Home is Where the Carharts Are

Since it's my first day home for Christmas, and since it's 10am and no one else is awake in the house, and since I've already made a trip into the booming metropolis of Ada, Ohio and it made me feel all warm and fuzzy and nostalgic, I've decided to blog. About my trip to McDonalds.

Not a McDonalds in some remote, exotic location. The one in Ada, Ohio. That's Hardin County, for those who are a little rusty on their Ohio geography.

I flew in from Quito last night. This morning I was awake at 7:20, even though my alarm was set for 9am. It was still dark out. This threw me off. I had forgotten how late it gets light in the winter, after two years of living on the equator. Anyway, I had promised to mail some documents for a friend via express mail, so I got up and got ready to go out.

I stepped outside in my winter coat (which I hadn't seen for two years) and reveled in the crispy, almost-hurty feel of breathing in air which has been chilled to about 10 degrees Farenheit. Somehow air that cold seems fresh and clean; as if just breathing it might have some sort of ancient medicinal purpose.

Ok, in all honesty, breathing cold air is only romantic for about 2 or 3 days. Then it returns to just breathing cold air. But we may as well appreciate the romance while it lasts, right?

Anywho, I hopped in the trusty old Pontiac Aztec and headed for Ada. After an uneventful and quite pleasant experience at the Ada Post Office, I got back in the car to drive, quite literally, across the street into the McDonald's parking lot. After several years of walking most places, this seemed very silly to me. But it seemed rude to continue taking a "post office parking space" (of which there are only 3) instead of driving into Ronald's (quite spacious and mostly empty) lot. So I moved. But I digress. What I actually wanted to say came after I had seated myself in a booth with my sausage biscuit with egg and cheese, my delicious-and-horribly-bad-for-you hashbrown, and my orange juice.

[sidenote: they forgot to put the cheese on my biscuit, so when I pointed it out and asked if they would mind fixing it for me, the lady was polite and apologized TWO TIMES for the mistake!! I almost fainted. God bless America's somewhat over-inflated value of the customer always being right.]

There I was in my booth. Daylight had finally arrived for us in the far northern arctic regions. The sun was shining with all its might, and though it was succeeding in making the day sparkle, it wasn't really warming things up much. From my booth I had a view of the post office and a church across the street. An American flag snapped in the cold winter wind. Greenery and bows decked the church. I watched pickup after pickup drive past on Ada's main drag.

Back in the warmth of the restaurant, I eavesdropped on the conversation of an older man with his son and grandson. The older two men were wearing baseball caps (as were literally ever other adult man I saw while I was there) and they were chatting and enjoying their three-generational breakfast together.

Approximately 50% of the people I saw this morning were wearing at least one item of clothing made by Carhart. This is noteworthy to me, because just last week in the lunchroom at school, I had a conversation with some of my friends about Carharts. There was much confusion in the largely non-agrarian crew.

Just like the time I had to explain to friends what 4-H is; or the time when I struggled to convince a friend that I wasn't actually from a town or city (she insisted that EVERYONE had to be from SOMEWHERE; and her perspective of "somewhere" was within some city limit); or the time when I guessed "volunteer crop" instead of "weed" as the answer for the clue "a plant that grows where you didn't want it to be" in a game of CatchPhrase, I again found myself thankful for my rural upbringing.

People call us lots of things: hicks, rednecks, hayseeds, provincial, to mention some of the kinder ones. But I'll tell you what; farmers are some of the best, hardest working people you'll ever meet anywhere. I know- I've been looking.

Six Years

Today is the 6th anniversary of my mom's death. Suck.

I don't use the work "suck" very often. But I think the way I feel about today merits the term.

In any case, six years is an interesting milestone for me. You'd think five was more significant. But here's why six is bigger in my mind.

I remember the sixth day after Mom died. Remember it clearly; it's one of those memories that, for whatever reason- your state of mind or maybe the barometric pressure that day- gets locked into your brain.

Exhausted. That was me. Physically, emotionally, spiritually spent. If you've ever gone through the death of someone really close, you understand. Picking out flowers for the casket. Hugging twenty thousand people. Crying until I was concerned that my sodium level was going to get critically low. Saying, "Thank-you" and "I'm hanging' in there" until my lips were about to fall off. Worrying about how my sister, brother, and dad were REALLY doing. Wishing people would stop saying the word "condolences".

Seriously? Does anyone even know what a condolence IS? Not me. For some reason, this word really got under my skin in the midst of my foggy-brained, shredded-heart torpor.

But I digress. I was ex. haust. ed. I remember thinking to myself, "It's only been six days. I've only survived six days without her. NOT EVEN A WEEK!! I can't do this. I mean, I can; I will have to. But I don't want to. What will it be like in six weeks? If I make it that long, will it hurt less? Will I be able to breathe right again? Maybe in six months? Well, at least in six years it'll be better. SURELY it'll be better by then. Six years is...forever. Forever without Mom."

I look back at that internal monologue and smile. I was really right. And really wrong. It's better. Still hard to breathe some days, but better. But six years...even six years without Mom...isn't forever.

Know what IS forever? Eternity. I can't even speak when I think how thankful I am for Christ's work on the cross; the act of love that means I won't be forever without Mom.

And so. Mom died at Christmas time. Yes, it makes for a hard season. But what better time to remember to be thankful for that baby? To be thankful for all He gave up to come. And for all He sacrificed so that we could come.

The Magic of Christmas

I remember one cold, December morning, before the sun had thought about rising, my dad came up to the bedroom that I shared with my sister in the attic. He woke me up and asked me if I wanted to see something really pretty. I nodded my still-fuzzy head. Really pretty is good.

Dad scooped me up and carried me down stairs (ducking, as usual, so we didn't hit our heads on the door frame), through the blindingly-bright kitchen (where mom, clad in her housecoat and slippers was groggily fixing some tea) and into the living room.

It was dark but for the beautiful Christmas tree, twinkling cheerfully from the other side of the room. Even though I had helped decorate the tree just the night before, my 3 or 4 year old brain had totally forgotten the tree overnight. Resting there, safe in Dad's arms, I stared in silence; awed by the simple beauty.

