargain-buyer of the whole world, basically. So whenever I buy a non-essential item I go through this debate- I don't need it; it's expensive; how many hours would I have to work to pay this off; can I get a better deal somewhere else; in three months will I regret this purchase; etc.

Anywho, I've been looking for a shower curtain. I've checked several different places and haven't found anything even close to what I want. The price ranges were between 7 and 20 dollars, usually for plastic. Yuck.

Then on Wednesday I was walking through a store in the mall to get to the grocery store, and I saw a shower curtain display. And the perfect curtain. Just the right color and not plastic. It was $27.

That's a lot of money. I mean, compared to $7. So I drooled over it for a couple minutes, put it back, and went to get my groceries.

Now I'm back at home, without a shower curtain, wishing I'd bought it. I figured it out, that with tax, the curtain would cost me $1.26 per month of my remaining two years of contract at AAI. And I think, hmm, that's not very much!

Is it?

I really hate this division of living overseas; some people here could eat for a month on $27. But does that mean I shouldn't spend that much on a shower curtain? Not getting the cool curtain will not help any of those people. On the other hand, being wasteful is bad. So maybe I should settle for the cheap plastic curtain?

Moral dilemmas. So annoying.

On a lighter note, a friend pointed out to me tonight that the word "parasol" seems Spanish- para means for and sol means sun. Like an umbrella is called a "paragua"- for water. Latin based?

Anyway, I'm going to bed now. If you have any input on my shower curtain dilemma, feel free to comment.

The Mumble Trucks of Quito

I’ve been back “home” in Ecuador for more than a week now. I’m pretty happy to be on this end of Week 1, given how tumultuous it was. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me that coming back to Quito and moving into a new apartment at the same time would cause me considerable emotional instability. I am, contrary to what this oversight might indicate, reasonably self-aware.

In any case, I’m back, I have a roof and a bed and hot water and electricity and a tv that I can turn on and lots of other good things. Currently my toilet isn’t working, which is somewhat less than ideal, but the good news is that I can fill a bucket from the shower and flush the toilet with that until the plumber comes. Tah-dah! It makes me happy to have been raised by two of the most resourceful people I know.

In other return-to-Quito news, I have survived my week one of three in an intensive Spanish course. I am pleased to report that I did quite well until about 12:15 on Thursday. It seems that at that time the linguistic area of my brain shut down from overuse, and was down for recovery for a couple days. Today (Saturday) it seems to be functioning again. I expected this shut-down to occur. I’ve decided it’s a safety feature programmed into our brains to prevent implosion and total destruction. It happens to me every time- Germany, Russia, Argentina, China, and now Ecuador. It’s good to be able to count on some things, isn’t it? 

It’s loud in my new apartment. It’s funny what you notice as weird when you leave and come back. For me, one of those things has been the art of honking in Quito. Where I’m from honking is pretty straight-forward. You honk to warn someone of danger or when someone’s driving like they’re in a coma and you lose your patience. The only other reason to honk is if you’re passing the house of someone you know.

Here, it’s a much more developed art. People honk here for the reasons mentioned about, although there’s a lot more honking to say, “Careful, I’m coming” instead of, “You crazy moron!! Who taught you how to drive!?!? Get out of my way!!” For example, drivers here tap the horn when they’re coming to an intersection to warn other drivers who might be running the stop sign. But the fun honking is what I’m talking about. It took me a couple months to begin distinguishing one honk from another.

If, for example, I’m walking and I hear a car behind me tap his horn once or twice very lightly, I know it’s a taxi, asking if I want a ride. If I’m trying to sleep in on a Saturday morning and I hear this: honk-honk-honk-honk-honk-honk (pause; repeat) it means the truck with the gas tank refills is passing by. If I needed to exchange my tank for a full one, I’d run out and flag him down. If I didn’t need to exchange my tank, I would feel around blindly on my nightstand for my earplugs and go back to sleep.

But my favorite is the mumble truck. The mumble truck doesn’t actually use the horn. Instead he has an electronic megaphone attached to the roof of the pickup. In the bed are various kinds of produce for sale. The mumble truck is so named (by me) because the quality of the megaphone is always so terrible that it’s essentially impossible to understand what he’s selling. It sounds kinda like this:

“Masransabandabasintreporundolardanesco-la!”

It’s sortof a chant, with everything being chanted on the same note except the last syllable, which goes down a couple notes. I’ve never bought anything from a mumble truck, but I think I will sometime this year. That’s the nice thing about living somewhere for an extended time- no hurry.

Well, while I wrote this the plumber came, fixed my toilet, made a big mess on my floor and left. I think I’ll go mop my bathroom floor (which, in the plumber’s defense, needed to be mopped before he came) and use my newly-functioning toilet.

Ah, it’s gonna be a good day.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...

I know, I know. You were worried sick!! You were about to call the hospitals! WHERE HAVE I BEEN!?!

Good question. Since you last heard from me I've been...

-soaking up family at Grandma Nell's house

-cheering for the home team in Kansas City, Missouri (at the First Annual Roosevelt House Reunion)

-catching up with Brooke, since we were briefly in the same hemisphere

-giggling over potted fig plants at Whole Foods in Naperville, IL with Sasha

-cutting my hair- finally!

-getting to hold Bryan and Jamie's son, Tarek, in Elida

-loving time with my nieces in Harrod

-comparing notes on teaching in Senegal vs. teaching in Ecuador with Annie...over ice-cream

-celebrating my favorite country's birthday

-getting to meet Brent and Tina's daughter, Mikaya in Lima

-livin' life large with Josie and her family in the Land of Cleve

-setting up a lunch date with Mindy and then forgetting my wallet so she had to pay for both of us

-driving...a lot

-stock-up buying

-watching the new Harry Potter movie with Jo, Rachel, and Claire

-eating fresh, homemade food that exceeds the depth of the word "delicious"

-burning the quesadillas at Renessa's house while she put the baby down for a nap (oops)

-remembering why I miss holidays with the family so much at Sheri's house in Farmertucky (ahem) I mean, Farmersville

-celebrating Father's Day at bit late at Cassano's Pizza

It's been a good break. I hate to see it end, but [I keep reminding myself that] I'm excited to get re-settled at home; not live out of a suitcase; learn Spanish a bit more; dive into year two; see what's in store.

