Ponderings of an Ohio farm girl

Harmony

2012-02-12T20:00:00.000-08:00

It's interesting to me how I remember learning some skills quite vividly, and how I have zero recollection of learning others. Evidence reveals that at some point, I learned to brush my teeth and talk and add. I don't remember learning those things. But I DO remember the exact moment when reading made sense to me. I remember Grandma Foster teaching me how to put those tight little Barbie doll pants on the Barbie (the key is BOTH legs at the SAME TIME). I remember learning that when you cut a flower (even with the good intention of presenting it to Grandma Nell, who loved flowers), it would die. (sorry, Grandma Nell) I remember learning to tie my shoes. Dad taught me, on his GIANT work boots, on the brown carpeted floor in the living room of our old house. (incidentally, I was the fastest shoe-tie-er amongst my siblings. I was quite proud of that.) And I remember learning how to sing harmony.

My Grandpa Foster taught me, though I'm not sure if he realized it. I was riding in the backseat of his car, sandwiched between my sister, Brittony, and my cousin, Tami. Grandma was in her seat in the passenger side in the front of the car. I don't remember where we were going, but chances are good that we three were being returned to our homes from a visit to Ludlow Falls. In any case, Grandpa, a proud barbershop singer, was teaching us a new song to pass the travel time.

The song was called "Wait 'Til the Sun Shines, Nellie". He taught us the melody, and we all sang that through a few times, and then he said, "Leslie, you sing with me this time." And so I did. This time Britt and Tami sang the melody and Grandpa sang other notes, similar to, but not the same as, what the girls were doing. I followed along. It was easy. The notes made sense in my head. I could almost hear them in my head before I heard them with my ears.

Grandpa must have said something nice about how I was doing. I don't remember any particular words, but I remember feeling very proud, and that kind of pride in an accomplishment always meant that someone had complimented me verbally. I would imagine it was something pretty mild, like "Very good!" or "Nice job!" But whatever he said, I was hooked.

From that moment, the way I heard music changed. Once I knew about this other kind of singing, I always heard it when music played. Whether I sang it or not, I heard it. Chords, playing in my mind. Sometimes I have trouble knowing which of the notes is the melody, because the harmony lines play so loudly in my mind.

When I sing harmony, it's like I'm dancing. Like dancing with my voice.

Melody...it's ok, too. But it's so straight-laced. When you sing melody, you have very little room for creativity. Like you're dancing inside of a metal, body-shaped cage. It moves to allow you to follow the steps, but you can't really improvise much.

But harmony? If harmony is a dance, it's freestyle. Like dancing freestyle in a weightless environment. It's not learned steps; it's a feeling. It's going higher...a third, a fifth...or lower...or moving back and forth, circling the melody and coming back.

And when you get a second harmonic part? Oh man. Tight, three-part harmony? I'm pretty sure that's what we'll be hearing when we stand in the presence of the Father one day. Singin' harmony with the angels. A vocal dance of praise and joy and beauty.

And so. I am thankful for the teachers in my life. I am thankful to you, Grandpa Foster, for introducing me to harmony, and simply letting me know that I did it well.

2012-02-10T05:46:00.000-08:00

Hi Kids,

Just letting you know that my second article has gone live on the Inspired by Family magazine. You can read it by clicking the link on the right of this page.

Happy Valentine's Day!

2012-02-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

So today I found a C. S. Lewis quote on a friend's facebook page that is EXACTLY what I have tried to tell people on multiple occassions, but always with far less efficiency of speech. I love this quote SO MUCH that I decided to post it. Ready?

"We're not doubting that God will do what's best for us. We're wondering how painful the best will turn out to be." -C.S. Lewis

This is what I was trying to say in this blog post (link here). Just so you know.

Also, I think my second article for Inspired By Family Magazine will go live in the next couple days, in case you want to keep an eye out for it.

Inspired Magazine

2012-01-25T08:56:00.001-08:00

Hi Everyone!

Recently, a friend asked me if I would be a contributing author for an online magazine that she's involved with. I agreed, and my first article for Inspired By Family went live a couple days ago. If you want to check it out, click on the link on the right. My article is about New Year's Resolutions.

Feelings

2012-01-08T19:22:00.000-08:00

Warning: This post is about my feelings. If you're male, you may opt to abort now. Even if you're ok with feelings, if you're into logic, this may not be the post for you, either. Fair warning. What I'm about to say doesn't make a lot of sense. Read at your own risk.

So here it is. I've been here for 4.5 months. But it's really only week one of being committed to being here. (and by that I mean admitting that I don't have anything in the works to help me escape) But I haven't found any other job yet, and there's not really anything on the horizon, so I'm working toward being here. Or maybe I should say, Being Here.

I'm trying to focus on the positive and not complain. A problem I'm finding, though, is that I seem to be hesitant to acknowledge the good stuff. And I think it's because I don't want to be happy here. I don't want to be here very long, and when I leave I want it to be easy. It won't be easy if I'm attached, either to people or things here. And so, though I'm miserable here because I'm not attached to anyone or anything, I seem to want to push away anything that seems good, in some sort of weird, premature self-protecting and yet self-destructive technique.

I believe I feel this way because I'm still so close to saying goodbye to my life in Quito. It's not that I've never gone through the saying goodbye process. But it was only a few months ago. And I had been there for three years, so I had real friendships and my own niche.

Ah, the niche. Niches are good, but they're hard to walk away from. And so I find myself trapped in this place, unable to leave, afraid to really STAY, and uncertain about what might be to come, either way.

Before you say it, let me clarify that it's not because I don't trust God. People say that to me a lot: God's in control. God has a plan. YES! I know! But I also know that God's plan may or may not be what I want. Maybe His plan is not that I get to go home, or have a reliable job, or find someone who loves me, or get to raise a family. Maybe His plan is for me to be alone. Do something hard. Be far from my family. I get that He could want that for me, and I get that those things could further the Kingdom and make me stronger and other good things.

But it takes a certain amount of strength to be ok with that possibility, you know? Selflessness and internal strength and, mmm, something else that I can't identify and that I have sometimes, but not now. Right now, I don't have it in me to be that person. The good Christian who's sacrificial, and ok with giving up what she wants in order for God to use her. I've been that person before. I imagine I'll get there again someday. But right now, I'm far, far away from that place. I just want to be safe. Emotionally safe. Close enough to my family to feel like I'm part of a family again, instead of alone. Surrounded by people who know me and love me anyway, without the hard work of getting to that place in a new relationship. That is what I want, for what it's worth. The End.

Car Talk, Part 1

2012-01-06T09:54:00.001-08:00

For those who are not familiar with the delightful NPR program, Car Talk, please go here to check it out. I don't like talk shows or car stuff, but I like Car Talk. And so will you. I promise.

But this post is not about Car Talk, the show. It's about my car, Estelle, the 2005 Honda CR-V that I bought in August.

I love Estelle. She's red, and I named her Estelle because she is "old lady red" (as opposed to fire engine red, like my first CR-V, Lily) and Estelle is indisputably an old lady name. I challenge you to name someone under the age of 70 named Estelle. It seemed appropriate.

Though we have only been together a few months, Estelle has served me well. Last weekend, while I was home for New Years, my dad replaced the left headlight bulb for me. Then last night I noticed that now the right headlight bulb is burnt out. Dangit. I don't plan to go home again until Easter, and that's a long time to drive around without a headlight.

And so. I should fix it myself. That makes a smidgen nervous. Not like, get-an-ulcer nervous, just a little unsure and hesitant.

It's funny, you know. I'm 30-wonderful years old. I'm reasonably intelligent and generally fairly competent. I have a high school diploma, a BA, and a masters degree. I've lived, alone, on four continents, in six different countries, and have survived life in five different languages. I can change a poopy diaper without flinching. I know CPR and the heimlich. I can de-clog the sink and bathroom drains or fix the vacuum or any number of other, small fix-it projects. I have my own electric drill and Leatherman tool (both of which I use regularly). And as we know from a previous post (which you can read here), I have plenty of wrenches. I taught MIDDLE SCHOOL, for crying out loud! But I don't know how to change the bulb in my headlamp.

But it's ok. No one needs to know how to do everything. All you need to know is who is the right person to help you.

And so I called my dad. I find that quite often in life, Dad is the right person to call.

Dad hesitantly told me I could probably figure it out (not gonna lie- he didn't sound too confident). I called Autozone, and they assured me that they had the part for $7.99, plus tax. The Honda service center told me it'd be about $30 for them to do it. But where's the challenge in that? Besides, I have more time than money right now. So here's the plan:

Plan A: Get the bulb and ask nicely for the nice Autozone man to help me install it (batting eyelashes and looking forlorn and pitiful only if absolutely necessary)

Plan B: Get the bulb and try to put it in myself, cold turkey

Plan C: Get the bulb and call Dad, who will try to walk me through the process on the phone.

Plan D: Suck it up and go to the Honda service center.

[time lapse: approximately 3 hours]

And so I'm back. I'm happy to report that Estelle now has two working headlights again, and I am only about $10 poorer for it. In the end, we went with plan A, with a little plan C mixed in. The Autozone guy had a little trouble getting the old bulb out, and Dad graciously helped him a bit on the phone. No eyelash batting was required.

So, when it's all said and done, I still don't know how to replace the bulb in my car's headlamp. But I know how to get it done next time, and Estelle is happy to not be lopsided anymore. All's well that ends well.

[Editor's Note: The author would like to thank Tom Foster and Autozone guy for their assistance and expertise related to the events in this blog post.]

New Perspective From an Old Truth

2011-12-25T18:54:00.000-08:00

Hello, Readers Faithful to a Faithless Poster,

Yah, I'm still here. It's Christmas night. I'm at the kitchen bar in Dad and Sue's new cabin. This is the house that I spent many hours staining and sealing wood for last summer. It's pretty fantastic. My favorite part is the great room, with a big stone fireplace, the eastern-facing windows, and the views of the fields, the woods, and the house I grew up in, just a couple hundred yards away.

This is Christmas weekend two of three. Because of my (stupid and annoying) work schedule, I'm driving back and forth from DeKalb each weekend so that I can be a part of celebrating the holidays with my friends and family here. In spite of the 12 hour round trip, I'm happy to be able to come home.

Yesterday I went to the Christmas Eve service at church. I loved every blessed thing about it. Seeing friends. Listening to the choir. Remembering past years of Christmas Eve services...26 past years, in fact. And pondering the astonishing reason we gathered.

God with us. Emmanuel.

As I plod my way through my time in DeKalb, I think about Jesus, and his time on earth. Did he want to come to earth? I mean, I'm sure he wanted to save us. I mean, who wouldn't want to save me, right? But just because he was supportive of the ends doesn't mean he liked the means.

From heaven to earth? That's quite a jump. And not really a cool place on earth. Not like Monte Carlo or Paris or even, perhaps, the heartland of northwestern Ohio. Palestine. One of many lands defeated and ruled by the Roman Empire. Conquered and festering in their helpless bitterness over the foreign rule.

Jesus was born into a poor family in a nation of poverty and impotence. And in case that wasn't enough, he was born into the furious gossip and rumors concerning the situation of his birth. His young mother, unwed at his conception. Did anyone know she claimed God was the father? Cause I'm guessing THAT story went over like a lead balloon. Or maybe, anticipating the disbelief, she left people to assume what they would. Either way, no doubt Jesus started out with less than a spotless reputation.

All this, after leaving (please catch this) heaven. And not just the heaven that we expect or imagine...golden streets (probably won't seem quite so cool when we finally see them), worship God, reuniting with loved ones, checking out our new room in the mansion. That would be a pretty big change. But Jesus' change was bigger. Because He is God. And he went from being known as God to being totally unknown. Unknown except as the illegitimate son of an insignificant carpenter family in an dusty, forgotten corner of the Roman world.

That's...wow. He's just hours old, and already such a huge sacrifice. Yah, He's God, so he's into sacrifice and all. Plus there's the love thing. I mean, do you KNOW how much Jesus loves you? Us? It's pretty astonishing. But even that kind of amazing love...even still, that would be a tough move.