I remember how the branches threw pointy, scratchy shadows on the ceiling. I remember the fresh piny scent. I remember the riot of colors; lights and tinsel and ornaments made of pipe-cleaners and glue and love. I remember feeling safe and secure, leaning on Morning-Dad, who smelled like toothpaste and aftershave; hearing Morning-Mom in the kitchen, still a good twenty minutes from being really awake; knowing Josh and Britt were sleeping in their beds. And soaking in the joy of the season- Baby Jesus would be born soon!

I remember the magic of Christmas.

Miracle Cure?

As I was brushing my teeth and lamenting my headache this evening, I remembered an experience from my childhood. When I was maybe 6 or 7, I was spending the night with my Grandma and Grandpa Foster. At some point during the evening, I developed a terrible headache. The pain was so intense that I was crying.

In hindsight I realize that I was having a migraine, but at the time I didn't even know the word. I remember Grandma Foster trying to calm me down and ask me questions about what was wrong. After we had established that I had a really bad headache, and that I hadn't hit my head on anything, Grandma asked this question:

Do you need to have a bowel movement?

I remember, because I didn't know what that meant and had to ask. Grandma chuckled and rephrased the question for me. In case you're curious, no, I did not need to have a bowel movement.

And now the question for today: what was that all about?!? I've had many a headache in my day, but I'm reasonably confident that taking a dump has never been the cure.

So, cyber-readers, since Grandma is no longer with us, I bring the question to you. Any idea what that's about? Is this a generational thing? Some little-known Depression-baby remedy? Or was Grandma Foster just out of related questions, and had she resorted to grasping at straws? Inquiring minds want to know...

Mindo 2010

This Thursday and Friday the 7th grade at AAI went on their annual overnight science field trip to a nearby cloud forest town called Mindo. A cloud forest is like a rain forest, except that it's at a higher altitude and it gets a lot of its moisture from the clouds which actually come into contact with the land because it's so high up.

This is my third year of Mindo Tripping. It was a great, exhausting adventure. Here are some pictures and thoughts on the trip.

[Editor's note: if you're wondering why Leslie, an English teacher, is going on a science field trip, it's because she teaches mostly 7th grade, and so is an easy staff member to "replace". Also, Leslie is a glutton for punishment.]

I think this picture sets the scene really well. That's all I'm gonna say about that.

Ecuador has a lot of birds. Though this tiny country only covers about .02% of the Earth's land area, it contains about 10% of the species of birds found on the whole planet. Like I said. A LOT of birds.

Mindo has a lot of hummingbirds. I mean, really a lot. Here are a couple having lunch at our hosteria. Mr. Wilkenson made a valiant effort to tell me what types of hummingbirds these are, but what I left the conversation with was this: this is the kind of hummingbird that doesn't have a really big tail. Sorry.

Here's the group at our brief lunch/swimming respite before the return trip of our 5 1/2 hour mountain hike. I'm taking this picture from the beginning of the trail back, because I left about 30 minutes before the rest of the group. I wasn't feeling the best, and figured climbing the 30 minute trail back up to the top of the valley at top speed wouldn't help. So I left early so I could go slow. Or more precisely, so I could go MORE slowly than normal. :)

Check us out, trying our hand at fishing. Mostly we fed a lot of bread dough to the tilapia below. But when it was all said and done, we had managed to catch 13 fish (I caught none). I got to eat one for supper, and it was really good.

This is a shot of the bus just as our fearless driver, Roberto was about to ford the little creek that flowed right over the top of the road.

The other highlight (aka miracle) of the trip was the moment when the construction guys flagged us forward after about 10 minutes of waiting. But you need to know the whole story in order to appreciate this gesture.

As we turned off the main road onto the road to Mindo, a guy sitting by the road flagged us down to tell us there was road construction ahead, and it would be about 2 hours before we could get through.

Dan Stoll (the other leader) and I looked at each other with barely-controlled panic in our eyes. Picture the scene. Here we are on a bus with about 40 seventh graders. We've been on the road for 2 hours so far, and I know I have to pee pretty badly. Our road is edged by the jungle. We have stuff planned pretty tightly for the whole day. We could walk, but Dan estimates the trip would be about 2 1/2 or 3 hours. I check with the driver, Roberto, to see if we could go on another road into Mindo. He tells me there is no other road. I still don't know if that means he didn't know of another road, or if there isn't another road big enough for the huge bus, or if that was literally the only road into the town, but the result was the same either way.

We drive on as far as we can go and come upon the construction site. A huge piece of equipment is blocking half the road. The other half appears to be where the back-hoe will dig next. My heart sinks; my bladder lurches; I begin to look around- which side of the road would be more ideal for a squatting situation?

I suggest that we at least walk up to the site and confirm that there's no way for us to get through before we all grab our lunches and set out to walk to our destination. Dan picks up the mic and begins to explain to the kids that we're going to go scout out the situation, and the kids should sit tight. As he faces the back of the bus and the kids (who, by the way, did an admirable job of not whining at the announcement), ahead of us I see the workers flagging two cars on from the opposite direction. And then....we get the wave. After a heart-stopping feat of driving prowess by Roberto, we're past the construction site and back on our way. There was much rejoice and praising from the front of the bus.

Some kids are...just...I don't know what to say here. Except that I'm not sure which kid is more endearing- the one self-consciously enduring the picture, or the one in the Saturday Night Fever pose.

This is my small group. The kids are randomly assigned (and by randomly I mean, we put them in groups that will cause the least amount of drama, to the best of our ability to predict such things) and so they don't always end up with their best friends. But I was pleased with my group's ability to have fun anyway. They were a good group. Especially when they chose not to wake me up in the middle of the very short night. That may have had something to do with my parting words that night. Something about it being ok for them to whisper as long as they don't wake me up.

One of the more astute girls said, "Cause you would be really mad if we wake you up, right Miss Foster?" I smiled, thinking of how I am like my mom in this way, and replied, "It probably wouldn't be pretty. Let's not find out, ok?" They were silent the whole night. :)

Photo Album Tour

So the other day I was looking through the photo album that I put together for myself before I moved to Ecuador. I'd missed having pictures with me in previous international trips, so I made a travel album to look through when I missed family and home. I decided to share some my favorite photos with you. Enjoy!