Trip Home. In Short

Hey Kids,

I'm currently home on summer break, and as I was making the day-long journey I thought about how many of you don't travel internationally, and how much you're missing! Or not. I decided to take notes this time, to help you get a taste for the whole fiasco that is international travel.

Quito-Columus
June 16, 2009

Tossing and turning
Alarm
Last minute packing
PANIC!! No license!!
Drag luggage outside
Wait for cab
Run for license
Pray for mercy
Nearly biff it on slick, wet pavement
Extra tip for honest driver
Wait to check in
Wait to pay exit fee
Wait to clear customs
Wait to clear seurity
Wait for plane
Wait for other passengers
Row to myself!!!
Read Bible
Read in-flight magazine
Start a book
Omlette and a hot dog?!
Start another book
See arial view of Panama Canal
Take a nap
Wait to get off plane
Miami- hot/cold/hot/cold...pneumonia?
Walk, walk, walk
Wait to clear customs
Chat with cute customs guy
Wait to transfer luggage
Mass of humanity
Cattle-herding, anyone?
Walk, walk, walk
Wait to clear security
(Stupid Miami airport set up)
Walk, walk, walk
AA flight 592 to NY LaGuardia....Gate D50
Walk, walk, walk
Hot, humid airport bathroom
Board plane (no waiting!)
Full flight
DIET DR. PEPPER!
God bless America
Read more of book 2
6:30 PM-6 more hours till home
Really liking book 2
See Empire State building
See Central Park
Decide to come visit NYC some day
Security...again
Buy food or wait it out?
$1.39 for ONE ORANGE?!?
Wait it out
Wait for plane 3 of 3
Hope the seat next to mine is empty
Wait to board
No one next to me!
Amusing stewardess
Bye-bye, NYC
Next stop, Great State of Ohio!
Read still more of book 2
Hello, Ohio!
Home
Family
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Two Things

1. For those of you who've tuned in for the first installment of the "Gringa Gringa" Papa John's drama, I have a continuation.

I ordered again while my friend, Megan, was visiting. I went through the name part again, slowly spelling out my name, and pretty confident that this time we got somewhere.

Then the pizza arrived. I have become Masuit Fasocrer. Seriously. I'm not making that up.

2. I'm been dealing with some sort of gastro-intestinal nastiness, so I've been spending more time than usual in the bathroom. Today I was spending some more quality time in there and I started fiddling around with the little cap on the faucet....you know, the screw-on part with the strainer in it? Well, this was different from the kind I've seen in the states, but the impressive part was what was in it. Small boulders. Here's a picture in case you think I'm exaggerating:

Guess it's good that I don't drink the water here, huh? :)

"Changable Weather" My Sweet Bippy!

Preface: this is my 100th post on this blog. Just thought I’d mention that.

This week as I took my rent money to the top floor of my building to pay my landlady, I refused to come in because I was sick and didn't want to contaminate anyone. The landlady readily agreed and with the sympathetic Ecuadorian grandmother look (that I'm coming to appreciate here) told me that "the whole world" is sick right now, and it's because of the changeable weather.

I nodded and agreed and promised to "take care of myself" and went back to my own apartment, shaking my head and rolling my eyes at this equatorial country's opinion of "changeable weather".

People, it's May. Know how I know? Not because the grass is green again, or the trees have little leaflets or because the birds have returned from their winter homes. No, it's looked like spring here since I arrived. Last August.

I know it's May because my facebook friends keep posting pictures of their newly-spiffed-up flower gardens. Because my brother emailed me a clip of my nieces fishing at the neighbor's pond. Because people back home are starting to talk about graduation open houses. Because Dalen's playing softball. Because Dad's riding his motorcycle to work again.

Ecuador is beautiful, but this whole seasonless thing...I don't know. They tell you they have seasons here. What they mean is, sometimes it rains a lot and sometimes is rains a little. This is not enough change to constitute a season.

And a temperature change of 1.5 over the span of a month is NOT changeable weather! Examples of changeable weather, in case you, too, are unclear about this, are as follows:

-This December when I flew home for Christmas, it was -7 degrees on my first night. During my ten days at home, the temps rose to an UNSEASONABLE 60 degrees, and then dropped again to freezing before I left. This, friends, in changeable weather.

-You know what changeable weather is if, when you purchase or make your childrens' Halloween costumes, you arrange for them to be a size too big, and of lightweight material. That way, if Halloween turns out to be an 80-degree evening, they can wear just the costume. And if it's a 30-degree evening, you can put in on over their snowsuit. Changeable weather.

-Once when I was in sixth grade it snowed in May. I remember running off the playground with tiny cold snowflakes kissing my shorts-clad legs. Changeable weather.

And here are a few things that changeable weather is not, just to be extra clear:

-Changeable weather is not when the sun goes behind a cloud and the temps drop ten degrees. We call this equatorial sunlight.

-Changeable weather is not when, regularly each afternoon at 3pm the sun disappears behind a honkin' huge storm cloud and the skies proceed to dump all they've got in the way of precipitation for an hour or so, just long enough to make your walk home from school more like a wade. Annoying- yes. Changeable weather- not so much.

-And finally, changeable weather is not when the calendar has switched to a definitively springy month (such as May) and you mentally talk yourself into feeling like it's spring now. This does not cause colds, or flus or other illnesses. This does not actually change the weather. It's all in your heads, people. Wishful thinking, that.

And now, I think I'll take my sickly self off to get ready for bed. So I can face another beautiful spring morning tomorrow, with my non-weather-induced cold.

Thank you.