Not that it makes me happy that I've had to move three states away to a place where I know no one and a job that I don't care for. But Jesus' move was tough enough to at least bring some measure of perspective to my situation. And a reminder that in this, as in all things, Jesus should be my pattern.

No doubt, he hated a lot of aspects of his move from heaven to Nazareth. But He was doing what needed to be done. And he wasn't doing it with a sour expression and a superior attitude, even though he was QUITE superior to every person he ever encountered. I bet he was focused on his mission. Focused on loving the people around him. On looking for ways to love people and meet their needs, and show them his Father.

And so. Jesus is my model. Or rather, he should be. I'm ashamed to say that I haven't done a great job of looking for ways to love people and show them my Father since I've been in DeKalb. But it's time, you know? It's time to get over it. I hate being there. I hate the situation I'm in, but that's where God has put me for now, and I'm going to stop wasting my life, waiting for the better thing to happen. I'm going to keep praying that God will move me home, but in the meantime, I'm going to commit again to looking for ways to serve and love the people around me. (and in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to hope that THIS is the lesson God's been trying to teach me and now that I've finally learned it, I'll get to come home! It can't hurt to hope, right?)

Studying Will Pits OR The Dangers of Language Learning

2011-11-10T19:34:00.000-08:00

Here is a story that was gut-bustingly funny at the time. But I have to warn you- I'm not totally sure of its transferablity, so considered yourself forewarned.

I'm teaching a class on paraphrasing and summarizing this session. (I know, it's thrilling already) So we were practicing our mad paraphrasing skills with this sentence, which I had written up on the board:

He studied every night, but he still failed the exam.

(I try to use encouraging sample sentences like that)

We underlined words and phrases that should be replaced with synonyms, including "every night". As we discussed alternative ways of saying that (personally I was rooting for "each evening", though there was a pretty strong following for "daily", followed by some confusion as to why it wasn't an exact change), one student (we'll call him Bob) asked the following question:

Bob: Teacher, can I change it for an idiom?

Me: Sure, if the idiom has the same meaning as the original phrase. What idiom did you want to try?

Student: "Will pits"

[confused silence, as I silently flipped through my English vocabulary in search of an idiom that has a meaning remotely close to "every night" and that sounds somewhat similar to "with pits". No dice.]

Me: Um, 'will pits'?

Bob: No, Teacher. WILL PITS.

Me: Can you spell it?

Bob: W-i-t-h p-i-t-s

[I write "with pits" on the board. Bob nods emphatically. I continue to grasp frantically at anything in the ballpark. It turns out this ballpark is totally empty.]

Me: I'm sorry, Bob, I don't know what that means.

[some discussion ensues in Arabic, as the students discuss what might be the problem with this particularly stellar idiom]

Student 2: I think the spelling, it is wrong. I think it is "pets", not "pits".

[I erase "pits" on the board and replace it with "pets". Bob nods expectantly. Strangely, this doesn't really help me.]

Me: I'm sorry, this still doesn't make any sense. Pets are animals that you keep in your house, like friends.

Bob: No, no, no. Not "pets". PETS. It's like the black one. It is in the night.

Me: BATS? With bats?

[I draw a (not-so-hot) picture of a bat on the board]

Bob: YES!! With bats!

[this is said with great exasperation, as if he'd been saying this exact thing for the past five minutes]

Me: Um, Bob, I don't understand. Why would you study with bats? Are you sure you have it right? I don't think it's an idiom.

Bob: Yes, Teacher. I am sure. I made it myself.

[It should be stated that I generally try not to laugh at my students. I remember all too well how it feels to try to learn a language. But I just can't hold it in. I bust out laughing. So do most of the students, including Bob.]

Me: Well, you can't really make up your own idioms, Bob. Other people might not understand them. I think maybe you should just replace "every night" with "each evening" instead.

Baker (looking a little disappointed, but compliant): Ok, Teacher.

Three Short Stories

2011-11-05T13:13:00.000-07:00

Story #1: Today I helped to proctor the TEOFL exam, which is a standardized test for people who speak English as a second language (a lot like an SAT or ACT or GRE). It's four hours, as as I was walking one of my students back to pick up his things afterward, I asked him how it went. He said, "The easiest part was the essay writing."

I couldn't help myself. I'd taught this student in two classes during the session that ended yesterday. Those classes were Reading and Writing, and Writing Skills. I said, "That's probably because you had such an AWESOME writing teacher, right?"

[he agreed with me, of course, but I laughed and told him I was kidding]

Story #2: This afternoon I was walking back up to my apartment after taking some laundry to our scary, basement laundry room. Across the privacy fence that separates my apartment building from the parking lot behind Pizza Hut, I saw a man get out of a car with his two boys and walk into Pizza Hut. As they walked, the dad put his arm around the shoulders of the maybe 10-year-old boy.

I immediately began to tear up. I'm always sentimental when it comes to family. But right now I'm a virtual tear fountain when it comes to any type of relationship, as I feel so alone out here. Anyway, I was feeling a sad and lonely and a little irritated at feeling that way when, about 2 second later, I looked over again to see (and hear, delightfully) the dad hock a big loogie and spit it on the outside wall of the restaurant on their way in.

Now I know I'm making hasty generalizations here when I say that this one action made me stop thinking about how kind and wonderful the father was, but sometimes the truth hurts. It was gross. I giggled out loud, and immediately felt a tiny bit less lonely.

Story #3:

[background info: During my last semester in Wheaton, a friend of mine bought me a gift membership to eHarmony. At first I was pretty hesitant, but you know what they say about gifts...and horses...or maybe that's gift horses? And their mouths? Whatever. Anyway, so I did it for the three months that she bought for me, and it was actually pretty fun, though (obviously) nothing significant came of it. ]

Earlier this week this same friend asked me if I had considered doing that again, now that I'm back in the US. I hadn't, but then I started thinking about it, and decided that I would like to. So I jumped online, but quickly realized it's out of my budget right now, which was disappointing. Then this morning I had another friend message me and offer to either buy me a coffee club membership (coffee is gross), a gym membership (I silently scoffed at such a waste of money), or an online dating membership.

Seriously? I was so excited! And not just at the idea of finding some tall, hot DeKalb farmer boy to sweep me off my feet. It seemed like a direct message from God. This message:

"Leslie, I know you're confused and lonely and a little bit mad at me right now. But I need you to hold

on a bit longer. I promise you'll eventually understand, and I promise that I am doing

this for your own good and for my glory. You aren't going home right now, because it won't

work into the plan. But I'm going to give you THIS, the gift of an eHarmony membership from

a friend, to remind you that I love you more than you are capable of understanding. I'm not

trying to make you miserable as a form of entertainment. I know you're hurting, and I care. It

matters to me. Please trust me, that there's purpose behind your pain. In the meantime, here.

Distract yourself with men."

I'm pretty sure God likes the idea of his daughters being distracted by men, aren't you?

Anyway, it was really encouraging to me. The End.

Stepping Away From the Ledge

2011-11-02T19:53:00.000-07:00

So since I'm in a much less...shall we say volatile? place now than I was at the writing of the last post, I thought I should update you, cyber-readers and friends.

I don't really hate everything about my life. Really only a couple things. I do actually hate that I'm so far from home. I also hate that I have a neighbor who regularly wakes me up in the middle of the night. But I finally emailed my landlady about it, and she said she would take care of it, so maybe that won't be an issue much longer? I also truly hate that I can't go home this weekend.

But in all honesty, most everything else in my life is at some level which is better than "hate".

That being said, I am still looking for other (contractual) employment. Ideally in the great state of O-Hi-O. And most ideally in the great Lima region.

And I get to go home three weeks from today for Thanksgiving!! WHEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

The End.

This Is One of Those

2011-10-31T18:49:00.001-07:00

Did you ever have a day when everything seemed terrible? When something really bad happened that immediately shaded every other part of your life in ugly, black charcoal? Well this is one of those times in my life.

I hate everything about my life right now.

I hate where I am.

I hate what I'm doing.

I hate that I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel.

I hate that I'm alone.

I hate that I can't come home this weekend.

I hate that people keep saying that there's a purpose because I KNOW THAT but it doesn't help AT ALL.

I hate when I'm busy and I hate when I'm not, because then I'm more lonely.

I hate that I can't afford to get away or to bring someone here.

I hate that I'm being unreasonable.

I hate that I feel this way.

The End.

Fear, Forgiveness, Trust, and Love

2011-10-15T20:20:00.001-07:00

Things I've been mulling over...

If I really believed the things that God tells me; if I really embraced Truth, I wouldn't be selfish anymore. I wouldn't say things to make myself look good in others' opinions, even at someone else's expense. I wouldn't care at all that this Illinois job and plan might not work out. I wouldn't care if I ended up being a janitor until I retired. I wouldn't mind if my boss found a typo in the last quiz I gave. I wouldn't get defensive when a student challenges my explanation of the past perfect tense. Because if I really believed God, really, truly, deep down, it'd be ok with me if people think I'm naive or unimportant or just plain dumb, because I would know that none of that matters. Not really. Not to God.

God loves me, even though __________.

That blank there? That's for you. (and by "you", I also mean "me") Fill it in with whatever you've got.

Your worst sin.

The time you hurt someone. On purpose. And then didn't even feel bad; in fact, were glad you'd done it.

That stuff you stole.

Those lies you told.

That addiction you feed.

Those times you cheated.

Give it your best shot. That blank will hold anything you can throw at it, because it's a God-designed Sin Black Hole. We call it forgiveness. The real problem is that once you see how horrible you are, it's hard to believe how incredibly GOOD God is. Our own fallen nature predisposes us to doubt God.

But take a minute to allow yourself the joy of thinking about what your life would be like if you could really, truly trust God to be who He is. If we could let go of the fear and live in the freedom of unconditional Love. If we passed out that unconditional Love to everyone we came across, because we knew it would never run out. If we let true Love cast out the fears in our lives and replace them with trust.

Imagine with me. And then ask with me. Ask God to show you the fear in your life, and to reveal the roots that hold it deep in your heart. Then get your work gloves on and start digging. You can't just get rid of the fear; it'll grow back. You have to start with the roots. Like dandelions. Trusting God will kill the roots. Also like dandelions, one try won't take care of the whole problem. Today you will allow God to cast out your fears, but you'll see them again. The seeds are still around. But the more often you let trust in God kill the roots of fear, the less fear will grow back. And eventually you'll be in the habit of trusting. The fear will become the exception.

Because God is Love, and there is no fear in love. Perfect love drives out fear. 1 John 4.

I'm going to try to let God's perfect love cast the fear out of my life. I hope you will join me.

A Visit to Farm and Fleet

2011-10-01T14:01:00.000-07:00

Today I was supposed to go with a group of students and staff from work on a visit to a local apple orchard. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but the short version is that I couldn't find the group and missed the trip. Alas.

But the up side to this misfortune was that suddenly I had the whole day free. I went home and finished grading quizzes, talked to my awesome friend, Josie, and then decided to go to the DeKalb Public Library to get my card and check out the lay of the land, and then go to find a padlock.

Yah, I need a padlock. Doesn't that seem like an item that I would have acquired at some point in life? But as it turns out, nope. I don't have any padlocks. I needed one to secure my storage space in the basement of my new apartment building, and though I considered picking one up at Wal-Mart, I opted for taking the retail version of the scenic route. On my first day here I got lost and saw Blain's Farm and Fleet in the process.

At the time it struck me with feelings that a huge store usually does not- warm fuzzies. Maybe it was the word "farm" in the name. Or maybe the multiple American flags out front? Not sure. But whatever the cause, the result was that "down home" feeling that I love so much. I get the same feeling when I sit in the poultry barn at the Allen County Fair, sweltering in the late-August heat, breathing in air that smells like chickens and sweat and fried food, and recognizing half of the people in the uncomfortable bleacher seats while I wait to hear how my niece's 4-H project chickens placed. It feels like home, only better because I've had not-home now, so I appreciate home more.