This is my 6 month picture. I know. I'm adorable. See how squishy I am? Don't you just want to reach out and pick me up? I know I do. Watch out for the slobber, though. Apparently I was a well-hydrated infant.

Here's a shot of Brittony, Josh, and me after a particularly enjoyable puddle-spashing event. You can see Dad's Hobart truck in the background, along with the chicken house. When I look at this picture I think how our world would be a better place if we could all grow up on farms. (bonus points if you can tell which is me and which is Brittony)

This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom. For those of you who never had the pleasure of meeting my mom, let me warn you that this isn't a particularly flattering shot, but I like it a lot because it reminds me of just hanging out with Mom. She was a big fan of the puffy Cheetos, which reveals that she was not perfect (since crunchy Cheetos are clearly superior to the puffy kind). I miss her. And I have zero recollection as to why she's imitating a rabbit.

I LOVE this picture of us. You know that time in life when you're absolutely positive that your dad is the biggest, strongest dad in the world? Well, I have the picture to prove it. He could hold ALL THREE OF US- AT THE SAME TIME!!

This fantastic picture was taken right after I got home from studying abroad in Russia. Can you guess how I know this? Yes, that's an authentic Russian fur hat. I think that thing got passed around a lot that Christmas. Please note a few touches that make this picture particularly endearing to me. Josh seems to be singing Christmas carols...all by himself. I am wearing Christmas bulb earrings. The tree is really crooked. Shout out to my WM4W girls! And if you look really closely, you can see the ghetto-style TV rabbit-ears thing in the background.

Doesn't Dad look like a little kid in a snowsuit?!? Mom got him some new coveralls that Christmas, and they're a little stiff. Hee-hee!!

This is my freshman dorm room. Please note the delightful "black-but-orange" curtains in the background. The curtains were so named by my roomy, Joy, because they were nasty-dirty and so, a little bit black. We are posed this way because we're trying to look studious. Please notice that, while Joy is pulling off the look pretty well, I just appear to be picking my nose. Please also note that my freshman year of college was still the era of desktop pc's. Sometimes I think about how much less carrying my dad would have had to do if the three of us had been in college after the laptop boom. Sorry Dad! :)

While I lived in China, I got a couple chances to go to "hometowns" with various students and experience China outside the metropolises. Why are Joy and I holding this girl? I cannot recall. I'm sure there was a good reason. Whatever the situation was, we do seem to be having a good time, right?

This one is my ALL-TIME favorite picture of my dad with his family. Please look closely with me. First of all, Dad is smiling a REAL smile, which rarely happens. Secondly, notice that two of the three sisters (Aunt Myra on the left and Aunt Bev on the right) are looking at my dad admiringly. Aunt Rita isn't looking at anyone, because she is so overcome with mirth at whatever Dad just said. And Grandpa and Grandma? They look like they're in a whole different picture, right? Both very proper, apparently unaware of the chaos their son is causing above them. I can't help but smile every time I look at this picture.

Mom and Dad were always game for us bringing friends home to visit, so I took them up on it alot. This is a birthday party, I think my senior year of college. Here are some things that make me happy about this picture: I'm surrounded by friends. My cute-funny mom is there. There's a batch of Mom's A-maz-ing homemade Oreo ice-cream on the table. There's a can of Diet Dr. Pepper in front of me. We're in my house. I miss all of these things. But I'm so thankful to have had them at one time, and even more thankful that I will have them again in the future.

This is from China again. Strange things happened to me in China. Sometimes I would find myself coloring Easter eggs with one hand and chasing down the tiny-but-potent mosquitoes which never died in Guangzhou's temperate climate. (they just came inside when it got cold outside) Here is photo documentation of those two things happening. (the racket is electrified with a battery, so if you swing it at a mosquito, the bug gets zapped. Very satisfying. I would regularly count bites on my legs, just from the knees down, and get numbers above 50. Nasty.)

Here's a picture from just a couple summers ago. This is the beach near where Mom wanted her ashes scattered. The family flew to Oregon for my cousin's wedding that summer, and we made a trip to this spot. We're on the tricky rock, which lures you into thinking that if you get up on it between waves, you won't get wet. And this is true...until that odd wave comes in (maybe every 10th or so wave) that's bigger than the others and you get a nice, refreshing bath. :)

And how could I miss a chance to look at some snow, at this, the beginning of my third snow-free winter? This was a funny afternoon. A bunch of my grad school friends decided to go tubing in one of the suburbs of Chicago. City people do everything weird. First, you have to go to a special place. Then you have to rent their tubes. Then you hike up the hill and stand in line until the GUARDS tell you you can go!! Isn't that crazy? Like people can't figure out how to sled without direction and moderation! Anyway, we had fun in spite of the ridiculousness of the situation.

And that brings us to the end of our stroll down my memory lane. I hope you enjoyed the trip.

"She threw up her hands and..."

I have always hated the phrase, "to throw up one's hands". In the course of the massive amounts of reading that I do, I run across said expression on occasion, and in my humble opinion, "on occasion" is far too frequently.

Am I the only one who envisions "throwing up" as in vomiting, instead of "raising in the air"? Here's what runs through my brain when I see, "And in desperation, she threw up her hands and screamed."

First, the character abruptly stops doing whatever she was doing before, with a look of confusion on her face. She begins to retch. At first it's just dry heaves, but you see her hands begin to jerk at the ends of her arms in time with the heaving. Eventually the poor woman's hands disappear into her body, only to re-appear in the form of vomit a few seconds later.

There the poor character is, looking with shock at her own hands, in a sad puddle of...you know. Makes you hope the character in question is a horrible antagonist. Maybe a home-wrecker or a terrorist mastermind. Oooo, or someone who kicks puppies. In that case I might not mind the hand-vomit as much.

Gross, right? So why does the literary world insist on continuing to use this horrid phrase? Might I suggest an alternative? Perhaps your character could "raise her hands in the air" or even just "throw her hands in the air" instead of throwing them up.

(are these lyrics going through your mind now, too? "Throw your hands in the air, shake your derrière. These three words when you're gettin' busy: Whoomp! They it its! Sing it!")

Ok. I guess that's all I have to say about that. Bye.

Autumn

I love fall. I'm pretty sure I've written about that before. I enjoy all the seasons, and particularly the fact that they pass so I don't get too tired of any season before it is replaced by the next one in line. But fall's my favorite. Which means that it's the one I miss most here in eternal-springtime-Quito.