A New Life

I've been sick, which is kindof nice, at least for the resting-up aspect. I can't believe how much I can sleep. Hours and hours and still sleep the night through. But on the other hand, I'm remembering why, as a general rule, people prefer NOT to be sick. I'm pretty sure the last time I had the flu I was in Russia. Nearly passed out on the subway in Moscow. Nearly passed out in the bathtub in our hotel, which was built to house olympians in the 1980 games. That was (wow) fall of 2001. Eight years without the flu, but I'm making up for it this week. Happily, the super-sweet doctor I went to see this morning (my first experience with the Ecuadorian medical community was quite satisfactory) said the flu that's going around lasts a bout 10 days, so hopefully by the end of this week I'll be back to normal.

All that said to lay the foundation of thinking. I recently realized that I can't not think. Not when I'm tired, or sick, or even asleep. I used to think everyone dreams every time they sleep, like me. And this week I've had more thinking time than normal, since my daily activities have been rather subdued.

Just now I was working on a Bible study and my computer's screen saver clicked on- a slideshow of pictures. As I watched the photos pan across the screen I realized that all of the pictures are less than a year old. They're all from my life here. Scenery around Quito; my HomeBase class at school; my birthday celebration; a shot with a roommate at a restaurant. And I had two contradictory and yet true thoughts:
-It's so easy to make a new life
-It's so hard to make a new life

If you've ever started over somewhere, I would imagine you can relate. Some of it's easy. From my first minute in Ecuador I was surrounded by community from the school. I arrived with a place to stay; a job; a group of co-workers and a church family. It's been the easiest overseas adjustment I've made to date.

And yet, it's hard. I recognise that when I go home for the summer, one huge draw is being with people who know me deep. Now I'm not a hard person to get to know. I open up pretty easily (maybe to a fault?). But there's still something about an old friend. A comfortable friend who knows your experiences, your gifts, your faults, and has moved on. Someone who knew you in middle school. Someone who can recognise the flashes of who your were as a kid when they show through your adult facade. I miss that.

It's hard because I don't really speak Spanish. I pretend sometimes, but even when I do understand, it's hard work. People who've been here for ten-plus years tell me it never ceases to be a truly second langauge.

It's hard because the culture isn't mine. I can try to adapt, but it will never be mine. I will always be trying to figure out the whys and hows of life here.

But then again, what's hard isn't always bad. Often, it's the hard that's worth working at. Where's the challenge in the easy? And here, in these three sentences, you see the conundrum of my life. The safe, the known, the comprehensible...becomes boring. But the new, the unknown, the scary...becomes wearing.

I guess the bottom line is that neither is my true home.

Drama in Cuenca

Last weekend I went to Cuenca, Ecuador with a friend to enjoy our final long weekend of the school year. Overall it was a good trip. I arrived on Thursday evening and flew back to Quito on Sunday morning. On Friday, the rest of the group went to hike around in a national park called Las Cajas. I'm not a big hiker, plus it'd had been raining a LOT, so they all had to wear rubber boots. And in addition, I was getting sick (though I didn't realize it then). All of these things combined to equal Leslie doesn't want to go. Instead, I spent the day by myself. This blog is about that day.

After seeing the girls off to their hiking adventure, I spent a liesurely morning in our host family's empty home. The rain, which had been falling steadily since I woke up, finally stopped around 10, and about 11 I decided to go into town to see the sights of Cuenca. This involves calling a cab, explaining where to come get me (the house was about 10 minutes outside of town), figuring out the alarm system, and hopefully leaving without setting it off. In the end, I decided to just try to hail a cab and avoid the phone call. You may recall my experience calling for pizza from my own house. So directing a cab to someone else's house seemed a bit intimidating. Anyway, I managed the alarm system and trekked up the hill to the road and waited for an empty cab to come along. Here's a picture of me at that moment:

A car or two passed. A cab or two passed, but they both had people already. I waited. I sang a song. I enjoyed the non-cityness of my locatioin. No cab. I briefly considered going BACK inside, messing with the alarm, hoping the alarm place doesn't call and say a lot of stuff really fast in Spanish that I didn't understand then the police show up at this house that wasn't mine, and then trying to call the cab place and give directions.

I waited longer. A car from the neighborhood pulled out onto the street. They drove slowly and looked at me, but then seemed to decide I didn't need help and kept going.

I watched a huge dumptruck pass and pondered whether, should a truck driver offer me a ride into town, I would say yes or not.

I waited. Another car, an SUV with a young family, pulled out of the neighborhood area onto the street. They, too, looked at me. And then a miraculous thing happened! They stopped and the man raised his eyebrows and pointed in the direction of the city. "Do you want to go into Cuenca?" he seemed to say. I, too, raised my eyebrows and nodded enthusiastically.

I was thinking at this moment of my friend and former roommate, Beth Berke, and how very Berke-esque was this thing I was doing.

I jumped into the backseat with a girl about 9 and a boy around 5. Javier and Gaby, the parents, were gracious enough to take me somewhere in the city where I could get a cab to the museum that I was trying to get to. So, I have experienced my first hickhiking ride!

[editor's note: in the course of our ride together, we discussed where I was going and where I was staying. I think these people were my hosts' next-door neighbors and I think they saw me come out of the house, AND I think that's why they gave an unknown gringa a ride into town. Kids, don't try this at home. Especially if "home" means the US]

So off I trotted, having been dropped of by Nice Neighbor Family, to hail a cab to take me to the museum. A $2 cab ride later, I found out the museum was closed. And it was starting to rain. Dang. But not to be thwarted, I pulled out my borrowed map and figured out how to get back to the main part of the old town. I started walking and thankfully the rain changed its mind and went away. I walked and walked and walked. Apparently the museum was kind of far away. Eventually I stopped at an internet cafe and spent $.25 for a half-hour of internet! I paid the lady, used the facilities (which had a hilarious sink set-up, seen here:)

and set off for the cafe where I was to eat lunch with Luke's host family. You may remember Luke, Christy's friend who's living in Cuenca to study Spanish? His host family owns the cafe and, having found out that I wasn't going to the park with the others, insisted that I come eat lunch in their cafe. So sweet of them. So I went to their place. It reminded me of the Greek family restaurant from "My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding" because the family was wondering in and out the whole time. I ate and tried to pay (but was, of course, refused) and then the host mom drove me to the next place on my list- a shopping area. After some motherly advice (like use your umbrella and watch your wallet) she let me off in front of market square. Thanking her profusely I proceeded to a booth selling postcards and laboriously choose 8 (the lady told me they were 20 cents each, but when I asked for a discount she said I could have 8 for a dollar! I love it when bargaining goes well). I handed them to the lady and reached for my wallet to pay.