Anyway, when I decided to get the lock, I also decided to go back to the F&F. I don't think I've ever been to one of these stores, but I was expecting cross between a TSC (Tractor Supply Company, for the city-slickers among us) and a Home Depot. And I was not disappointed. I even took some pictures to document my journey.

As I entered the store, this sign greeted me:

Ah, yes, I thought to myself. This is going to be good. Nothing like a store that actually sells worms and grubs. That's country right there.

Armed with the thought that live bait was, in fact, within my reach, should I suddenly be overwhelmed with the urge to fish, I continued on my journey of discovery. Check this out:

Livestock Handling. Chuckling to myself at the memory of one of my city-friends telling me that she was afraid of cows, (which I find hilarious because my own experience with cows has been that they're pretty laid back creatures}, I snapped a shot. It was just a little awkward, with that guy in the shot. Maybe he was flattered. I'm just going to assume that he was.

I eventually found myself in the kids' area, where I stumbled upon this delightful item: baby-sized Carharts! You may remember my fondness for Carharts from a previous post. But I don't think I'd ever seen such a tiny version, and being a woman, I found the tiny version just precious. And worthy of another picture.

See the tiny little logo patch?!?

And close to the mini-carhart section, I found these hee-larious little girl spades. Cause when you teach your daughter how to work in the garden, she'll probably be more excited about the whole thing if her tools are emblazened with the picture of a Disney princess. I get it.

And now the wrench picture. I had to take this one because it made me think of my Dad, as did many things in this store. The whole experience reminded me of Saturday afternoons in middle school and early high school, when I would occasionally accompany Dad to TSC or some obscure hardware store, tucked into an ally in Lima, or to a junk yard for part to fix something, or to a John Deere dealer in a neighboring town. If the time was right, we'd listen to Click and Clack on NPR. If you've never had the pleasure, I highly recommend catching an episode or two. They're hee-larious. It's a car show. And I like it. Nuff said.

Oh, so back to the wrenches. When my family helped move me into my apartment, I was found guilty of not owning a wrench. Apparently that is bad. Dad immediately added the offending tools to my list of needed items.

Later that afternoon when we were checking out of Wal-Mart with our two carts of stuff, I saw Dad's solution to my wrench problem. He had bought me not one, not two, but 13 wrenches. I'm not kidding. He got two sets of six each. I'm not sure what the difference is between the two sets, but they're different colors, so I'm assuming there is some difference of significance. And to round it out, he also bought an adjustable wrench, in case my needs were not covered by the other 12 sizes. At the time it seemed like the most wrenches I'd ever seen. But then this afternoon I saw this:

At least he didn't see the need to get me THIS ginormous set. I mean, that set is impresivo, right? Holy cow. Maybe this one's designed for mechanics? Or people who just really, REALLY like tools?

As we close out the conversation on wrenches, I should point out that I've already made use of the wrenches that Dad bought me. I used one to put my new IL license plates on my car. Thanks, Dad!

And what self-respecting store with the word "farm" in the title would think it possible to do business without selling something with the John Deere logo stamped on it? Far be it from Blain's Farm and Fleet to so much as think of such heresy. They're proudly displaying and selling their belief that, true to the hype, nothing runs like a Deere.

And check out this next picture. See? I told you farmers are the hardest working group of people I know. F&F agrees. Upon further reflection, I think that farmers are hard-working thanks to natural selection. Lazy farmers died out long ago.

And here I am, at the end of my journey, proudly displaying my two purchases: the padlock I had originally gone in for, and a timer for my lamp. The friendly, helpful (and cute) sales guy recommended this one. It has different settings for each day of the week! By golly, what'll they think of next?

I'll leave you with one last shot. This is across the street from the store. A Taco Bell and a corn field. If I ever write my own lyrics to the song, "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, cornfields and Taco Bell will probably make the cut. As will Blain's Farm and Fleet. It gets two thumbs up from me.

Stream of Consciousness Post

2011-09-28T19:16:00.000-07:00

-Today my new best friend, Ann at the DMV, allowed me to get my car registered and plated without quite the right document. She did warn me that the IRS might ask for the exact document later on, in which case I should respond. I generally think that responding to the IRS is in my best interest and therefore something I'm likely to do, even without prompting from a gracious public employee. In any case, I prayed for favor before I went in, and I feel quite sure that God decided to acquiesce.

-Does everyone know the word "acquiesce" strictly from its use in Pirates of the Caribbean? Cause I do.

-I had to look up the spelling of the word "acquiesce". French-influenced spelling is dumb.

-It's 9:20pm, and right now I'm listening to loud talking and a loud movie from my neighbor's apartment. I think they have to talk loud cause they have the volume on the 'ol boob tube cranked up so high. On the one hand, I want to go tell them to put a lid on it. On the other, I'm quite happy in the knowledge that there's no mentally unstable person over there, about to come beat on my door and ask me to keep it down.

-One of the side benefits of having things stored in a shed for six years is that it gives you a whole new understand of what mildew can grow on. Wood. Paper. Of course, cloth. Plastic. Yep. Did you know that? Cause I certainly did not know that mildew was capable of surviving a non-porous surface like plastic. Please feel free to believe me and not find out through personal experience. The experience route is gross and a little stinky. Or esteenky, as we would say in spanglish. Eez no good.

-And speaking of Spanish, the guy getting his registration next to me had brought in his bi-lingual translator (aka, his brother or nephew or something), which I enjoyed listening to. In my current world, the foreign language that most often surrounds me is Arabic. Know how much Arabic I know? Here are all the Arabic words that I know:

-After my miraculous procurement of shiny new IL plates, I of course put them on Estelle (my new Honda CR-V) immediately. Well, both because they are pleasingly shiny AND because my temporary plates expire tomorrow. Anyway, in the end I made three trips up and down to my third floor apartment in the process. One for a screwdriver. Another trip for a smaller screwdriver (spatial reasoning is not a strong suite of mine). And finally a third trip for a set of wrenches. Now, how much sense does it make for the dealership to affix the front plate with screws and the back one with bolts? Exactly. None whatsoever.

-My first (and so far, only) DeKalb friend is a Greek woman named Mata. Mata is delightful. She's 57 and here by herself until her hubby finishes closing up shop in Greece and moves here next year. The other day we were driving home from somewhere and I was telling her about how I've really enjoyed discovering the joy of Greek yogurt. I turned to Mata and said, "I just want to thank you personally for Greek yogurt." With a straight face, she replied without missing a beat, in her My-Big-Fat-Greek-Wedding accent, "No problem." I like Mata.

-In reading something online today I ran across the phrase, "tempest in a teapot". It means when something little gets blown up into something big, like making a mountain out of a molehill. I like this phrase. It's very pleasing to the ears.

-Someone next door is singing now. Maybe 'singing' is too generous a term. I hope this isn't going to be a common event. I'm going to find my earplugs and go to bed. 'Night!

Boo for Alone

2011-09-25T19:08:00.001-07:00

I know, I know. It's been EONS since I wrote. Practically a decade. You have been neglected, my cyber friend, and you deserve an explanation. Here's why I haven't been writing:

-I didn't have anything to say

-I got a new job and moved three states away and lived in a hotel for a week and then doubted my decision and almost had a nervous breakdown but then after much prayer and a lack of other feasible options decided to stay and hope the job works out. Then I had to find an apartment and start the new job and move in with the help of my awesome family and now I'm about to start my third week of the job and I have several hours of free time in a row for the first time since I left Ohio.

The second reason might be more significant than the first. After all, I don't really have all that much to say now, either, but since I had some time, I thought I'd write anyway.

Even before I moved to take this job, I was worried about being lonely. I hate being lonely, which is a shame cause I'm real good at it. I do it well, and I'm fast. I can get lonely in, ummm, maybe 2 hours. Pretty good, right?

But as I said, I don't like to be lonely. I know that, when they are trying (unsuccessfully) to be helpful, sometimes people tell me, "You can be lonely when you're with people, too." And this is true. But it has been my experience that I'm lonely a LOT more when I'm NOT with people than when I AM with people.

It's been nice that since I've been here I've had visitors three times, and I've gone to visit friends once. But tonight, as my sister drove away from my apartment, I realized something.

Visitors are great. I mean, really awesome. But the bad part about visitors is that they leave. No matter how long they can stay, or how much fun you have with them, they have to leave. And then I'm back to my previous state of aloneness.

I don't want my normal state to be alone. I'm tired of alone. I want people. For better or for worse, I want people. To say hi to. To recap my day with. To share funny student stories with. To eat with. To divide chores with. To watch movies with. To make plans with. I want to share life with people. Life is better shared, don't you think?

Boo for alone.

WARNING: This is an Ugly Truth post. It may be TMI for you.

2011-08-07T14:15:00.000-07:00

Chocolate

It’s a little like chocolate. Everyone likes chocolate. Well, nearly everyone and when you come across someone who doesn’t, you think either they’ve had a bad experience with chocolate or they’re just plain weird. Everyone likes chocolate, but not everyone can have it.

If you’re a single Christian, God says no chocolate for you. Yet. Your chocolate might be coming in the future. Or maybe you just don’t get any. At least, you don’t get any unless you choose to break the rules. You can always choose to steal someone else’s chocolate, or pay for it, even, but that’s no good. That’s against the rules. There are pretty significant consequences.

Christians take the chocolate rules seriously. There are some rules we ignore. Or kinda conveniently don’t really understand fully. But not the chocolate rules. We’ve got those down. No chocolate until you’re married. No exceptions. You can’t buy it, steal it, trade for it. Nothin. Sorry about your luck.

Now the good news is that there’s this verse in 1^st Corinthians (7:7) that says that your chocolate-free existence has its good points. It’s really a gift. You can focus all your time and energy on serving God! Yay! I mean, we’re all pro-serving-God, right? So if you’re single, of course you should feel REALLY excited about this perk. Now I don’t want to be sacrilegious here, really. But if God said to you, “Hey kid, you can choose from two gifts: the gift of chocolate or the gift of no chocolate,” which one do you think YOU’D pick? Let’s be honest. We all want the gift of chocolate.

But what we want doesn’t seem to factor in much. No matter that you really, really, REALLY want some chocolate. No matter that most of the people you know have unlimited access to their own chocolate. It’s not important that the media shows you lots and lots of chocolate all the time. You can see it and hear it. Smell it. Lots of luscious chocolateyness. It’s everywhere. Tempting you and reminding you that you don’t get chocolate, or any of the benefits that come after the chocolate. You can’t have it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Sometimes people who have their own chocolate try to help. They say things like, “Don’t worry. Your chocolate will come when you’re not looking for it.” Or “But you’re so lucky to be chocolate-free! Think how independent you are! You can do whatever you want!” Or my personal favorite, “God has a plan. You just have to wait for his timing.” The problem is that these oh-so-helpful people are usually munching on their own chocolate, or at least licking the vestiges off their fingers while they strive to console you. Really? No. If you have your own chocolate, good, bad, or otherwise, you don’t get to pat me on the head and tell me it’s ok that I don’t have any. You don’t have that right. Go away and eat your own chocolate and leave me in peace.

Because you know what? Those things? They aren’t necessarily true. No one knows if I’ll ever get my own chocolate. Well, except God, and he seems to be pretty tight-lipped about it. YOU don’t know. Neither do I. So stop lecturing me with your chocolate-flavored breath. You may mean well, but you’re not helping.

Anyway, there isn’t really any conclusion to this rant about the lack of chocolate in my life. I just wanted to vent a little bit. Cause I’ve never had chocolate. Not even one bite. I know that this wasn’t an accident. I believe that God’s got a plan for me. I don’t know if his plan will involve any chocolate in the future, but I sure hope so. In the meantime, I’m suffering from an acute chocolate craving, and it makes me cranky sometimes. You have been fairly warned. Now go away and enjoy your own chocolate. Just don’t tell me about it. J

Suave. That's me. Yo. Soy. Suave.