When people back home start posting pictures of the leaves turning and taking their kids or youth groups to a pumpkin patch or on a hay ride, I can't help but feel a little sad that I'm missing out.

Fall is meant to be enjoyed with all of your senses. Seeing the vibrant red and yellow leaves and the jack-o-lanterns glowing on the porches. Smelling that crispy scent of dying things outside and the warm scents of spicy, pumpkin-y things inside. Feeling the snap of the first hard frost. Tasting fresh apple cider and even those horrible little candy corns. Hearing the crunch of the leaves and the crackle of the bonfires.

Here in Quito, the weather's been about the same since I got back. If it's a cloudy day it's cool. If it's a rainy day it's cold. And if it's a sunny day, it's warm. But regardless of what type of day it is, the temperature rarely deviates more than about 20 degrees. We look at the calendar here to determine what season it is. My brain has lost the ability to just KNOW where we are in the year. I have to think about the month, then about what season that month falls in at home. It's a weird process to go through after spending the first 27 years of my life just KNOWING. But I guess for now I'll just have to settle for knowing that it's fall...somewhere. If you're "somewhere", please enjoy some fall for me, ok?

Enlightenment at Burger King

This weekend I needed to go to the grocery store. We may all be equally weary at this point of my extreme detestation of grocery shopping in Ecuador. So in order to motivate (aka: bribe) myself to go (and partially because I was basically out of food) I decided to go to Burger King first for lunch, and then get groceries and head home.

I ordered my standard: a Whopper Jr. meal; yes cheese; no pickles (which, comically, in Spanish is "sin pikles" [seen peek-lays]; Coke Zero. My total was $4.99. I gave the teenage girl behind the counter a ten. She gave me back a ten, a five, and a penny.

I looked at the cash in my hand for a second. Here's what went through my head, all in about .25 seconds:

-She gave me the wrong change
-$10!
-I can really use that money- in a few minutes at the grocery store!
-That's not ok. We call that STEALING. STEALING=BAD.
-Give it back

I looked at the girl and said, "I gave you a ten." I held out the ten dollar bill. She looked at me blankly. [this blank look is all-too-common in my Spanish-speaking world] I repeated it, and again handed back the ten.

Understanding flashed across her face, and the cashier made the Ecuadorian "whew!" hand signal [pressing the thumb and middle finger of the right hand together and shaking the hand back and forth on the wrist; weird, right?] She proceeded to thank me profusely.

I smiled my most gracious, gringa-missionary smile that said, "Of COURSE I'm returning the extra money! I would NEVER consider keeping what isn't mine!"

Then for the next few minutes, as I waited for my order to come up, I basked in the warm glow of what a great person I am. It took a few minutes. Both for my food to arrive, and for me to realize my NEXT problem.

Was I, by chance, feel smug and self-satisfied because I DIDN'T STEAL from Burger King? Seriously? I felt proud of not stealing. Such an accomplishment after 20 years of walking with and learning from my Creator. Go. Me.

This verse popped into my mind as I munched on my french fries and pondered in a back corner of my mind how ice always seems to go so terribly wrong outside of North America:

"The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.
Who can understand it?" -Jeremiah 17:9

Ain't that the truth?

But then this verse brings some hope for such as myself:

"But you, O Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God,
slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness." -Psalm 86:15

Thanks, God.

A Collection of Passing Thoughts...in the absence of something significant to write about.

-I usually do one load of laundry a week. Saturday morning. Today I learned that skipping a week is not advisable. I am typing in my pj's because all my clothes are in the laundry. I hope no one comes to the door before about noon.

-In my classroom, I have four rules. The one I like the best is "No Whining". In my defense, I come by my severe aversion to whining honestly. I can still see my mom in my mind's eye, saying to us as kids, "When you whine I can't understand you. If you want to tell me something, say it in a normal voice."

Yesterday afternoon I was about ten minutes from the end of my Study Skills class; 2:30 on a Friday afternoon. Trying to teach at 2:30 on a Friday afternoon is generally an exercise in futility, but yesterday I really felt like we were getting somewhere. The class was working on techniques for taking good notes. We had just finished working really intently on a particular article, and I was passing out a second article, which was to be homework. There was a bit of whining. I can't say that I could really blame them. But, in the interest of consistency I said, "Do I hear whining?" There was a low mumble of defeated apology across the room. I proceeded to pass out papers and when I returned to the front of the room, I saw that Ana Julia had put her head down on her arms on the desk. Concerned that she wasn't feeling well, I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "Ana Julia, are you feeling ok?"

Ana Julia looked up at me with sad brown eyes and said, quite seriously, "I'm whining silently."

I couldn't help but laugh with the rest of the class. I love my job.

-Last spring I bought an apron. This is my first apron since the little pink calico one Grandma Nell made for me when I was maybe 6. Brittony got a matching one. I still have mine in a box somewhere.

But anyway, given my propensity to be a messy cook, and even a messy dish-washer, I decided it was time to invest. So last spring I spent $10 to buy another hand-made apron. This one was black with a pocket and trim made of a pattern of red and green chili peppers, and was made by the Women's Prison Ministry ladies. In Ecuador, you have to provide for your own food and clothing if you're in prison. A group from my church helps to train prisoners in making things like aprons and greeting cards, to sell for food money. I like to support this ministry when I can.

I do not like chili peppers. But I DO like this apron. This morning, as I set about washing some dishes...in my pajamas...I put on my apron and thought for the umpteenth time what a good purchase it was. I love it when I buy something that makes me feel satisfied each time I use it.

-Don't you think it's weird how bananas make those little black lines in your banana bread? What are those little black lines? They weren't there when I smashed up the bananas and mixed them into the batter. Weird, right?

-I've been back from my summer trip to Ohio for almost seven weeks. When I got home, of course, I immediately unpacked my suitcases. But then when I finished there was the flotsam and jetsam- a random collection of things that apparently seemed important when I was packing, but that don't really have a place to go when it's time to unpack. And so, for seven weeks, these items lived on my spare bed. Then last night I had friends over to my apartment. And suddenly, that which I never got around to for almost two months, was taken care of in about 90 seconds. Sometimes my abilities to procrastinate astound even me.