It was gone.

Trying not to panic, I squatted down and started taking everything out of my purse. No luck. The wallet was gone. I told the lady I couldn't find my money and she asked if I'd been robbed. I told her I wasn't sure, apologized, and headed back to the cafe.

My mind whirled as I passed the colorful market booths. I know I had it at the internet cafe, because I paid the lady. Maybe it was there? I don't know if I had it at the cafe because they didn't let me pay. My purse was on the floor there; could it have fallen out? Or could someone have grabbed it out of my purse? But if someone had taken it, why hadn't they taken my camera, too? Most of my money was in my jeans pocket (in case I got robbed) so there was less than $5 in my wallet, but my Censo (a government ID) was in my wallet. Could I fly back to Quito with just a copy of my passport? Sigh...

Back at the cafe, no one's seen the wallet. I continue back-tracking to the internet cafe. It's only one block from the cafe. I remember because it was much closer than I was expecting so it stuck in my mind. I walked the block.

The internet cafe was gone. Yes, gone. As in, not there anymore. I stood gaping in bewilderment at the intersection where it should have been. I KNEW it was only a block, but obviously it wasn't there, so I walked one more block. Still not internet cafe. It occured to me that maybe I walked the wrong direction for a block, so I went back to the cafe and tried the other direction. Lo and behold, the internet cafe sat quietly on its corner, where it'd been the whole time. :) I walked in and noticed that the same lady was there. I walked up to her but could tell that she didn't remember me. "I was here this morning" I started...

Her eyes lit up. "Si! Un momento..." She opened a desk drawer and pulled out my wallet! I swallowed hard so as not to burst into tears of relief. I thanked her sincerely and headed back to the cafe for the third time that day. "All is well- I found it!" I reported and continued back to the market area. The lady was still there, crocheting quietly. Truimphantly I held up my prodigal wallet and announced that I'd found it. "You weren't robbed?!" she asked. Nope! From behind her display she pulled out my postcards- she'd kept them out for me. :)

The rest of the day was less dramatic, though really beutiful. Here are some pictures of the scenery in Cuenca.

Why I'm Here- A Reminder To Me

Today God talked to me about how much like the Israelites I am.

Now, if you've ever read much of the Old Testament you probably wouldn't consider this comment to be a compliment. Nothing against the Jew, of course. Just that we're all so human and flawed and in need of redemption; they just happened to end up being the poster children.

Anyway, in this particular case God was addressing the issue of my discontent. Recently I read the passage in 1 Samuel where the Israelites have decided that they need a human king, like the other nations around them. Since their miraculous deliverance from Egypt (where they were slaves) God had been their king. He blessed them and caused them to conquer their enemies and to prosper. And at that particular time, God had given them Samuel, a priest and prophet, to lead them. But they weren't satisfied with all of that. They wanted a king. The people in the lands all around them had kings, and for whatever reason, they wanted a king, too.

Samuel (slightly put out that his leadership wasn't satisfactory) consulted God. God pointed out that the people weren't rejecting Samuel, but Him. And he told Samuel to give them a king.

Now, this is the part of the story that is scary. God let them have what they wanted, even though He knew it wasn't the best plan. It was obviously A plan; God still used the David's lineage to bring the Deliverer. But I can't help but wonder what bigger and better blessings God had in store if the Israelites would have been satisfied with Him alone.

Enter me. Thousands of years later, I reenact this ancient story. God has blessed me. He has saved me from myself; forgiven me for forsaking Him; promised me eternal life with Him; offered me abundant life on earth in the meantime; gifted me; given me a ministry; provided for every need and many wants; so many blessings that I stack them in corners and in the closet and forget I ever got them. More blessings waiting in His hands, waiting for me to ask for them.

And yet I look at others and I want what they have. I look at friends who are dating and I want that. I look at married friends and I want that. I look at friends who have children and I want that. I look at friends who have great relationships with their moms and I want that.

I'm not saying it's bad to want what we don't have. All those things are good and healthy, but God hasn't given them to me in this season. The problem comes in when I can't enjoy and appreciate what He HAS given me because I'm too busy complaining about what I DON'T have. Losing focus. Losing perspective. Assuming that what I want is the highest priority.

How many times must I be reminded? It's not all about me. I'm sitting here, staring at those words on my computer screen.
It's. Not. All. About. Me.
God's highest priority is not my latest desire. He's got His sights set higher. I must look up to see where He is aiming.

God, help me to look up. Keep reminding me. Don't give me a second-best option. I want Your best for me, even if I'm not smart enough to recognize it. Help me to keep Your perspective; building the kingdom. Reaching up to the God who created me and reaching out to all He created. That's why I'm here.

Present Living

Today is my final day of Easter break. I've done a lot of nothing during the past few days and so today I found myself lying on my bed, listening to my roommate's music from the other room and gazing out the window.

It looks like summertime here in the mornings, though it is only April and the warmer part of the year won't arrive for another month or so. But from inside the window the big, fluffy white clouds, deep blue sky, and the green plants, trees, and flowers can trick you into another season.

As I was lying there, enjoying the freedom to stare out the window without doing anything, a small white butterfly flew into my line of vision. Instantly I was flashed back to my childhood. Summertime on the small farm where I grew up. Me, seven or eight, in my favorite apple-print shorts and shirt outfit. The sun warm and friendly on my skin. Running barefoot with Britt and Josh, through the freshly-washed sheets, drying on the line in the east yard. The sheets making sweet-smelling, cool hallways for us to run through. The wind whipping through them and sometimes blinding us with clean, soft cotton. Scooter, our faithful dog, running around with us, loving playing with us.