2011-07-25T14:15:00.000-07:00

I'm house-sitting right now, for some friends from church. They're off cruising in Alaska, which means I am luxuriating at their house. They have central air and cable tv. I am quite easily pleased.

Anyway, the REASON I'm house sitting is so that I can watch their dogs. I've been here for a few days, and this morning I decided to go for a jog at the track, which is within walking distance from the house. So I got all ready and decided to use the garage code instead of the house key, so that I didn't have to carry the key while I jogged. Cognizant my not-so-awesome short-term memory skills, I even wrote the combination on my hand. Just in case.

I said goodbye to the puppies (who were NOT excited about me leaving) and headed over to the track. I walked a mile and then jogged a mile. When I was sufficiently sweaty, I headed back to the house. As I came to the house, a pang of anxiety struck me. There's a door between the garage and the house. I locked it last night. Did I unlock it before I left?

I did not.

Using my cleverly recorded code, I opened the garage door, only to discover that I was still locked out of the house itself.

Dangit.

As I stood outside the door, sweating and listening to the dogs barking wildly inside I thought through my options.

-Maybe another door was open? But I didn't think so. I'm pretty careful about locking up, since I'm staying here alone.

-Maybe there's a key hidden somewhere? Yes, but where? I would check the doors, and then look for a key.

-Maybe a window was unlocked? Unlikely, since the AC means they don't usually have the windows open. But still worth checking.

-Outside help. I don't have a phone. I could walk to the neighbors' and see if they have a spare key, but when she came over before she used the garage code. Even if I had my phone, it's unlikely that my friends would be keen on trotting back from ALASKA.

I left the garage and headed around to the back door. No luck.

["How lucky that I'm so security-focused," I thought sarcastically to myself.]

I continued around the other side of the house, intending to check the front door again, though I KNEW it was locked, since that's the one I usually use. On the way, though, I noticed that one of the windows into a back bedroom wasn't locked. I went in for a closer inspection.

There was a screen. How much does it cost to replace a screen? I gently tried to push it up.

IT MOVED! It slid up to the first little notch, and then locked. But it was enough space to get my hands in there, push in those little lock-things, and get the screen all the way up.

Now for the window. I could see that the lock in the middle of the window wasn't latched, but these windows had those little levers on the inside of the frame, about two inches from the bottom of the frame. You have to push them down to release the window. Obviously, I couldn't release it from outside.

I tapped around the outside of the window frame, hoping to loosen anything that might be stuck and remembering similar experiences with various girls from the Roosevelt House. [ahh, memories!!] There wasn't a good place to push, so finally I just push out and up on the sides of the frame, and LO AND BEHOLD, the window moved up!! Whee!! I pushed it as far as I could get it; it wasn't far enough to get through, but WAS far enough that I thought with something to stand on, I could open enough to climb in.

About this time I started wondering if anyone was watching my attempted break-in. Oh well. Maybe if the cops showed up they could help.

Back I went to the garage to find something to stand on. My choices were an old, vinyl-covered chair or a plastic 5 gallon bucket with some bird seed in it. The chair seemed less likely to tip over, but more likely to collapse under my weight. I grab the bucket and return to my window.

I climb up on the bucket, realizing that it's REALLY unsteady. I tell myself that when I put one leg into the window, I will need to move the other foot to the middle of the bucket or it's going to dump me.

I manage to get the window open enough and evaluate where I need to step. I put one foot and leg into the window. As I'm grasping about for good places to hold on in preparation to pull myself in, the bucket tips over, leaving me dangling halfway out of the window, about a foot off the ground.

Some flailing ensues. I grab wildly, scraping some skin off in places that will go unmentioned, and finally manage to haul the other half of my body into the house.

I pause for a minute, breathing heavily, and take stock. The dogs are going CRAZY outside the bedroom door. I don't think I broke anything. I check outside the window; it doesn't APPEAR as though anyone had witnessed that delightful scene. I do not hear police sirens. Yet.

But I'M IN!!

So. What'd YOU do this morning?

Settled

2011-07-06T15:22:00.000-07:00

It is Wednesday evening. 6:23pm, and I am writing from the over-chilled dining room of the Ada, Ohio McDonald's Restaurant. I just finished my chicken nugget Happy Meal. Missed the mayo that is served with fries in Ecuador. Actually, I missed the combo of mixing the mayo and ketchup. McDonald's was one of the few places that served "real" ketchup there. Most places had this runny, pink-ish liquid that maybe had a tomato waved over it before packaging. It was gross. Far worse than no ketchup at all. But I digress.

Let's get back to the IMPORTANT part of the blog. I'm not really sure what that is, but you people keep harassing me to write, so here I am. Writing. :) Hmmmm....

Well, I've been back in Ohio for 2 1/2 weeks now. Today my awesome friend, Kristy, asked if I missed Quito yet. I answered her without hesitation. Nope. Not even a little bit. Not because I didn't (or don't) like Quito. Actually, I expect to start missing it around the time that other Quito-people are returning for the 2011/2012 school year. But for now, I'm too busy rolling around in a big, juicy vat of Ohio-wonderfulness to miss Ecuador yet.

I'm enjoying family, friends, driving (though not buying gas [eek!]), peaches, books on CD, Red Box movie rentals, coupons and sales, only working a couple hours a day, reuniting with Ohio-friends, watching NCIS on Tuesday nights, lightning bugs, the Ohio accent, strangers smiling at me, NOT being the largest/tallest person in sight at any given time, understanding EVERYTHING that is said to me, knowing how to say ALMOST everything I want to say, jogging [I know. But it's true], my new space-girl tennis shoes, not being on constant crime-alert, the smell of the country, and sun sets [not many sun-rises, though...]

One day, as summer wanders off and fall takes its place, I'll doubtless miss the majesty of the Andes, the cheap-n-yummy strawberries and avocados, the excitement of a new school year, getting my classroom ready, post-summer reunions with AAI people, the mental challenge of communicating in Spanish, the convenience of a cab to a busy part of the city [when it works like it should], the fun of the Latin culture on a Good Ecuador Day, the consistently moderate weather, and my Quito-friends. But not yet. Well, not yet for everything except the Quito-friends. I started missing them back in May.

Another season change. EVERYTHING about my life is in flux right now. From a new cell phone to a new job (which I am hopeful will be coming soon) to a new community and even a new place to fill my prescriptions. Lots of new. New-overload, if you will.

I feel like I'm in the eye of the hurricane. I survived the first part of the storm- leaving Quito.

It. Was. Hard.

By far my hardest "leave" yet. And now I'm in the calm before the second wave hits. Right now things are pretty easy. But I can tell that I'm still emotionally braced for what's coming. I'm having stress dreams. When my brain goes into autopilot, the stress rises to the surface. The questions pop back up above the water level:

-Where am I going to work? Will I like my job? What will my coworkers be like? Will I dread Mondays, or not? Will I get to stay there for awhile?

-Where will I live? How long until I build up my community there?

-What church will I end up in? How long until I feel like I belong there?

-What...?

-When....?

-What if....?

-How long until I feel SETTLED again?

That's the biggest question. Settled.

Settled is a good thing. Settled means you know who you are in your environment. You also know who you aren't. It means you have a routine, and even a routine for breaking the routine. You know who you can call for a spur-of-the-moment outing. You know the best routes to work. You know where to buy your milk. You smile and wave at your neighbors. People greet you by name at church and work and maybe even the neighborhood convenience store or gas station.

If you've lived in the same place for awhile, you've probably reached settled, and you might not even realize it. But remove the settled from your life? And you are aware if it immediately. You might seem ok. You might even feel ok, most of the time. But unsettled works in the subconscious. It pops up in your dreams. Reminding you that you're in transition. Your mind isn't at rest when your body is. It's working on the questions that float around. Being settled puts those questions to rest. It lets your dreams go back to the normal weirdness of being back in high school, but with the people from your current job, or having tea with Sponge Bob or whatever your "normal" dreams are like.

And so, even as I relish life in the eye of the hurricane, my soul still waits in anticipation. Far better than the eye is that day...flitting about out there in the vast spaces of "Future". The day when I will again be settled.

My Hilarious Students

2011-06-18T20:07:00.000-07:00

So to make up for my 6 week absence, I have finally returned with a list of the funny and sometimes profound things that my students have said this year. Some of these are from written work, and others are quotes from the day. Sadly, I only get around to recording a small percentage of the funny stuff that happens in my ESL classroom, but some is better than none, I suppose. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Student Funnies 2010-2011

Q: What is the word that means that God knows everything?

A: Omniknowing

“Martina, wake up!”

“I am not esleeping. I am reviewing my learning experience.”

Q: God used ______ prophets to write the Bible…

A: old

Q: Which of the three primary consequences of sin do you think is the worst? Why?

A: For worst one for me would be the separation from God because I love God too much for loosing him!

Student A: Miss Foster, has anyone lost points today?

Me: No, but some of you are getting close.

Student B: Some of us are getting toast?!?!

Student: Hi Miss Foster. You are tired?

Me: Yes, I am tired. How could you tell?

Student: You look kindof sad.

(looking at Pablo’s drawing)

MaJo: This is a spider?

Pablo: No! That’s my dad!!

Q: What does Charlie’s family teach us about poverty and love?

A: That love is bigger than being poor or not having lots of food.

Student A: What book of the Bible comes after Proverbs?

Students B: A-crazy-ass-tees?

“Hey Josue, how was your doctor’s visit yesterday?”

“I got tree een-jections in my butt!”

Josue, talking to another student: “Maybe Miss Foster will be your superhero!”

“There is a lot of phlegm in here.”

Josue, speaking to me: “Maybe you will punch him in his face!!”

Journal entry about field trip to Mindo: “I discovered that God do all the things beautiful: rivers, waterfalls, butterflies, and the animals and that is good.”

Students, working on a group project.

Student 1: “Let’s make it colorful.”

Student 2: “Yah! And let’s not use black because black is not a colorful color.”

Josue: “Miss Foster, what day is this due?”

Me: “Josue, I JUST told you that.”

(long, solemn pause)

Josue: “Well, could you please tell me again?”

Excerpt from book report:

“Jack never let her little sister go when they were in the water almost dying. Instead, he gave her his life savior.”

Excerpt from Narrative Essay about a stay in a hotel in the jungle:

“The snake was roaring outside and we called the hotel service…”

Martina chants in a sing-song voice as she looks up information, “Pop-u-la-tion den-si-ty!”

Following a loud, grinding noise heard coming outside the classroom, a student comments, “Someone went to the bathroom with much trouble.”

Note on student’s book report project: The plot sickens!

From a student’s journal entry:

“…I would like to change this semester is my schedule. I would like to change choir to home ec. I would like to change it because I am going through that age that when I sing I make this weird sound like a roaster.”

Student survey “extra comment”:

“You are a very good teacher mostly. You are especially very fun and creative.”

As I help a student edit his essay, Juan suggests an awkward sentence.

Miss Foster: “Ok, it’s not that that’s a BAD sentence…”

Josue: “But it’s not a GOOD sentence.”

Josue suddenly jumps out of his desk during work time. He jumps around and says, “My leg!!”

I ask what happened. “Something punched my butt!” he exclaims.

From journal entries about whether mercy or justice is more important:

“…So I think that mercy is more important [than] justice because mercy can make people change and justice cannot change people.”

“I think justice is better because if someone punches you in the face and they get mercy, that’s very bad to you. You would like them to get in trouble so you would want them to get justice. Punish that person for hitting you so that person won’t do it again. But if mercy, then it is more lickly that the person will do it again.”

“I think that more important is mercy because we have to have mercy with [everyone]. I think justice is for God and for the people that has more maturity. If somebody made something that we don’t like, we have to act patiently with others like God is patient and has mercy with us. We have to be like God. Mercy is better for us than justice.”

Answers to the bonus question, “What is the rule about gum in this class?”

The rule of gum

“We need a donkey.” -Martina

Martina: “The bell ranged!”