-Fin.

Barley Soup and Pretzel Rolls

I have decided. I'm going to try really hard to post once a week. Even if there's not much to say, except, say, that I just accidentally made some AWESOME barley soup.

I had some broth and chicken leftover in the freezer from a couple weeks back that I wanted to use. And then I finally decided to clean out my veggie drawer in the fridge. It wasn't pretty. Basically all that was salvageable were some carrots. They were a little rubbery, but I figured that's just a bit of dehydration, and soaking in some chicken broth should fix it. I was right. So in went the broth, chicken, carrots, and some frozen peas that the girl who stayed at my house this summer left in the freezer.

I knew Jilly left them, cause I really don't like the peas here. They are either hard or mush. I prefer my peas to be somewhere smack in the happy medium between hard and mush. So I figured the soup would be a good solution to the pea problem. I mean, I couldn't just throw them away! My mother was raised by the world's example of "waste not want not". I'm serious. Look up that phrase in the dictionary and you'll see a picture of my grandma, Mrs. Nellie House. If word got out that I threw out perfectly good frozen peas just because I didn't like them, Grandma Nell would be disappointed (which is, of course, far worse than "angry") and my poor mother might roll over in her grave, out of residual familial guilt. And that would be particularly amazing since she was cremated and doesn't have a grave.

So I put the peas in the soup. But the best part of the soup? Barley. I recently discovered barley in my personal quest to introduce more whole grains into my diet. You long-term-readers may remember my disastrous first experience with the expansion powers of barley. Happily, I've come a long way since then. I now know, for example, that a cup of dry barley is enough for a pot of soup; adding the entire bag of barley is not advisable.

Right now I'm eating this soup while I write to you. The carrots (which have recovered nicely from their extended visit to my vegetable drawer) add just a hint of sweetness. The peas are the ideal texture. The barely adds depth but has not taken the soup hostage. Yay! And in case the yummy accidental soup wasn't enough, I have a fresh, delicious pretzel roll, bought mere minutes ago at the swanky bakery, CorFu, instead of my standard bakery, Arenas.

I love it when a non-plan comes together.

Nightmare, Resolving...

The place where I'm emotionally today is so much...better? Maybe not, but more comfortable? Yes, more comfortable than where I was in writing "Nightmare" that I cannot help but tell you about it; a testimony to the power of my God. So here is Nightmare, Resolving...

About an hour after I wrote the last post I had to go to Worship Team practice. As I get ready to go, the irony of my situation was not lost on me. The bad thing about believe that God is truly omnipotent, or all powerful, causes its own problems. If I weren't sure God was big enough to heal my mom, I'd sure have other problems, but I wouldn't struggle with the idea that He could have saved here but did not.

For the 10,000th time I weighed "authenticity" and "integrity" against "worship is a command; not just required when my feelings match up with Truth, but 'always'; as in Rejoice in the Lord always." And besides all the theoretical junk, I had committed to being there and can hear my parents' comments on being dependable echo in my ears from heaven and Ohio, respectively. So I went to practice.

It was a rough start. A friend and fellow vocalist had already read my post when we arrived and he made a very brief, very kind comment about it. I immediately burst into tears. I. Really. Hate. That. But anyway, once practice got started, I could feel my soul begin to relax.

I've been singing with this particular group of people off and on for about two years, and the joy that I feel when we worship together is beyond my ability to express. Sure, it's not perfect, and I always prefer rehearsal to Sunday morning (I've petitioned for an enclosed box to sing from, but no one seems to think that's a good idea). The deep, tight harmonies; the words of Truth; the spirit of unity...it was a healing balm for my raw and bleeding soul.

Of course, OF COURSE, the sermon was about the cost of discipleship. Jesus made it very clear that He needs to be first in the lives of His disciples. I don't know if you've ever noticed, but He is pretty hard-core that way. You don't see Jesus begging people to follow him. In fact, the gospels reveal the opposite. He often turned people away, not cold-heartedly, but because He knew that they weren't all in. And He won't accept less than that. One of the verses that our group read is this:

"Simply put, if you're not willing to take what is dearest to you, whether plans or people, and kiss it good-bye, you can't be my disciple. (Luke 14:33; The Message)

The Holy Spirit interpreted for me: "Leslie, if you're not willing to let go of your mom, you can't be my disciple."

Now, don't get all angry at the Holy Spirit. This isn't about missing mom, or wishing she were still here. It's about surrender. I don't have to agree, but have I chosen to accept? To trust that God really does know what He's doing, even in this? Or am I letting my sorrow and my grief erode my walk with Him? Cause that? That's not ok.

Hurting is ok. Crying and having bad days? No problem. But letting my pain drive a wedge between God and me is not ok.

We sang, "All of my ambitions, hopes, and plan

I surrender these into your hands

For it's only in Your will that I am free

For it's only in Your will that I am free"

And the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart. "Is that true, Leslie? Are you willing to surrender to me again today? Will you put your ambitions, your hopes, and your plans into my hands? What about your disappointments? Your losses and your loneliness? Because it's true; you know this Truth- it's only in My will that you can be free. Won't you chose to let me free you?"

And so, today was a success. I surrendered my sad and pitiful self to the Creator of the universe and the creator of my heart. Again. I let go of a little more of my mangled heart so that He can heal it and give it back. And by His incredible grace, I hope to give up another piece tomorrow, and the day after that. Maybe on the Nightmare days I'll think to re-read this post and remember. Maybe I will choose to learn from my own past experiences with God. May I be so wise. May we all be so wise.

*If you would like to hear the beautiful song I referenced, it's called "Jesus, All for Jesus" by Robin Mark.

Here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njbDH7U4DUE

Nightmare

I just woke up from this terrible dream. Worst I've had for awhile. Mom wasn't gone yet, but she was really sick and dying. In the dream, she didn't care that she was leaving me. She told me I was strong and that I would be ok.

Just like in real life.

In the dream she would ignore me when when we could be together, or act like she was asleep or just sometimes be in so much pain that we couldn't talk. And it hurt me so much to know I was losing her that I started to scream, but it was that kind of dream-scream, when you're doing the action but no noise comes out. So finally, I'm in my bed silent-screaming for so long and so hard that finally someone comes over to check on me and I wake up in real life.