Mom, calling us in for lunch. PB&Js or hotdogs or leftovers. The kitchen, slightly cooler than outside because of the shade. Naptime when the sandwhiches were gone. Dad coming home in the afternoon. Supper together and then playing outside in the summertime evening-light. Mom calling us in to bed- 8:30 but the sun still hanging in the western sky. We complain about going to bed while it's still light. Mom holds firm and we crawl between the sheets, hallways transformed magically into personal pre-sleep forts. Cool, clean, safe. Drift off to sleep.

Another in a long line of summer days. No thought of past or present. No worries to speak of. The serinity of living simply in the here and now. Present living.

Gringa Gringa

[editor's comment: "gringa" (or gringo, for a male) is the slang term here for a white, North America. It's not offensive, just a word of identification.]

Last night I ordered pizza from Papa John's.

For those of you who've never had the pleasure of a phone conversation in a language not your own, let me fill you in a bit. Of all the means of communication, the phone is by far the hardest in a second language. There are several reasons for this. For example, you can't read someone's facial expression or other body language over the phone. You can't point at things to help with context. You're often talking to someone you don't know personally, and who doesn't know to speak slowly and clearly to you, as people you know usually will. Often the words are harder to understand because of a garbled connection. And it's all immediate, so there's no looking stuff up in your handy-dandy bilingual dictionary. In short, it's hard. I have never yet been comfortable talking on the phone in any language other than English.

So, all that said, I dialed Papa Johns because my desire to eat pizza outweighed my fear of the phone conversation. This was the second time I've ordered pizza from this particular establishment. The first experience was a resounding disaster. I did get the pizzas that I had ordered, but it was a painful journey to that end.

I dial. I take a deep breath. The lady answers...

Lady: (huge jumble of words that I can't understand completely due to the lightning-fast speed of delivery. similar to the "welcometomcdonaldswouldyouliketotryournewtriplebigmacvaluemealforjustfiveninetyfive?" spiel that we're used to in the States. I did make out "Papa John's", "special", medium" and "Monica".)
Leslie: Um, hi Monica. First I have a question for you.
(silence...I press on)
Leslie: how much would it cost for a medium Pepperoni Pizzazz pizza?"
Monica: $14.9? (I missed the final digit b/c I was processing the more important, first two digits)
L: $14.9....?
(silence again. I give up on that last digit and press on again)
L: Ok, and what was your special again?
M: Two mediums of your choice for $17.9? (same number processing problem)
(silence while I process)
L: So the second pizza is only $3.00 more?
M: Yes.
L: Ok, I'll take your special.
M: So, one medium pepperoni pizzazz and what kind for your other pizza?
L: Italiano, but without black olives.
M: Vegetariano, minus black olives?
L: Yes. (yes, you're noticing the problem here, because you're READING this, and probably in your first language. I didn't notice.)
M: Anything else?
L:No.
M: Ok, two medium pizzas, one pepperoni pizzazz and one vegetariano minus black olives. Your phone number?
L: 4 - no, sorry- 246-1307
M: On Brazil, next to the Domino's?
L: Yes (delighted that this much at least had been communicated during my last, disastrous interaction with the fine people at Papa John's)
M: How will you be paying?
L: Cash (delighted again that I remembered the word here for cash)
M: Ok, it'll be $17.9? cents in about 35 minutes.
L: Thank you
M: You're welcome. Good night.

I hung up feeling a strong sense of accomplishment. This conversation was considerably less painful than the last one. And soon I would have yummy pizza as a reward for my bravery. Yay!

A few minutes later, as I'm carrying my pizzas back up to my apartment I happen to notice the little sticker on the side of the box with the details of the order. As I'm looking at it, I notice that I have somehow ordered a vegetarian pizza (what the?).

Then I remember that Monica never asked for my name. She confirmed my identification by asking if I was next door to Dominos. I notice "next to Domino's" on the label next to my address. Then I notice what is written in the "Name" slot: Gringa Gringa.

I roll my eyes, smile to myself, and settle in to enjoy my pizza. I love Ecuador.

Why I Love Teaching ESL…

All year I've been collecting the hilariously quotable things that my Middle School ESL students say or write. Here is a sampling for you. Some of the things are easy to understand. Some are totally incomprehensible. Do your best and may you laugh out loud with me.

"God sent the flood because he was very hungry-I mean! …very angry…"
-J

"In case I don't return on Monday, Miss Foster, I want you to know that I think you're a good teacher."
-AH, as we discussed ParentTeacherStudent conferences

Question: What do you think a good writer needs to do to write well?
-Paper and pencils for handwriting
-Because if he do messy he get confuse-Now all the puntuation rules, now how to express and nows how to correct his own mistakes by himself
-To correct hes mistake, writer heary necia, and now go the page go
- A writer needs good capitalzation
A writer needs good pluraration
A writer needs clean papers

Directions: write your own sentence using the vocab word:
Overalls: "Overalls are the coolest pants ever."
Pungent: "After P.E. I'm pungent."

"I think Miss Foster is the best teacher that I never had."
-J

"Miss Foster, I have a little question of your life for you…if that is ok…"
-J

"I slept like a little tree yesterday."
-DB

"When we returned to Quito in new year's eve, I burned my mom, my dad, and I."
-journal entry by G
[editor's note: it's a tradition here to burn effigies of people at New Year's. Usually they burn family memeber or friends. I haven't really figured it out yet, but I know it's not a mean thing]

Question: What is something you do to help yourself study within your learning style?
"I like to be with a cd player while I'm studying."
-AD

Question: Write a mnemonic device to help you remember these words: cardinal directions- north, south, east, west.
Answer: Never eat slamy warms
-AP

"I told him that I felt in the floor because the horse shake it up and because he did not tide him to the tree."
-part of an original story by CP

"That is part of the teacher ecosystem..."
-JA

Baby in a Butt Sling

In my home country when a person has a baby, that person almost certainly has a stroller. A stroller is the commonly accepted means of transporting one's baby or toddler from point A to point B.