Josue: “Not ‘ranged’; ‘ringed’!”

Miss Foster: “Not ‘ringed’; the bell RANG! I can’t believe you guys didn’t know that; it’s in this week’s verb list!”

Josue (shaking his head mournfully): “Everywhere: ignorance, Miss Foster.”

Verb quiz Q: What is the past participle form of “to think”?

A: had thonk

Martina:“Mees Fohstair! You look BAD! You look like a tomato!!”

Juan: “You look tired. You should take a nap during lunch.”

Josue: “NO! You should eat during lunch, then take a nap during Bible.”

Juan: “But what if Mr. Bowen comes while she’s sleeping, and tried to teach the class?”

Josue: “We could pretend we’re in a lockdown.”

Pablo: “Ana Julia! Why are you READING!?!?”

Ana Julia: “Go away, Pablo, or something bad will happen to you.”

Journal: If you could have any pet in the world, real or imaginary, which pet would you choose?

A: I will chose a sphinx because it revives from its ashes. I think that is cool because I saw it in Harry Potter. Harry Potter never lies, so its probably true.”

Me: Martina, are you sure that’s the right answer? If not, you should look it up.

M: Don’t worry. I feel it in the deep of my heart.

Me: Ok, I just hope “the deep of your heart” doesn’t let you down.

Q: In your own words, explain the meaning of John 3:16

A: ….Also if you believe that Jesus died in the crust for our sins then you’re going to heaven not hell.

From student writing assignment: “Remind your kid not to talk to stingers.”

Title of Writer’s Workshop Assignment: What I want to be when I am a Ground up

Ana Julia: What’s that?

Pablo: It’s a picture of a hang-glider.

Ana Julia: It looks like a sandwich with legs.

Discussion on April Fool’s Day prank plans

Juan: Can we do a prank on you?

Me: If it’s a good prank, and you don’t hurt anyone or anything.

Josue: Can we scare you?

Me: I’m not sure. It might depend on how scared I am.

Jhony: What if we make you pee your pants?

Me: No, that would not be good.

Josue: Would you be willing to wear especial pants?

Students are playing a review game

Josué: Juan got it wrong!

Juan: I haven’t even answered yet!

MF: Wow Juan, you must be REALLY good to get it wrong without talking!

Juan: I know, right?

Josué: You are better than Chuck Norris!!

Sentence from student essay on people who are overweight:

“I always get mad when people said that I am overweight. But sometimes I understand because I think they say things because they are feeling sad.”

Sentence from student essay on racism:

“I think racism is dum.”

Josue: Miss Foster, did you know that my uncle is coming from Canada?

Me: Really? What part of Canada?

Martina: Toronto?

Josue: Yes!

Me: Do any of you know anything about Canada BESIDES Toronto?

Juan: I think it has a park?

Isa: Miss Foster, have you seen the movie of the Monster of Oprah?

[extra points if you can figure out what movie she meant]

Isa: Have you ever been to Astridi Gaston? It’s a Peruvian restaurant.

Josh: What kind of food do they have?

(whole class busts out laughing)

Q: What do you think happened to Mrs. Johanson on the trip home from the boat?

A: Maybe Nazis shot at her and she is damaged.

Q: Why didn’t the soldier want Mama to open the casket?

A: Because if Mama open the casket she can be contagious with typhus and she can contagious him and everybody.

Pablo: Can I go clean out my locker?

MF: Sure. And if you find $.50 while you’re there, bring it with you so you can get your notebook back.

Pablo: I’m not going to find $.50 in there! I’m going to find spiders! Can I pay in spiders?

Josue: I still remember the time that Miss Foster called me the dork.

Juan: Good times, good times!

Good times, indeed. School's only been out for two days and I already miss them. It was a good year.

Mothers

2011-05-06T19:11:00.000-07:00

So, Mother's Day weekend has arrived. It occurs to me that I usually post melancholic (at best) blogs around Mother's Day. And though that seems logical considering my situation, this week a friend sent me an email forward about moms that I found stinkin' hilarious, and so I decided to be a little less depressing this year and post it here.

Please note that this is an email forward; not my own writing. What you're about to read are answers from second grade students to questions about their moms. As you read and laugh, I hope you will make a mental note to be thankful for, and thank, your mom for all she does for you. And if you're able to tell your mom face-to-face, I hope you're extra thankful.

Happy Mother's Day!

Why did God make mothers?

1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.

2. Mostly to clean the house.

3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?

1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.

2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring.

3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?

1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.

2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you your mother and not some other mom?

1. We're related.

2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

What kind of little girl was your mom?

1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.

2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.

3. They say she used to be nice.

What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?

1. His last name.

2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?

3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mom marry your dad?

1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world and my mom eats a lot

2. She got too old to do anything else with him.

3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?

1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.

2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.

3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than Dad.

What's the difference between moms and dads?

1. Moms work at work and work at home and dads just go to work at work.

2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.

3. Dads are taller and stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.

4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mom do in her spare time?

1. Mothers don't do spare time,

2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day

What would it take to make your mom perfect?

1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery

2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?

1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.

2. I'd make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.

3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.

Alien Floors and Homemade Cards

2011-04-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

So the sad thing about living in a place for a long time (and in my world "long time" generally constitutes more than a year) is that stuff that used to seem ridiculous and out of control slowly fades into "unusual" and final "normal". Your brain kinda starts to think most everything around you is more or less acceptable.

Don't believe me? Let me give you an example. Lima people, remember the department store called Lazarus? That's a weird name for a store. Bath is a weird name for a school. 5/3 is a weird name for a bank. Seriously. Do you want people who can't fix an improper fraction in charge of your finances? And the decor at Kewpee. Now, I love me a Kewpee as much as the next guy, but shouldn't it creep us out just a little that the restaurant is decorated with naked baby dolls? The correct answer is YES. It should creep us out a skoshe.

But of course, we all think this stuff is normal. Like life in Quito has, to a large extent, become normal to me.

But today my friend, Sarah, came for a visit and she immediately commented on my living room floor. Thrice. She said, "Wow!" Three times in a row. And it reminded me that my floor, which has been slowly becoming more and more damaged from the ceiling leak that my landlady STILL hasn't fixed, is really quite ridiculous. I even took a couple pictures, so you can "wow" along with Sarah from the comfort of your computer screen.

So you're looking at my cheap-o parquet floor. The water has caused the pieces to swell and push up away from the floor. The first day it looked like a couple of aliens were going to burst out of the floor. I'm happy to report, however, that the lumps have now opened and I have not seen any aliens. So that's good news. You'll also notice that I'm valiantly trying to catch as much water as possible with various kitchen items. It's pretty much an exercise in futility, though.

But in other, happier news, Wednesday was Teacher's Day! I know because when I got to school, there was a big display with stars on it and a note in my box with a chocolate bar, wishing me a happy teacher's day. I, of course, did have a happy day, as chocolate was suddenly involved. :) But really the best part was when the two little girls I'm tutoring came in for our session, and handed me two Happy Teacher's Day posters that they had made. They were so adorable that I couldn't help but take pictures for you to enjoy with me.

Rebeca, who designed the beautiful card above, is 10 and in 5th grade.

And this Hello, Kitty gem was made by Esther, who is eight and in 3rd grade. The cards were delivered to me along with a six-pack of generic Oreo cookies. I almost cried. They're just so sweet! These cards are definitely coming home with me.

Stuff I Like

2011-04-09T13:42:00.000-07:00

I just cut my fingernails. I really don't enjoy the act of cutting my fingernails, and so I tend to put it off until they're long enough that they've been bothering me for a few days. That doesn't take very long, because not only do I not enjoy cutting my nails, neither do I enjoy having long fingernails. But as I was cutting them this afternoon, I thought about how satisfied I feel when they are newly cut.

And as I sat here, enjoying that satisfied feeling, I decided to blog about stuff I like. I thought it might be helpful for me, as I continue on in the Lenten challenge of not complaining. I've found that being thankful is the opposite of complaining. So here it goes; stuff I am thankful for; aka, stuff I like:

1. The feeling of freshly-cut fingernails

2. fresh guacamole with homemade tortilla chips

3. holding a sleeping baby

4. my students

5. reading in my bed on a rainy weekend afternoon until I feel sleepy enough to take a nap without setting an alarm

6. a linguistically and culturally successful day in Quito (aka, no embarrassing situations stemming from either my inferior knowledge of the culture or grasp of the language)

7. finding a card, letter, postcard, or (shazam!) package in my mailbox at school

8. the consolidation and/or downsizing of material things

9. my brown Houghton College sweatshirt

10. the Advent Season. Even thinking about advent now, in April, makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

What about you? Take a moment today and join me in the discipline of thankfulness. What are you thankful for? What is the stuff YOU like?

Do everything without complaining...

2011-03-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

Here we are, a week and a half into the Lenten season. It's likely that I've rambled on before about my discovery of Lent while in grad school. I'd heard of it before, but I knew it then as a Catholic thing, and that was back in my "Catholics-aren't-real-Christians" day (which I'm pretty ashamed of now, by the way). It was in grad school that I really began to understand Lent as an opportunity, wide-open for anyone who's life has been re-defined by Christ's sacrifice on the cross.

It's an opportunity to practice our own voluntary sacrifice. Now don't take this the wrong way, but we're pretty terrible sacrificers, as a general rule, so practice seems like a good idea to me. I also like the way a Lenten fast helps to prepare me for Easter. It slows me down so that I can't just flash past Resurrection Sunday with a little heartache from missing family and a ridiculous amount of chocolate.

This year I decided to give up complaining for Lent. If you're familiar with Lent, you're probably smirking about this fast. I can't blame you. Lent is supposed to be about giving up something that isn't bad; not giving up a sin. However, I checked with God and He seems good with me giving up sin, regardless of what the calendar says. So complaining it is.

I've been inspired by the super-simple verse in Philippians 2:14, "Do everything without complaining or arguing." I'm real good at complaining. I mean, stellar. I can do it in many ways. As a joke. With sarcasm. In a whiny voice. Passive-aggressively. I can even complain without words. In short, I got skeels. And these skeels are why I need to work on this.

Currently I'm still trying to get the outward part right. Complaining out loud hurts me AND others. Complaining in my heart hurts mostly me. So I'm working on the out-loud part first, and then I'm going focus on the heart part. And no, I don't plan to go back to complaining on Easter. :)

Sick Day

2011-02-23T06:11:00.000-08:00

I'm home from work today. I have a nasty snotty cold. This seems to happen to me with much more regularity here in Ecuador. Not sure why that is. Maybe because the air is dry? I read recently that the best way to stay healthy (from colds and flus) has something to do with your sinuses. I'm not really in touch with my sinuses much. Maybe they're rebelling?

Anyway, here I am. It's 9:10am. I slept for ten hours last night, but to no avail. I woke up with all the symptoms I had when I went to bed, plus an extra one for good measure. But I don't mind too much. I like sick days. I have since I was little.

When I was a kid there was a very strict stay-home policy. Unless you're puking or running a fever, you're not sick. So my sick days were few and far between. But even as a kid, I remember relishing those days.

Mrs. Williams, who was my school nurse all 13 of my Allen East years, would call my mom. I would, of course, listen in from my spot on the plastic cot.

"Hi Susan; Marilyn Williams here. I've got Leslie in the office..... Yah, nothing serious but she's running a low fever. I think maybe you should take her home....Ok, we'll be waiting for you."

Once Mom was on her way, the key was to not accidentally get better while you waited. There was still the lingering danger of being declared miraculously healed and sent back to class. I believed in Jesus. That guy was perfectly capable of healing me on the spot. I may or may not have tried to look my most pitiful during those minutes.

Eventually I would be in the car, buckled into the front seat of our Mercury Monarch (which I didn't have to fight for, for once). We might need to stop at the store on the way home for some 7-Up. We didn't drink a lot of pop when I was a kid, but 7-Up or Sprite or Ginger Ale was more or less a requirement for a sick day.