And then I realize that she's already gone; has been gone- I grasp frantically for reality- almost 6 years. And then I really do start to cry. The pain from the dream mixes with the pain in real life and I can't stop crying. Sobs so hard that I have to stop because I can't breathe.

I gasp, pulling air into my lungs. I cry some more.I start to calm down. I blow my nose and focus on calming down. But it starts again. I can't stop crying. I miss her so much. I feel like six years of pain and loneliness and sad are fighting to get out. But that can't be right- I've been mourning her since before she died. It's not like I've bottled up my emotions. This can't be normal, can it? It's been a half hour since I woke up, and I can't stop. Crying. Missing. Hurting.

And quick behind the pain comes the claustrophobic sensation of helplessness. No matter what; if I use ever ounce of strength, I can do nothing to change this. I can't will her back; I can't force myself to stop the missing and hurting. Same as when she was dying.

Why did she have to get sick? The person I was closest to in the whole world. Why her? And why isn't it better now? Am I doing something wrong? People told me at the funeral that it would get better. That the pain would fade. But it hasn't. Why hasn't it?

And Mom was wrong, too. I'm not strong enough. I can't, or don't want to be strong. It hurts too much. I'm tired of trying to be ok but mostly I'm tired of missing her so much that I can't breathe.

LACTOSE INTOLERANCE!!!!

Bonus points to anyone who can name that movie!

So, during the summer I slowly realized that I have become lactose sensitive. I didn't worry much about it, as I didn't really recognize said development until nearly the end of my trip, and because I don't eat much dairy in Ecuador. That's because it tastes funny. We call it "ecua-dairy".

In any case, the month that I've been back has proven to me that this issue is still an issue down here. So, does that mean that I suddenly because L.S. during the course of 8 weeks? I'm confused. But pretty sure about the problem. Alas and alack.

The good news is that the cheese on pizza doesn't seem to be enough lactose, or maybe the right kind? or whatever to cause problems. This is a huge relief. That, and the fact that I don't really like the ice-cream here, so that's not a big problem. Oh, and the yogurt that I drink in the mornings seems to be ok, too.

Wow, this is a lot of information about my eating habits. I guess that's what happens when I'm up at 10:40pm because my stomach hurts from eating curry creamed chicken for supper. Stupid cream. Didn't bother me all last year. Oh well. I guess I'll take another Rolaid and go back to bed.

Good night.

Interview with the Author

Interviewer: Leslie, is there something you want to tell the readers?

Leslie: Yes. Last night, right after I got into bed I had this great idea for a blog post. But I didn't want to get out of bed to write it up, and now I've forgotten it. Blast.

I: Uh-huh. Well, thanks for that. How's the new school year going so far? You're 4 days in?

L: Yep. So far things are really good. No detentions yet! And it seems like I have a good group of students. A little crowded with full classes and small classrooms. But I guess it helps us stay warm on cold days.

I: This is the last year on your initial contract. Any solid decisions about renewing?

L: Not really. I'm leaning toward coming home. That's really what I want to do. On the other hand, the job market is pretty pathetic back home, and here I have a really secure job. I'm happy to sit tight and not make any final decisions yet. June's a long way off yet.

I: How are you school year resolutions going?

L: Well, I've been pretty pleased with myself in the area of exercise. I think I've settled on working out four days a week. So I do it MT and RF. That way I don't have a big long stretch, but still get in 4 workouts a week. I think it's a good compromise. And it sure feels good setting the alarm for 6am on Tuesday nights, instead of the standard 5am. Oye.

I: Wow, you're practically a saint. A work-out princess, if you will.

L: I'm glad you noticed. That pretty much sums up how I feel about it.

I: Any other thoughts before we close?

L: I've decided that I'd really like to go to the UK for my honeymoon. I have a HUGE zit on my chin, which helps me to feel bonded with my students. I realized yesterday that two weeks ago today I was still in Ohio. It seems like I've been back much longer. At the restaurant with friends on Sunday, when the host asked how many, instead of saying "nine" I replied, "Snow" (nieve instead of nueve). The barking dogs and screaming car and house alarms continue to annoy me when I'm trying to sleep. Ecuador is still beautiful and the weather in Quito is still nice and dry and cool. I guess that's all for now.

I: Well, thanks for your time, Leslie. I wish you and our readers a good evening.

Silly Classroom Randomness...

Today as I was unpacking stuff from my visit to Ohio, I ran across a sticky note from last school year. I'd jotted down a bunch of funny quotes my students said with the intention of blogging about them at some point. However, at this point I don't even remember all the context, which makes building it up too much difficult. But since they're so funny straight, I'm just gonna post them. You can use your imagination regarding the context of these things being said in my classroom.

-Are you mad at me?

(I think I just liked the honesty in this one)

-Why is it so hard to not eat?

-Don't touch my head!!

-I smell like frog

-It's a lonely project?

(the student was trying to ask if it was an individual project)

-It's a bullet point, dude! Don't dig the hole deeper!!

-I had to do the macarena!

Thoughts from the Columbus International Airport

So here I am, at a round table with a top that's meant to look like wood but isn't. There are five such tables in this area; one person sitting at each with a laptop per person. It would seem that even when we take our technology into the public sector, we would prefer to pretend we're alone.

According to the cool, polite announcement lady's voice, the current threat level is orange, which means I shouldn't leave my baggage unattended, or someone will come steal it.

You know, I'm not usually a violent person, but the thought of someone stealing my luggage at this point in my journey makes me feel a little...twitchy. Like if that were to happen, I might just barrel after the would-be thieves and tackle them mercilessly down to the ugly blue-and-beige airport carpet.

Seriously? If they had any idea how much thought and planning and time and money went into buying the stuff in those suitcases....strategic toiletries (the kind that cost little enough in Ohio and enough more in Quito to make it worthwhile to import them); carefully selected exercise, walking, and work shoes; work clothes; chocolate chips for two special occasions this year; prize box items for a fellow teacher who's not coming home this summer; my new and VERY exciting food processor; and the list goes on....I'm sure they'd choose to rob someone else. Someone more worthy of being the victim of random crime. Besides, all this doesn't even take into account the time, effort, and strategy involved in packing all this stuff into my allotted two, 50-pound bags. Yah, I might put up a fight for these bags.