Not so here. In Ecuador there are two popular baby-toting options. The first is carrying the baby. Can you imagine? Just...carrying the baby around....in your arms. It seems a little crazy to US-minded me. Quite inconvenient. And even little babies get heavy. Those women must have some impressive biceps.

Anyway, the other possibility is also the title of this post- the butt sling. Now, I've never carried a baby around in a butt sling, but I've watched the process a lot. Here's how it works:

-Materials needed: a baby; a large square of material
-bend at the waist and position the baby on your back, with his head peeking over one of your shoulders. If the kid's old enough, he can climb up there. If not, you either have to sling the baby up or get a partner to help you (I personally recommend a partner, especially if you're a beginner, though I've never seen a baby be over-slung)
-Once the baby's in place, put the cloth over your back, with the baby about in the middle of the square. The bottom of the cloth should be parallel to the ground.
-Scoot the material down enough that when you pull the corners up, the baby's butt is nestled in a little dip of material (I know- I think you might have to be indigenous in order to be able to do this)
-Once the baby's weight is settled in the cloth, pull the two top corners of the cloth around your shoulders and tie them together in front of your neck
-Straighten up slowly, making sure your baby butt sling is secure

Ta-dah! Now you're hands-free, ready to take on the city without a care, and your cute little baby can peek out by your ear and make the passing gringos (white people) smile.

*Sidenotes*

A. It occurs to me that the sling might be a better option here because the sidewalks are so hilly and in such terrible condition. No doubt they would be a nightmare to maneuver with a stroller.

B. I saw a variation on the baby butt sling in China. It's basically the same process, except that instead of tying the corners around their neck, the Chinese women tied the material diagonally, in the middle of their chests, with one end coming from over one shoulder and the other end coming from under the opposite arm.

Ecuadorian Potato Chips

Potato chips are one of my favorite junk foods. They have them here, even Lay's brand, but they taste different. And by "different" I mean "worse". So finally I tried the local kinds and settled on a particular brand that I like. If you buy a personal-sized bag of these chips, there is no writing at all on the bag. It's just a small, clear plastic bag, sealed across the top.

Today I was noticing the information on the bigger version. Its simplicity (or lack of information) made me laugh. Therefore, I shall reproduce said information here for your enjoyment. I hope that it makes you laugh, too.

(translated by me. sorry)

(on the front of the small paper label which is stapeled to the top of the bag)
Potato Chips
"The Flavorful"
weight: 200 grams

(backside)
Ingredients: potatos, oil, salt
Lot: 068
Sanitation Registration: 08114INHQAN 0607
Date produced: March 7, 2009 [note: this was only 11 days ago]
Eat within: 1 month
Form of conservation: to the atmosphere (I guess that means, store at room temperature]
Made for: The Flavorful
Telephone: 262-8529
Quito, Ecuador
Suggested Retail Value: $1.77 (actually I paid $1.62 plus tax)
Nutritional Information (includes 12 items)

That's it! That's all you need to know about Ecuadorian Potato Chips. If you come visit me, I'll buy you some. We'll see if we can find a bag made a week earlier.

In the Middle of the Night...I Go Walking in My Sleep...

This morning I am awakened at 3:41 by the sound of my roommate sobbing. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I fumble for my glasses on the lampstand and shove my feet into my waiting slippers. As I shuffle clumsily to the door, I realize through my sleep-induced metal fog that the sobbing is not getting louder. About the same time a female voice began speaking in Spanish.

My roommates do not speak Spanish.

Confused, I stop and listen. I'm a bit more awake by now and I realize someone, or rather two someones, are having an emotional discussion in the parking garage of my apartment building. I look out my window and see a woman and a man sitting on the cement ledge, two stories below my window.

Sigh. Well, she's obviously upset, I tell myself unnecessarily. Maybe they're just on their way into their own apartment.

I lay back down, close my eyes, and will myself to go back to sleep. I listen to the sounds of their speech; his deep voice, an indiscernible bass, obviously trying to soothe. Her higher tones, obviously not being soothed.

I begin to rehearse in my mind how to say, "Miss, please. We would like to sleep. It is very early." I even practice the whiny voice (aforementioned in this blog) that will make me sound minuscully less like a gringa and more like I might have some grasp of the language.

I decide I'm ready. And I wait. Maybe they'll finish and go away. Alas. Even the most confrontational among us have these hesitations.

"What if something really terrible just happened?" I argue with myself. "Not like she broke up with her boyfriend [in truth, my first guess] but like someone died or just just got mugged in the street or she lost her job? Am I really so heartless as to interrupt this conversation?

I decide to let it run its course.

Fifteen minutes later, my practical side wins out over my compassionate side. I'm very awake by now. "Don't these people have an apartment? Or at least, go outside. People are trying to sleep here, after all. Maybe they don't even realize that others can hear them."

It's this false sense of civic duty that finally wins the battle. They deserve to know they can be heard, and we (the people in the bedrooms above and below me) deserve for them to be told. What this distraught couple DOES with their newly acquired information is up to them.

And so, waiting for the next swell of volume in the drama below, I stick my head out the window and say in my best sing-songy whine, "Senorita, por favor! Queremos dormir..."

I have forgotten in the moment the line about it being early. But I think the rest went well. It's too dark to see the woman's face, but I can tell she's looking up at me when she says in English, "I'm sorry."

Slightly disgruntled at the backhanded insult of replying to my Spanish with English, I settled back down into my bed. I console myself with the thought that, perhaps if nothing else, this poor woman will get a bit of joy from giggling at my poor Spanish. And I snuggle down to go back to sleep.

But I cannot. Sadly, I am wide awake by this point in my mid-night drama and hence, I sit at my dining room table, posting a blog at 4:42 on a Saturday morning. All is quiet in my apartment save the hum of the refrigerator and the far-off noise of someone's dog barking. The lights in the city are less pretty at this hour. They all seem orangey and worn out, like they know morning is coming and so have ceased to give their full effort.