When we got home, everything seemed strange and surreal. Maybe it was the height of the sun and the shadows. The day, outside of the constant low roar of the school, seemed strangely quiet. I thought of people who were always home during the day. Little kids, babies, and stay-at-home moms. I decided that when I was done with school, maybe I'd be a stay-at-home-mom.

Back at the ranch, I would change into my pj's, in the middle of the day. It felt somehow exciting to put on pj's at 11am. Like jumping into a pool with your normal clothes on. Mom would pull the blinds low to help me sleep. The sheets were cool and comforting against my feverish skin. The house was quiet. No Brittony, sleeping in the other bed. No sound of Mom and Dad talking downstairs in those few, precious hours between putting the kids to bed and going to bed themselves. As the middle child, there was very little "quiet house" in my life. There was also very little "having Mom all to myself".

Maybe that was my favorite part of being sick: having Mom's full attention. Taking some medicine, and a juice glass of 7-Up next to the bed. Maybe some Saltines. Do you need anything else? Ok, you get some rest. You'll feel better when you wake up.

And she was right. I did feel better when I woke up. Usually Britt and Josh were home from school by then, and things were back to normal. The day was on it's way out. The house was full of the noise of life again. Mom was starting supper. Dad was on his way home. I still felt a little peaky, but I was on the short road to recovery.

Tomorrow would be another normal day. But today had been a nice break from the norm. A cool, quiet reprieve in the middle of life. My own personal sickness sabbath.

Cookies!

2011-02-13T09:34:00.000-08:00

Well, tomorrow is Valentine's Day. V-Day, (or Singleness Awareness Day, or SAD, for short) isn't exactly my favorite holiday. I'm pretty sure I've written about that before. But last year, I felt inspired to make heart-shaped cookies in honor of the day, and they were SUPER-GOOD. And wouldn't you know that I can't remember what recipe I used? Typical.

But I'm going to try again, mostly because I really want a good sugar cookie. When I say "good sugar cookie", what I mean is that it's soft, maybe just a tad crunchy around the edges, with a little lemon or almond taste, and topped with some sweet-but-not-too-sweet icing. I'm a little picky. That's why I was so pleasently surprised when my last attempt turned out so well.

So, if you have a cookie and/or icing recipe that you think meets the aforementioned requirements, would you pass it on? Thanks. I'll eat a cookie in your honor.

Babies out the Wazoo

2011-02-12T09:27:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in almost a month. This is because not much of any interest is happening in my life at present. However, much has been happening in the lives of the people around me, so I decided to share about that.

I've been surrounded by babiness the past week, which has been lovely. Babies are awesome. Especially squishy ones. But recently I've been finding a deep appreciation for non-squishy babies, as well (nod toward Mr. Liam Black).

Liam is celebrating his one week birthday as I type this. He came late, but wisely chose to be born in time to watch the Packers beat the Steelers in the superbowl. The first time I saw Liam, his mom warned me that he wasn't very squishy, but after meeting him, I decided to rescend the squishy babies are cutest rule. Cause Liam's pretty darn cute. Here, see for yourself:

Last night I babysat for some friends' infant, Mateo. Mateo would be the newly-arrived little brother of Aiden and Ethan, of melodramatic overnight babysitting fame. I was pretty darn excited about this date with Mateo, cause he's cute and squishy and about 2 months old, so he doesn't do much more than eat, poop, and sleep. Once a kid isn't interested in letting me hold him or her, I'm much less interested in babysitting. But a whole night of snuggling up with a cutie-patootie baby, all to myself, without having to fight off the other people wanted to hold him? Yes, please.

Just in case you're not totally convinced about Mateo's cute-ness, here he is, being cute:

Mateo and I had a good night. He slept. I read a book and cuddled him. Then he woke up and wanted a tour of the apartment, so I showed him around. A good time was had by all.

And then, in case I hadn't had enough babiness, a third friend had a baby on Wednesday night. This little one, Lydia, decided to come early, so I don't have any pictures of her yet. But her parents report that she is very cute and I'm patiently awaiting the day when I get to hold her and agree. Yep, another keeper.

Whew! Like I said. Lotsa babiness around here.

But I'm happy to report that it's not in the water. :)

Middle School Wisdom

2011-01-16T18:52:00.000-08:00

Friday in class, one of my students asked me how many children I want to have. I told her four. She said, "Really? Fours kids will be very expensive. You will need much money."

I agreed with her.

She thought for a minute and then said, "You should get married. Then your wife ["husband," I interjected] -right, husband- can provide the money for the children."

My very helpful student presented this information as the new and unique idea that it was...in her mind. I told her it was a good plan. I'd get right on it.

Man am I going to miss those kids! :)

Yogurt, Milk and Rice

2011-01-12T17:34:00.001-08:00

Today on my way to the grocery store I stopped and talked to a woman who was sitting on the overpass with her 6 month old son, and a sign around her neck. She was hoping for handouts.

I don't usually give people money, and actually I walk past her the first time. But I notice the sign as I pass, and that makes me pause. I go back, and ask the lady what she needs. She immediately puts her hand out and says, "Dios te pagas", which means "God will repay you". I can tell from looking at her eyes that she is blind.

I tell her that I'm not going to give her money, but that I'm going to the grocery store about a block away, and ask if she would like me to get something for her.

I'm not gonna lie; this was a test of sorts. Young mother. Baby. If she asks for some kind of junk food, I'm done.

I lean in close; the traffic passing below our little drama is loud.

"Maybe a yogurt," she says.

That's it. I just offered to get her whatever she wanted from the grocery store, and she asked for one thing. A yogurt. Ok, I tell her, what else?

"What else?" she repeats. "Some milk," she says. Her son reaches his chubby little hands toward me. I want nothing more in this moment than to get this baby some milk.

I suggested maybe some rice.

Yes. Thank you so much.

I tell her I'll be back and head for the store. As I go lots of thoughts flood my mind. Foremost is this:

What must it be like?

Not just to be blind.

Not just to be blind and have a baby.

Not just to be blind and have a baby, but not to have anyone to take care of you.

What must it be like to depend on strangers to provide milk and rice for your family? To know that you can't feed your child without help.

My heart felt heavy.

For this woman.

For the fact that she is just one of millions around the world.

That I so often take my blessings for granted.

That I had never stopped before.

The Warm Chaos of a Big Family

2011-01-07T20:50:00.000-08:00

The title of this post is something I wrote tonight as I was posting random and witty comments on a friend's Facebook Christmas album. Well, at least I thought they were witty. Anyway, I looked at the phrase and thought, "Wow- that's so poetic!" so I thought I'd share it with you, Faithful Blog Reader.

I love big families! I mean, I love MY family, too, even though we were just a normal, two-parents-three-kids family for all of my childhood. But I REALLY love the atmosphere of a big family. For whatever reason, lots of children seems to make a family seem like a big, cozy, overstuffed couch. Relaxing and comfy and inviting.

In case you're wondering, I'm defining "big" as "four or more children". This seems to be the point at which the total number of people involved is high enough that it's harder to keep everyone straight and accounted for. Maybe that's where the feeling of "everyone's welcome" comes in; you're less likely to notice a spare.

When I was in college and grad school, I would sometimes bring friends home for the holidays that couldn't get to their own homes. When discussing the Foster Family Gathering, I always assured the guest, "Don't worry. Everyone's really friendly. And probably half the people won't even notice you're not part of the family."

There's something great about being a more-or-less unnoticed honorary member of a big family. The best thing to do is just sit back and observe. People are funny, especially when they're relaxing with family. Long-debated competitions are un-earthed and dusted off. The inevitable gossip about The Traveler or The Ever-Sick One or The Annoyingly Lucky One begins. Card or board games bring competitive streaks, so well hidden during the rest of life, roaring to life after their long hibernation. Little kids squeal and run and eventually drive adults to ban them to the basement or attic or (hopefully in good weather) the great outdoors. "To blow off some stink" as I used to hear occasionally in my childhood.

Big families. Loud. Messy. But lots of potential for love.

Home is Where the Carharts Are

2010-12-18T06:58:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-14T17:22:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-07T18:40:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-11-29T19:07:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-20T11:06:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-16T18:00:00.000-08:00

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..."

2010-10-30T16:29:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-24T17:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-18T17:16:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-09T07:48:00.001-07:00

-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

2010-10-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-09-26T17:23:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-25T10:59:00.000-07:00

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!!!!

2010-09-23T20:37:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-07T19:18:00.001-07:00

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...

2010-08-25T09:25:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-24T06:15:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-10T13:24:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-30T19:12:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-14T18:56:00.000-07:00

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.

The Dress Barn Drama

2010-07-10T19:06:00.000-07:00

This week I visited my lovely friend, Josie, and her family at their home in the burbs of Cleveland. We, as always, had a fantastic time together, which especially impressive to me because Josie has two children, aged 3 and 15 months. It takes a special friend to be as much fun as mom of two pre-schoolers as she was married without kids and even single.

In any case, Josie is always gracious to take me around to all the stores that they have in the burbs but not in Ada. My favorite is Lane Bryant, and at the LB near Josie there's a Dress Barn next door.

If there is a Dress Barn in the greater Lima region, I am unaware of it, but in any case my first impression when I saw this store was incredulity.

[editor's note: Leslie would like all her readers to know that she spelled "incredulity" correctly the first time. Feel free to be impressed.]

What marketing genius decided to name a womens clothing store "Dress Barn"? It's like naming a sandwich place "Roly Poly". There are some images that shouldn't come to mind when a potential customer looks at your company's name. One of those things would be barns.

Thoughts of "big as a barn" and "broad side of a barn" come to mind; not exactly complimentary. But whatever; last summer I had good luck at a Dress Barn in Minnesota; I'll give it a whirl (my trip to Lane Bryant having been a big disappointment, I was eager to redeem the shopping trip). Among other potential purchases, I grabbed three jackets off the clearance rack [GOD BLESS AMERICA'S OBSESSION WITH SALES!] and headed for the dressing room.

Thirty minutes later, Josie patiently and dutifully giving her opinion on each item, I had narrowed it down to two dress shirts and two jackets, from which I needed to choose one. I've been wearing the same black jacket for the past...maybe 8 years? So a jacket decision seemed important at the time.

One jacket was a short, khaki-colored trench coat. The other was black pleather. Neither coat was a normal style for me, but I liked both of them. Then we noticed some black gunk on the trench coat. We debated whether the marks would come out. Then we contemplated the potential difficultly of keeping the light-colored coat clean.

[note: I bet if you're a man, you're really glad you weren't present at this shopping trip about now]

Finally I decided against the trench coat. This left me with the decision of whether or not I was going to dive into the world of pleather clothing. Perhaps I was a bit low on protein, because the decision seemed pretty significant at the time.

In the midst of the dilemma, Josie and I had moved back to the clearance rack and there we loitered as I struggled to be decisive.

Enter Crazy Pushy Lady. She, too, was looking through the clearance rack. About 60, with gray-colored-blond hair, she pawed through the options, chatting with us as if she knew us.

[note: I keep being surprised at how often that happens here. Complete strangers will talk to each other in stores sometimes. That NEVER happens to me in Quito]

After a bit of looking, she focuses in on the pleather coat section. She tries on a couple, and remarks that the one I have must be the last one in our size, and that the other, similar black pleather jacket offered doesn't fit her as well. Josie and I are polite and say something non-committal, like, "Oh, yeah?" and go back to our own decision. A minute or so later, the woman points out another rack with more black pleather jackets. At this point Josie looks at me significantly, saying with her eyes, "Wow, this woman's a bit pushy, no?" I smile; we obligingly look at the other jackets, which I do not like. We come back and the woman asks about what we found. I say they're different and I don't really like them. She finally just comes out and says it: "I want that jacket!" She's pretending she's joking, but we all know she's not joking; she is, rather, trying to do this impolite thing politely.

I finally decide to buy the jacket I have. I'm not gonna lie: this woman's pushiness may....possibly...have influenced my decision. A skoshe. Maybe.