But I digress. I wanted to say that this morning, as I breathed deeply to fight down the anxiety that always rises up on the way to the airport, I thought for the first time, "If this is the last time I drive to the airport to MOVE somewhere, that would probably be ok." That's not to say that it WILL be the last time, or even that I really want it to be, but just that if so, it's ok.

I almost said it out loud to Dad and Sue, but I didn't want to get their hopes up. Sure, they both would have the rest of this day for themselves, having waved goodbye from the far side of the security check gate around 9am, but let's be honest- who actually gets excited about an airport run? I can see someone not minding it too much (as my dad always claims; though I often wonder if he's just being gracious because, let's be honest; someone has to do it), but really enjoying the trip? Prolly not. And so I didn't tell them. Besides, my dad would probably roll his eyes and say to himself, "We'll see about that..." And he could easily be right.

But all that aside, I find it interesting that I'm entering this third year in Ecuador without much direction or expectation, and that I'm ok with that. For now. I feel ok about this being my last year. I also feel nearly ok about the possibility that it won't be. That's a little weird for me. I'm not usually one to be at a loss for an opinion, and usually a pretty strong one. I don't anticipate this strange ambiguity to last very long, but in the meantime, I suppose I should appreciate it. And so, off I go, to do just that.

Appreciate my indecisiveness.

Listen to other peoples' one-sided business calls.

Watch people be "airport weird".

Be astonished at the highway robbery which is airport food.

Check the clock.

Make sure my tray table is safely stowed away.

Wish that I hadn't been so stingy and had gotten that u-shaped neck pillow after all.

Pray for good connections for my bags and myself.

And wonder about the future.

What are YOU doing today? :)

Change Update

Today my food processor arrived in the mail. I found one on Amazon that I thought looked like a good choice for me. It's a Black and Decker; small and compact; easy to clean; about a 3 cup capacity and only about $20. That makes me feel comfortable about taking it to Quito, using it for a year, and not feeling sad if I decide to sell it there instead of pack it out.

As soon as I got home from my errand running, I busted it out, READ THE DIRECTIONS FIRST (I know, right? I'm pretty sure I've never done that before), well, ok, I skimmed the directions. And then I made a nice big batch of homemade salsa. Aside from slicing my finger open while chopping a tomato into quarters, it seems to have been a successful venture. It was fast, easy, and the clean up took about 5 minutes. The bowl of salsa is currently sitting in my fridge, letting all its various flavors meld together. Mmm!

I'm trying to think of the variety of veggie options available to me with this new gadget. Maybe veggie purees? It appears that the processor is capable of that. I remember eating lots of veggie puree soups while living at my host family's house in Buenos Aires, and they were go-od. Notice that I stretched out the word to add emphasis.

If you have any brilliant up-your-veggie-intake recipe ideas (which do not include lettuce or peppers), would you post them?

[And on that note, please be aware that due to some recent comment posting from hackers, I've added a security feature when you post a comment. You're going to have to type the weird-shaped word into the box, so that I can't get computer generated adds and such on my blog. Sorry for the inconvenience.]

And finally, in other change update news, I've been using my Zumba stuff. Today (week three) I actually felt the first glimmer of hope that I might, at some point in the distant future, find the workout to be enjoyable. I'm a bit disappointed in the slow start. Maybe that'll pick up? We shall see. In any case, I look like a fool. Seriously stupid. One of my closest friends, around whom I am exceedingly comfortable, asked me today if I would bring the video to our next visit and we could work out together. I'm not sure if I can bring myself to do it. We'll see. But that's one nice thing about living alone, right? The freedom to look stupid in the privacy of your own home. Well, as long as you're living alone and have curtains.

Working My Way Up to Change

I LOVE change!

This isn't really true, but a wise man once encouraged me to embrace the statement nonetheless, due to the ever-present state of change in...well...everyone's

In any case, I've been inspired, partly by a book I just read-on-cd [Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver; I HIGHLY recommend it] and partly by the environment of gluttony in which I find myself during my time in the US, to invite or perhaps more accurately force some change in my life this school year.

I'm basically telling you all this for the sake of accountability.

I haven't really made any solid decisions yet as to what all I'm going to change. I'm an extrovert, so consider this blog me "thinking [typing]" out loud. Feel free to make suggestions and/or observations if you like.

So, to begin, here are some things I'm considering changing, or at least working toward changing.

-Eating Habits: things to consider include local shopping- how possible is it in Quito? Might "local" mean Ecuadorian in this case, since not a lot grows that high in the mountain? Might I make an effort to eat more Ecuadorian food (gulp)? Might I just focus on eating more healthily (whole grains, low carb, lots of fresh fruits and veggies, etc.) and forget the local part until I'm somewhere where I have more options (aka, the US)?

-Exercise: I'm just gonna go ahead and say it- gross. Blech. Eww. These are my feelings about exercise. I just can't seem to help it. I've tried lots of things and it boils down to this: I hate to work out. Nonetheless, I feel compelled by my health and my vanity to do it anyway. This summer I bought the Zumba Fitness Kit as well as a Pilates DVD. I'm hoping to combine these with walking with my wonderful friend, Beth, for a total of working out 5 days a week, which seems to me to be the exercise equivalent of, say, being silent for a year to hear God better or something. Way above reasonable. So if you think I should work out more than that, I don't care. So don't bother telling me.

-Devotions/Spiritual Life: I'm not very satisfied with my Spiritual walk right now. That's pretty common for me when I'm not on a normal schedule. Ironically, I seem to have more trouble making time for God when I have more time. In any case, I want to put a priority on setting aside time to read, pray, meditate, and just BE with God this year.

-Sleep: I have no doubt that I will need to adjust this if I expect to bump up the last two topics. Since I know you're curious, I need about 8.5 hours of sleep each night in order to not feel tired and not get too easily annoyed by my delightful students. If I plan to get in a workout, shower, devotions, and breakfast before leaving for school each morning, I'll need to be greeting my days at about 5am. That means I should be hittin' the sack around (closes eyes and sighs) 8:30pm. Oy-vey.