I think about my life here. Sleepless four AM is a good time for pondering. How strange it seems that I live in South America. How much I love it and miss home at the same time. My love/hate relationship with all cities I've experienced. My summer trip home and all the people I'll get to see. Next year, how I want to change and improve my classes. My students, the funny things they did this week and what I need to teach them next week. My family, warm in their beds in chilly Ohio.

Birds are starting to chirp, which is my cue. I'm going back to bed. The plan is to read until I get sleepy. I'm in the middle of my second reading of The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J. R. R. Tolkien. And it's Saturday, so I can sleep until I wake up.

Or am awaken by another mid-night crisis. :)

Birthday Treasures

This is the bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper (aka, liquid gold) that my friend Sasha mailed to me for my birthday. There's something to be said for a friend who is illogical enough to spend $15 in postage to mail a $1 bottle of soda to her friend in Ecuador. Thanks, Sasha! I'm savoring the idea of it for awhile before I actually drink it. Every time I see the bottle in my cabinet, it makes me happy.

This is one of the set of two lampstands that I bought at a rummage sale a few weeks ago. They were purchased with birthday money from my grandma. Thanks, Gramma Nell! I think of you when I see my lampstands!

(sidenote: yes, the lamp looks a little sad. The wind blew it off the stand this weekend. But never fear. I'm pretty sure I can fix it as soon as I find some superglue here.

This is me with my new (used) guitar, which I purchased this week with birthday money from my dad (Thanks, Dad!). I can already "play" (loose use of that term) three songs. My fingers are starting to get callusey, which makes me feel happy. I'm excited to be able to play well enough to accompany myself when I sing. Someday.

Brookey-Baby

Today is my good friend Brooke's birthday. Brooke and I have this really odd relationship. We met in St. Petersburg, Russia in late August 2001 on a study abroad trip. Thus began the 3 months out of 8 years of friendship that we've lived in the same city. Brooke and I both went through some hard times in Russia and through that grew closer together. Close enough, in fact, that our relationship continues. It last through both of us finishing undergrad, me moving to Argentina, Brooke moving to Kentucky for grad school, me moving home after college, me moving to China for a year, me moving to Wheaton for grad school, Brooke moving to Mozambique, and then me moving to Quito. Now Brooke's getting ready to move back to the US this summer, and we'll be in the same country again for a few weeks. I'm pretty excited. It's kindof like a solar eclipse.

Anywho, in honor of Brooke's day of birth, I have compiled a list of some of my favorite things about her. I hope you enjoy it.

Things I Like About Brooke

-When I was very close to becoming an american-student-hermit in Russia, Brooke (and a mutual friend, Liz) swooped in and dragged me, quite literally, out of my room and into the rich experience which is Russia.

-We tend to take turns, Brooke and I, having emotional and spiritual breakdowns. This works out very nicely, since one of us is usually stable enough to help the other, when she is not.

-Brooke once shaved her head in a gesture of love and unity for a friend who had lost her hair from chemotherapy.

-Brooke is the best letter writer I've ever met. Not so much because of what she writes IN the letters, as because of what she writes ON them. The evelope and margins always have funny things written in. Sometimes she draws over the pictures and puts speech bubbles to make the people say funny things. Often she'll tear out a picture from a magazine and write her commentary all over it. It's always a treat to get something from Brooke in the mail.

-Brooke drove up to be with me when Mom died.

-Once for Christmas, Brooke sent me a cd, Norah Jones. She was really excited about it b/c she loved it and was sure I would, too. I did not. However, it turns out the cd was just before it's time in my life. I really like it now. In fact, I'm listening to it now.

-Sometimes when we visit each other, we set out with a vague destination in mind and then end up getting lost in the backwoods of Kentucky. Brooke is equally as unconcerned with this scenario as I am. We always have fun, and we always end up back home. Eventually.

-Brooke helps me to loosen up sometimes. She taught me I don't really need to fold my underwear. It's true! Try it.

-Brooke's blog (africahome.blogspot.com) is amazing. It is the only blog that I read that makes my blog feel inferior to me. Amazing writing. Humor, pain, truth, life. Check it out.

-When I get whiny, Brooke never lets me wallow in self-pity. She has a "if you can change it, change it. If you can't, let it go" sort of attitude that helps me keep perspective.

-I have never known anyone to get so excited about salmon patties.

-I can always count on Brooke to be game for trying out a new ethnic restaurant.

-Brooke knows how to be a long-distance friend. This is especially critical in my life, and hers.

Thanks, Brooke, for your friendship. May this year bring you joy, peace, and purpose.

I larve you more than chocolate fudge. :)

Pre-Birthday Randomness

Random observations from my life:

-I seem to be physically incapable of spreading a bagel with cream cheese WITHOUT taking a bite somewhere mid-process.

-Women here use a whiny voice whenever they ask you for something in Spanish. Given my late mother's extreme disappreciation for whining of any sort, this annoys me.

-I just noticed last week that the telephone lines that run in front of my house are out of control. There are about 12 billion of them, all strung together without any sort of apparent rhyme, reason, or thought for safety.

-I wonder if there's a world-wide contest for The Most Terrible Sidewalks. If there is, I'm pretty sure Quito has it in the bag.

-I love it when my family and I exchange email comments like this:
(from someone in Ohio) "Today it got SO WARM! It was like spring. 37 degrees!"
(from me) "I 'bout froze my sweet bippy off today- it was freezing- only got up to 58!"

-Last week I got a rose from a (female...don't get excited) friend and it's still in perfect condition in its water-bottle vase in my classroom. This in spite of the fact that most of those roses wilted the same day. Maybe the hormones that fly around my classroom are preserving it?

-I noticed last week that the Kitchen Aide mixer that I bought off someone here when I arrived has a "Hobart Corporation; Troy, OHIO" stamp on it. That's where my dad used to work.