We head up to the cashier (Josie, not doubt breathing a discreet sigh of relief) and get up there in time to hear Crazy Pushy Lady loudly telling the cashier that she wants them to call the other Dress Barns in the area to ask them to send another of the jackets to this store. She reiterates for all of us to hear, "This one doesn't fit the same. The other one is better. It's just too bad; if I'd have come in just ONE MINUTE earlier!" blah, blah, blah. The cashiers inform her that another store can't send one because it's clearance. Crazy Pushy Lady retorts emphatically that she's drive to the other store!! It's THAT important!

I put my purchases on the counter to be rung up and Crazy Pushy Lady asks if she can just try on the jacket, just to make sure. At this point, I'm starting to get a little perturbed. I want to say, "Woman, get over yourself." Instead, I hand over the jacket.

I sneak a peek at Josie, on my other side. By now, she's rolling her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. My sentiments exactly. We finally pay and escape Crazy Pushy Lady and flee into the cool darkness of the Cleveland-suburb night. As we walk back to the car, we discuss the obnoxiousness of Crazy Pushy Lady. Josie comments that she's glad I bought the jacket just because she didn't want Crazy Pushy Lady to get it. I laughed and said it reminded me of dealing with a student who's clearly always been able to get his way at home if he nags his parents enough. Welcome to your new reality, friends! I teach middle school. If I could be worn down by persistent whining, it would have happened by now.

Poor Crazy Pushy Lady. She didn't stand a chance. And besides, the jacket looked better on me anyway. :)

Unconditional Love

2010-06-19T09:31:00.001-07:00

Wednesday night was the annual 8th Grade Blast-Off. Blast-off is a sort of un-official graduation ceremony, but instead of the school running it, the principal starts it, and the rest of the evening is spent watching parents go up on stage with their kids. They sit in the three chairs provided, and the child must listen without speaking, while the parents tell their kid whatever it is they want him or her to know. Mostly it's about why the child makes the parent proud; what the parent loves about the child; and what the parent hopes, dreams, wishes for the child's future.

Since this is my blog, and on it I'm in the habit of being honest, even when it makes me look bad, I will openly admit that I was NOT looking forward to this evening. I expected to spend a couple hours listening to proud parents gush about how wonderful their kids are, when I know very well that little Bobby is, in fact, NOT an angel, or little Susie has really got her parents fooled.

And to some extent, it was that. But mostly, it wasn't.

Several things really surprised me. The first is that several of our biggest behavioral problem-kids cried. In front of the whole 8th grade and their parents. When you're a 14-year-old boy, you'd rather have your eye gouged out than cry in front of your friends. But there they sat, many kids looking like they were braced for the electric chair, waiting to hear what their parents had to say, and as they heard it, many had tears rolling down their cheeks. Like me.

For some of the kids, it was like watching a miracle happen. Just the body language was astonishing. From stiff and cold, braced for this time of torture....a slow melting...postures relaxed, faces reddened, sometimes tears.

I found myself wondering what the kids were thinking. Many of them have very wealthy parents; they're basically raising themselves, monitored to some extent by a maid or housekeeper. When I ask for prayer requests in my classes, it's rare to have a day when someone doesn't ask for pray for a parent who's traveling internationally, often for weeks or even months at a time.

And even for the kids who have great parents, how often do they hear words like these? How often do any of us hear them? Precious, sincere expressions of love and thankfulness. Drops of honey, falling from parents' lips onto the starved lives of their children. Water in the desert.

We love you so much.

We are so thankful that God gave you to us.

We love your smile; your kind spirit; your hard work at school; your awesome talent for tennis, your unique sense of style; your dedication to skateboarding; your kindness toward your little sister; your innocence; your perseverance; your honesty; your humor.

Thank you for letting us be a part of your life.

We pray that you will keep fighting.

We hope that you will be successful.

We desire for you to be a strong man or woman of God.

We know we only have four more years with you, and we already mourn the day you'll leave.

I started thinking. Everyone needs this. Everyone needs someone who thinks you're better than you are. Everyone needs SOMEONE in their life who views them through such deep love that the realities get distorted. Such deep love that no matter what, you are the best to them. No one does THAT as well as you. No one thinks or sings or creates or writes or explains or plays or whatever....not as well as you.

You are the best to me. You couldn't possibly be more important to me. I couldn't possibly love you any more than I already do. No matter what. No matter when, or where. Or what you mess up. Or how many times you hurt me.

I. Love. You.

And as I sat there, working my way through several tissues, my butt and heart getting sore, my Father quietly whispered to my heart.

Leslie, I love you like that. Better than that, in fact. I love you the best. The most. No matter what. Even though you hurt me. Even though you're imperfect. I couldn't possibly love you more than I already do. You are my child. I made you like you are, on purpose. You're not too much. You're not not enough. You're exactly the way I want you to be. And I. Love. You.

Wow.

Cleaning Out the Fridge

2010-05-31T19:19:00.000-07:00

Sunday night I sat down to watch a little tv, and realized that more than half of my cable stations were locked out. Weird. Sadly, I had left my cell phone with a friend the afternoon before, so I had no way to contact TV Cable and remedy the situation. Instead I watched a movie.

Monday morning during my first prep period, I spent about 3 minutes on my cell phone (just retrieved from said friend) figuring out (in Spanish) that I had to be sitting in front of my tv in order for the friendly TV Cable lady to determine whether my problemo was fixable over the phone or not.

This afternoon I plopped down on my couch with my twanger (aka, remote control for the less interesting folk out there), my cell phone, and my TV Cable bureaucratic nonsense papers and called again.

This time I spent about 10 minutes helping the friendly TV Cable lady determine that my problem was, in fact, not fixable over the phone. She assured me that someone will be at my house to figure it out tomorrow between 5:30 and 8pm. I am not holding my breath.

But this post is entitled "Cleaning Out the Fridge" and not on accident. Because of this newly freed-up evening time, I have changed the light bulb in my spare room, washed all the dishes, made a big pot of chili, and, perhaps most interestingly, cleaned out my refrigerator.

I live alone and have a rather small fridge. Usually I do a pretty good job of keeping it within what I consider reasonable bounds of cleanliness [editor's note: she means the fridge doesn't smell bad and there are still one or two empty Tupperware containers in the cabinet at any given time]. However, somehow things got a little out of hand this time around, and this evening I found myself cleaning out a few doosies in the realm of rotting food.

I hate cleaning out the fridge as much as the next guy, but tonight as I scraped and sloshed my sad little past-expiration cooking experiments into the trash bag, the humor of the situation struck me. I kept thinking funny things in my head. But it's no fun to think funny things alone. And Marsha (the resident hamster) is very non-responsive about this sort of thing. I was inspired to make a list.

And so, without further ado (as if ado could go much further than seven introductory paragraphs), here's a list of things you don't want to hear (or think) while cleaning out your fridge:

-Hmm, I don't remember making that...

-Wow, I've never seen mold like that before!

-I wonder what THAT was?

-Look at all those pretty colors!!

-Do you think the dog will eat that?

-If I pass out from the fumes, I wonder if there'll be permanent brain damage?

-Whose tupperware is this? I don't remember it...?

-I think it was a different season when I made that.

-Hey, check out this mold! It's like little trees!

-Who knew that broccoli could be a solid OR a liquid?!

I hope the cable guy comes tomorrow.

I Don't Have Children

2010-05-08T07:01:00.000-07:00

So last night I watched two little boys for some friends of mine. Anyone who has known me since mid-high school may remember that I don't particularly like to babysit. I make exception for infants. But they're so easy that I feel like they shouldn't count.

Anyway, Ben and Mari were going out of town for a Happy Mother's Day/Happy Birthday Ben/Happy Anniversary getaway and asked for people to tag-team babysit their two boys (Ethan, 6 years old and Aiden, 3). It seemed like a worthy cause, so my shift was Friday night from 7:30-Saturday morning at 8:30.

-7:30pm: Dave (he and Beth had the shift before me) picks me up with the boys and takes us to the boys' house. The car smells funny. I find out that Aiden has wet his pants. I consider how much easier it will be to clean up the child than the child's car seat, and feel moderately thankful to be me instead of Dave.

-8:00pm: Pj'd, potty'd, and tooth-brushed, the boys sit on either side of me on the bedroom floor. They've each chosen one book to read before bed. Ethan's book is about different kinds of trucks, and as we look at a page with a picture of a huge excavation truck, Aiden asks in his cute baby-voice, "Is that his mouf?" (in reference to the big scoop on the front of the truck, which, admittedly, looks like a mouth) Ethan informs him in an important, big-brother voice, "No, it's not a mouf, 'cause it's not an aminal. Only aminals have moufs."

-9:00pm: boys are sleeping and I pop some microwave popcorn and pour some Coke Zero to enjoy while I watch Pride and Prejudice (the new one, which is better than the BBC version no matter what you loyal BBC-ers say). "Home free!" I think. Note the title of the post. I didn't know any better at the time...

-10:00pm: Ethan gets up, goes to the bathroom, and returns to bed, all without talking to me. I am encouraged, having been warned by Ben that either or both of the boys could wet the bed.

-12:27am: I am awakened from a dead sleep by the sound of a child calling out my name. Sortof. ("Lezy") I grab my glasses and stumble into the boys' bedroom. "What's wrong, Ethan?" "I haf to go potty." I look askanced at this child. Did he really wake me up to inform me of a need which I had personally seen him take care of himself? Ethan looked innocently back at me with bleary eyes. Yes, it seemed he had. "Ok, get up and go," I calmly replied.

-2:02am: I am awakened from a dead sleep by the sound of a child crying right next to me. Aiden is standing next to the bed, crying, and saying, "Mommy!" in the most pitiful voice I've ever heard. In my half-alseep state, I pick him up and cuddle him next to me, where Aiden immediately stops crying and I immediately begin to fall back asleep. About 20 seconds later, I begin to feel something wet and warm soaking into my pj-sleeve. My eyes pop open and I glare accusingly at Aiden, who is almost asleep again. "Aiden," I ask in my nicest baby-sitter voice, "did you wet your bed?" "Uh-huh," responds the half-alseep three-year-old.

-2:04am: I reluctantly leave the warm bed, again, dig out clean jammy-bottoms and underwear for Aiden, and change him. Then I go to investigate the bed situation. Happily, the wet spot is all the way at the head of the bed (??), so I move the pillow and blanket to the foot of the bed and Aiden happily climbs in and falls asleep. I watch him for a moment, wondering if I've just broken some good parenting rule about not letting a kid sleep in a peed-in bed, even if there's no contact with the wet spot. Then I return to bed.

-4:09am: I am awakened from a dead sleep by the sound of a child calling out my name. Glasses; stumble; ask. "A noise woke me up," was the sleepy answers. Me, too, I thought. "I think it was you, yelling for me," I replied. "It's too early to be awake. Go back to sleep, ok? I'll see you in the morning." Ethan smiles, says ok, and promptly returns to sleep.

-6:28am: I am awakened from a light sleep by the sound of a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old "whispering quietly" to each other. I groan, roll over, and pretend not to think about all the possible mischief they could be getting into.

-6:45am: The whispering tapers off, setting off alarm bells in my mind. Must be some sort of instinctual reaction. I reach for my glasses and roll over to see two small boys in the doorway, looking at me expectantly. The day has begun.

-6:56am: Ethan and Aiden watch in silent awe as I show them my contact lenses. I finish getting ready and we strip the wet beds (including mine, since Aiden so kindly shared his pee), start a load of laundry, and go in search of breakfast.

-7:49am: Breakfast is finished and we've retired to the toy room, where Ethan is playing with his cars, and I am reading a book to Aiden, wondering how early of a morning nap I might be able to pull off. In the middle of Simba's adventures on the African savanah, Aiden turns to me and says, "I'm want to hug you," and proceeds to give me a precious little 3-year-old hug. I hug him back and decide that all in all, the babysitting wasn't so bad, after all.

Unjustified Justification

2010-04-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

I have a hyper-sensitivity to criticism. I really hate it.