-Random Other Responsible Things: flossing; not drinking soda; drastically minimizing sugar in my diet; using my awesome juicer to take advantage of cheap, fresh produce by drinking veggie juice regularly; buying a small food processor to help me do better at eating veggies twice a day.

So, there it is. The list to consider. I'm a little apprehensive about biting off more than I can chew. But on the other hand, the illusive "they" say that all these things will make me healthier, happier, and uh, I don't know...make me fart sunshine, I guess. Maybe it'll be worth all that yucky change? In any case, I think that I'm at the point where I'm willing to give it a good long try and see if it's worth it. If not, I can always go back to my slovenly, irresponsible ways. I guess it can't hurt to try, right?

Student Evaluations; Year Two

Today I got the results of my year student evaluations. My regular readers (and people I talk to in real life) should already be aware that I love, love, love my kids, in spite of themselves. But this strong love does not blind me to the fact that the middle school age bracket is, perhaps, not the most ideal age range to request unbiased feedback, particularly in the form of students giving feedback to teachers. Some of them over-estimate my power over them. One or two might consider it an excellent opportunity for pay back against the wrongs I so mercilessly forced upon them throughout the year (the most frequent complaints involved my very strict no-bathroom-breaks-without-an-emergency-pass rule (each students gets 2 emergency passes per semester), my no-food-or-drink-except-water rule, and, of course, homework. But in general, when your students are 13-15, student evaluations do much less in the area of evaluating teaching skills and much more in the area of telling you whether your students like you.

But, be that as it may, I am required to have my kids fill out surveys, and so I do. Actually, it's really fun to read the results. Especially since many of my kids are ESL. So here, for your reading pleasure (and mine), are some of my eval responses:

[note the (sometimes snide) comments from the editor in brackets]

What one thing did you like about this class?

My friend

[ah, yes, the ever-popular, "My friend is in my class! Whee!" response. Very relevant to me improving things for next year; thanks for playing]

Learning how to learn better (2x)

Experimenting the things we learned because it worked.

[now THIS is an encouraging reply; YES! The things I teach you in Study Skills DO actually work! I'm so glad at least ONE student came to this conclusion]

Games for review (3x)

It was fun

Time goes by really fast.

[I think this kid must have that disease where you're sleeping with your eyes open and you just lose chunks of time. I was in this class; time did not go that fast from where I was standing...]

Teacher is funny.

[thanks for noticing]

Some of the assignments were interesting and fun.

[of course, the REST of the assignments...]

Learning the life of Jesus

Games

Review games (2x)

The boards

[no, I am not spanking my students. The boards are personal white boards I had our handy-dandy shop teacher make me; we use them for review games and the kids LOVE them]

Games (4x)

The liberty of where to sit.

When we played games or watched movies

She always helped me when I don’t understand.

[this answer makes my heart happy, as does the next one, although I'm a little bit skeptical of that one. Inspired? Really?]

The class inspired me.

We learn new things.

[apparently simple past tense was not among those new things]

The books (3)

What one thing did you not like about this class?

Some times is boring. [

yah, I can't really disagree with this. Sometimes it was boring, indeed. It's hard to be exciting and fun all the time]

Sometimes hard projects

Memory verses

Plays

[note that later on, we get several positive votes to counter-act this vote against plays (aka, review skits]

The teacher

[must've been a really stupid kid that wrote that]

Quizzes, notes, tests, or homework (14x)

You can’t go to the bathroom unless it’s an emergency, and you need a pass.

[snicker, snicker; this is one of the hills I am ready to die on. Seriously, there's no reason for you have to go to the bathroom during our 45 minute class. I can't tell you HOW many times I've argued this point]

Too much writing

[um, it's a writing class...]

She was a nice teacher.

[I HATE it when my teacher is nice; that's always the one thing I don't like about a class! ??]

Reading

Sometimes hard to understand

What did you like most about the teacher?

Her games (3)

Teacher was funny. (2)

She was fair and explained well.

She taught good. Good teacher

The attitude and the way she teached.

[apparently all this "good teaching" didn't focus enough on grammar]

She is nice.(2)

Kind and very responsible

High sense of humor (2x)

Games

She is always happy.

She gave us the plays.

[sounds like a disease]

Her attitude (3x)

The fun homework

[um, dost mine ears deceive me? A student appreciating homework? Be still, my heart!]

She helps when we need it.

She is always happy.

[this is a blatant lie. but I'm glad someone feels this way]

It is funny. (2x) [are you calling me an it?]

She explained our assignments.

She is nice and funny.

Personality

What did you like least about the teacher?

Projects (2x)

Unfairly mad

She is not strict. She needs to send more homework.

[is anyone else laughing at this one?]

Homework (3x)

That it is funny and makes games (?)

[sometimes students are admitted to the school whose English isn't sufficient. I believe we have found one of those students]

Quizzes

I loved EVERYTHING about her.

[I'm suspicious that this is the same kid that I "inspired" earlier. Cause let's be honest; even I don't love EVERYTHING about me]

She won’t let you drink anything that’s not water.

[gasp! The horror of not being allowed to hype up on Coke during class!! Ee-gads!]

Some days she had a little bit of patience.

[Though I am sad that my students noticed this, I was impressed with the communication of the idea by an ESL kid]

That we had to be silent most of the time.

[This response puzzles me. This is not true in any of my classes. All I can think is that I don't let them chat with each other while I lecture, though other teachers allow this; but lecture is always a small portion of my class...hmm...]

When we wrote journals

Cool teacher

[Again, there seems to have been a lack of comprehension, but I'm glad s/he noticed how cool I am. Maybe it's cause I tell them sometimes in class. ie: "Because I'm SO COOL, I'm not giving you homework this weekend..."]

When she made people participate even though we didn’t know the answer.

What did the teacher do to make the class interesting and relevant?

Made us laugh

She uses examples

Games

Variety of activities

She explained everything to us.

Fun stuff, games (3x)

She explains everything in an understanding way.

The class was decorated.

Sometimes trying to act it

Teach well

It was funny.

A variety of activities to understand

Games (5)

Different homework, projects or games

Reviews, movies (2)

Game about the class

[I wonder how they feel about the games...?]

Projects and review games

Fun assignments

Watching the movie after reading the book.

Ah, yes. Yearly student evals. Thanks for enjoying the responses with me again this year. Over-n-out.