-Some of my kids seem to like me better in direct proportion to how much I reprimand them. Others are quite the opposite.

-Sitting through a middle school girls "Appropriate Touch" lecture ranks in my top ten least comfortable moments thus far. Right up there with the time two Russian guys (in various stages of drunkenness) I'd just met stripped down to their "pajamas" (aka, boxers) in front of me that time we got to share the 2 twin beds in the only bedroom in the house...as the honored guests, of course, we got the bedroom.

-Tomorrow's my birthday and I shall be 29. As a result TGIFriday's at the mall is going to give me a free dinner. This is good.

-Even though I know I should be offended at the guys on the street to whistle or cat-call when I walk by, I'm not. I can't help it. It makes me smile inside.

-Recently I began using a dry-erase marker to write the scripture verses I'm learning on the tiles on my bathroom wall. Writing on the wall makes me feel a little giddy, like I'm doing something a little bit wrong.

-I live on a volcano. Isn't that weird?

-Today I found out that the kid that I tutor in English is a genius at math.

-It's only 8:49 but I'm going to go shower and read Fellowship of the Ring until bedtime. I leave for work at 7:30 each morning, but it doesn't seem that early anymore. It does, however, make bedtime seem early.

Singleness Awareness Day, aka SAD

When I was a kid, Valentine's Day meant a card from Aunt Janet, a handmade card from Grandpa and Grandma House, and a small candy gift from Mom and Dad. Plus, it meant designing a valentines day box and exchanging cards with my classmates.

In college, Valentine's Day became Singleness Awareness Day. In protest, my college roommate, Joy and I always exchanged $5 gifts and worked hard at convincing ourselves that we didn't care that we were boyfriendless.

Now that college days have passed (and Joy has gotten married...traitor...) VDay/SADay (ironic? I think not) has sunk back into the line of not-really-noteworthy holidays. You know, days like Secretary's Day and Sweetest's Day (seriously, if this isn't a V-Day copycat, I don't know what is...) and National Pig Day (sorry, Joy).

However, I have decided to get over my Scrooge-like SADay tendencies and share a funny story with you, as it seems worthy of the season.

This Tuesday, I asked a fellow teacher if he'd pick up lunch for me at the restaurant where he usually goes for take-out. Unfortunately, said teacher (we'll call him Mr. Smith for his own sake) had lunch plans for Tuesday, but on Wednesday he emailed me to say he was going that day, and ask if I wanted anything. I replied with my order.

As 5th period (last class before lunch) rolled around, Mr. Smith came to my classroom to ask if I wanted lunch. He hadn't gotten my email. So, in front of my class I thanked him and gave him my order and some money.

As he walked out I wagered in my mind which student was going to say it.

But class went on, I got everyone settled working on homework, and I thought maybe, just maybe I had dodged the bullet.

Then Ji raised her hand.

"Miss Foster?"

"Yes, Ji."

"How old are you?"

(Eye rolling from Miss Foster...here we go...) "75"

(laughter all around the classroom)

Ji: No, seriously!

Me: I'll be 29 this month.

(pause as Ji thinks)

Ji: Then you should get married!

Me: You think so? Well, I'll take that under consideration. Thanks for the suggestion.

Ji: You should marry Mr. Smith!

(more laughter; I begin to turn red)

Me: Uh, what makes you think that?

Ji: He's lonely. He wants to get married!

Me: Really? Well, loneliness isn't really the best reason to marry someone...

Milton: Can we leave 1 minute early for lunch?

(I breathe a sigh of relief- new topic!)

Me: No.

Ji: I bet you don't want to leave early because Mr. Smith's bringing your lunch.


I could continue, but really the arguments weren't that convincing and I struggled to get control of the classroom (and my blushing) reasonably quickly. Ah, the joys of Middle School. Poor Mr. Smith. Poor me! I can only imagine the other side of this discussion that must take place in other classrooms. I guess I'll just pretend to be glad to have kids who are so concerned about my happiness! :)

Safe, Dry, and Warm

The best part of rainy season is the time when you sneak home between downpours. You sit in your classroom during the last period of the day, listening to the students try to shout above the din and sigh, silently dreading the walk home in a few minutes. Will it be drizzly, or heavy-duty monsoon rain that floods the streets and makes every oncoming vehicle a hazard?

Today in Study Skills as I talked about how to take good notes, I did just that. Drizzle? Monsoon? Something in between? But then the bell rang and I realized I still had an hour of work to do before I could go home. By the time I'd finished, the rain had quit! Yippee! I walked home blissfully. In the not-rain.

And now as I sit dry and happy in my dining/living room, I'm watching the steady rain fall outside my window in the orange glow of the streetlight. I hear the chirp of the happy treefrogs, listen to the growl of traffic, and am thankful to be here. Safe, dry, and warm.

To Really Love a Woman

In a taxi on the way to Quicentro a couple weeks ago, I heard part of the song "I'm Ready" by Bryan Adams.

For those who don't know, Quicentro is a mall. Bryan Adams is the king of romantic, admittedly sappy love ballads. I am a fan of both.

Anyway, hearing part of that song compelled me to dig out my greatest hits cd. I've been listening to it a lot since then. You know how sometimes you listen to a cd too much and get tired of it and then it gets put away and forgotten and then a couple of years later you unearth it and remember why you overplayed it in the first place? That's what happened. But here's the sad thing about Bryan....

...he's too romantic. Check out these lyrics:

"To really love a woman, to understand her, you gotta know her deep inside.
Hear every thought, see every dream, and give her wings if she wants to fly
And when you find yourself lying helpless in her arms, you know you really love a woman."

And in case the words aren't enough, listen to the Spanish guitars in the background.

I've never been in a significant relationship, but I know lots of people who are. And judging from what they say and how they act, I'm led to believe that this Bryan-Adamsy-ness is just a myth. This is depressing to me. Shouldn't I at least get to believe that relationships are like this until such time as I can be disillusioned by my own experiences?

Depressing. Sorry. There is no point or funny anecdote or profound thought to end this post. The end.