I know that people say that you just have to let that stuff go. I agree. But I'm really bad at that. I mean, Epic Fail bad.

Here's my usual process when some says or does something really hurtful: First I spend awhile being offended and hurt. Then I try to be practical and evaluate whether there's any truth in what's been said. But the part that annoys me the most is that even if I determine rationally that the person is wrong, I can't seem to let go. I play over and over in my mind what I would like to say. Basically, how I would defend myself.

This compulsive need to justify myself is sinful. I know. It boils down to pride. I want to prove myself right, even when the rest of the world has moved on. I would totally go up to someone and present a defense for something I did or said in 8th grade if I thought they wouldn't think I was insane.

Sometimes I try to remind myself of what a great example Jesus was for us in this area. If anyone had a reason to justify themselves, it was Jesus. There he was- left his THRONE in HEAVEN to try to talk some sense into HIS CREATION during the brief years before the KILLED him. He spoke in parables specifically so that not everyone could understand. He wasn't at all concerned about his image. Didn't care if the aristocracy thought he was crazy or ridiculous, or worse yet, a heretic.

And he knew what was on the line. Jesus invited a poor reputation and we can only assume that was because he didn't care what people thought about him. He knew that the truth seekers would find the truth. And by his own words and actions, it seems that Jesus didn't allow himself the luxury of concerning himself with everyone else. He left it at that.

Oh, that I could learn this skill from my Jesus. It's not my job to assure that everyone understands me and my thoughts and my actions and my motives. Nor is it my job to understand everyone else's thoughts, actions, or motives.

It's my job to be faithful. To do justly and love mercy and to walk humbly with my God.

Waiting for the Beeping

2010-04-24T06:42:00.000-07:00

I am sitting at my computer in the spare room in my workout clothes. It's 8:50 on a Saturday morning. I'm waiting for the gas tank truck to come beeping past my house. I was going to do a yogalates video (I know, right? If you're a girl, that's a cross between pilates and yoga; if you're a boy, it's an exercise video) first thing so that I can get in my third workout this week and so that I can put my workout clothes in with my weekly load of laundry.

But then I was awakened this morning by the beeping of the gas tank truck and THAT reminded me that I need a refill and I can't start the video until I get the refill, because otherwise I have to interrupt my workout to run frantically from my living room (in the back of the apartment) to the bedroom (in the front of the apartment) to wave them down, which isn't always effective in getting the driver's attention but IS always effective in making me on edge the whole workout, straining to hear the tell-tale beeping.

So, again, here I am at my computer, telling you, O Mysterious Cyberspace Blog Reader, the mundane details of my life; listening to "Then" by Brad Paisley; thinking about making oatmeal for breakfast when I get to that point in my morning (gas refill; workout; shower including cleaning the shower for the first time in forever while I'm in there; start laundry; THEN I get breakfast) and listening for the beeps.

In other news, last night I had a Diet Dr. Pepper. It was really wonderful. DDP is my all-time favorite drink in the world. And as you no doubt know, such things become more significant when one is being deprived of them. In all of my travels I have only twice ever seen a DDP outside of the confines of North America. Strangely enough, the first time was in a small cafe in Cambodia, of all places. It was run by a North American and though I don't recall the details of why they chose to import that particular drink, I do recall quite vividly my abounding joy as I partook.

The other time was at a party I attended at the home of the American ambassador to Ecuador during my first month in Quito. Lest you overestimate my political importance, let me assure you that said party was a potluck for the newly-arrived Americans in Quito. I thought it was ironic that at this US embassy party, we had to pay for the drinks and bring a dish to share. But hey, whatever. I likes me a good potluck. And it was a small price to pay for some DDP.

I hear beeping...

Random Thoughts Since My Life Isn't Currently Producing Blog-Worthy Material

2010-04-17T18:52:00.000-07:00

-A hummingbird buzzed by my head while I was hiking with the 7th grade in Mindo, Ecuador. It sounded like a mini-helicopter right by my ear. I could feel the breeze from his little tiny wings. It was the coolest interaction I've had with nature in a long time.

-My microwave died and I've been making do without one. Tonight I wanted to heat up some milk for hot chocolate, so I put the milk into a bowl to heat in my toaster oven (because the mug is too tall to fit in). Then when it was hot, I proceeded to spill hot milk all over my counter as I tried to pour the milk from the bowl into the mug. I did not cry.

-This weekend I attended the wedding of a friend and coworker. It was really nice. I've decided that one of the most pressing reasons that I want to get married is so that I can no longer be forced to stand up with the other single women for the bouquet toss. Worst. Tradition. Ever.

[Editor's Note: in the bride's defense, she tried to change the tradition and offered the bouquet to whomever could answer a trivia question first, but none of us could, so she resorted to the toss]

-I tried out a new recipe Friday for per nil pork in the crock pot. I got it all ready and turned it on low before I left for school. I was a little concerned that there might not be enough liquid, but double-checked the recipe and I'd followed it correctly. After school I returned to a heavenly smell in my house, but found small, charred, black hockey-pucks where I had left boneless pork chops a few hours earlier. It was sad. I had to make spaghetti for my guests instead.

And this brings us to the end of my random thoughts for the evening. Over-n-out.

Leslie Trivia

2010-03-20T20:03:00.000-07:00

On my birthday I started a 30 day trivia series on my Facebook status; one bit of Leslie Trivia for each of my thirty years. So if you're a regular FB status checker, you might opt to skip this post. But if not, I hope you enjoy reading these random facts about me!

#1: I have only used a riding lawnmower once in my life. I was about 14. When I got done, my dad asked how it went and I replied cheerfully, "I only hit two things!" I never had to mow the lawn again.

#2: During my many international travels I've eaten a lot of crazy stuff, including cold, boiled beef tongue with noodles and cheese, for BREAKFAST (Russia); blood sausage (Argentina and Spain); jellyfish tentacle (China); guinea pig (Ecuador); duck embryo (the Philippines); chicken feet (China); and a fish eyeball (China).

#3: I went through a stage in middle school where I rolled all my pairs of socks into little balls and organized them in my drawer in neat lines according to color. Then a couple years back, my friend Brooke asked why I folded my underwear. I couldn't think of a good reason. I don't fold my underwear anymore. Sometimes change is good.

#4: While I was teaching English in China, my friend Joy gave me a Chinese name which means Happy Little Pear. Another friend, Izzy, started calling me "Little Pear". It is the only nick name I've ever liked.

#5: in April of 2001, I buried a modest treasure on the beach near Finale Ligure, Italy

#6: Extensive testing shows that I am physically incapable of spreading an entire bagel with cream cheese without taking a bite somewhere in the middle of the process.

#7: Little-Known Leslie Super-Skills ~ super-fast shoelace tying ~ getting knots out of things ~ finding missing items ~ picking up stuff with my toes ~ knotting cherry stems with my tongue ~ efficient packing ~ picking the slowest check-out lane.

#8: I lived in a barn for about six months while my parents built our new house on the site of the old house. I was in sixth grade. During this time we used an outhouse. My clever father rigged it up with a heat lamp (we moved into the barn in December) and one night I fell asleep in the warm glow. That was one serious butt-ring.

#9: my pre-school teacher told my mom that she was concerned that I might have an IQ that was too low for me to be successful at the local public. Then in kindergarten I got tubes in my ears and I could hear. In second grade I got glasses and I could see. Suddenly I was a bright child. Amazing what a couple of senses will do for a kid...

#10: when I was 14, my family did a 3 week roadtrip. While in Yosemite, we all filled up our water bottles from the beautiful, clear stream. Dad assured us those "don't drink the water" signs were just for "city people". That evening as we enjoyed the sunset over the Pacific from a really long pier, I experienced what my family came to refer to as, "Yosemite's Revenge". Who knew I could run that fast?

#11: when I was a kid, I would pack a suitcase and pretend that I was traveling or living at college. Then when I actually went to college my RA called my mom during the first week and told her that she was worried that I wasn't going to make it. She'd never seen a more homesick girl. I was 2.5 hours from home. Now I live in Ecuador. Life's funny, huh?

#12: has "known" the characters in the Harry Potter series longer than anyone my current, face-to-face life

#13: I used to have a goal of visiting all six inhabited continents by the time I turned 30. Sadly, I've only been to four. But I think I'll adjust the goal to "before I turn 40" and keep trying for Australia and Africa. As I tell my kids in Study Skills class, once you make a goal, you need steps to accomplish it. Maybe step 1 should be to get a job for the money instead of because I love the work?

#14: If I ever get married I want to do it in October and have the reception in the Zeller's woods; a hayride/bonfire/wiener roast. Doesn't that sound like fun?! (ps- this is hard. I think I'm losing interest in my own birthday trivia)

#15: I thought braces were jewelry for your teeth until somewhere in middle school. I thought that the girls that I knew with braces were so beautiful, and I really wanted them.

#16: Today I got my first-ever Ecua-haircut and I'm very pleased with it. However, the summer before 4th grade, I got the worst haircut ever. I hated it but it was already really short, so there was nothing to do but let it grow out. That was the last cut I got until my sophomore year of high school.

#17: Every single member of my immediate family got married between January and September of 2005. Well, except me. I moved to China instead.

#18: Even though I feel like a middle schooler when I admit it, my favorite foods are chocolate, potato chips, and pizza. Isn't it amazing that I'm not one big zit?

#19: my senior year of college I choreographed and performed a music video for the song "Ojos Asi" by Shakira with my three partners for a final project in my Spanish class. We got an A

#20: I had my first glass of wine in Paris. I had my first beer in Germany. I had my first sangria in Spain. I can't say that I was overly excited about any of them...but a Diet Dr. Pepper? Now you're talkin'!

#21: I turned 21 while I was living in Berlin. Ironically, since the drinking age there is 18, no one really notices 21. However, the students in my German language class brought me a big chocolate muffin with candles and sang happy birthday to me, each in their own language. I was sung to in 7 or 8 languages that year.

22: My 22nd birthday was February 20, 2002, or 20/02/2002. At 8:02pm (20:02) I was on my way to the Warsaw, IN YMCA with some friends, and we stopped to take a picture of the local bank clock at 20:02 on 20/02/2002. The last time this happened was at 10:01am on October 1, 1001 and it will never happen again and it was my 22nd birthday. Cool, huh?

23: During my senior year of high school I memorized all the verses to the Animaniacs' states and capitols song because I was required to produce them all for my US Government class. It worked really well and I can still sing remember the first verse, "Baton Rouge, LA; Indianapolis, IN: and Columbus is the capitol of O-Hi-O; there's Montgomery, AL; south of Helena, MT; then there's Denver, CO and-a Boise, ID. Texas has Austin, then we go north, to MA- Boston and Albany, NY. Tallahassee, FL and Washington, DC. Santa Fe, NM and Nashville, TN.

#24: When I was 8 my parents took us camping in November. It was FREEZING and due to a severe drought, we couldn't have a fire and the water had been shut off in the remote state park where we stayed. However, one night as we walked to the bathrooms before going to bed (at 8pm because we were bored) we got to see an AMAZING show of Northern Lights. Still one of the most magical things I've ever seen.

#25: two lies and one truth; you guess which is true (ps: if you were present at the event, you don't get to vote) 1. I took the Polar Plunge in the Volga River while I lived in Russia. 2. I performed an acapella song in an Italian restaurant in Berlin. 3. I got up at 2:30am to watch Argentina win a match in the World Cup the summer I lived in Buenos Aires (2002).

#26: Lilacs are my favorite flower.

#27: On the weekend of my 13th birthday, my (well-meaning) father forced me to go to the middle school Valentine's dance. I wore a teal silk shirt which was bought new for the occasion. It was the most horrible two-hour segment of my whole life. I still have not gone to another dance. Ever. Not even my prom. And I haven't regretted it for a second.

#28: I remember the moment when reading clicked for me. I was riding in the car with my family on the west side of town. We passed a Laz-Z-Boy. It was the first thing I read on my own and I remember thinking, "OH! I get it!" For the rest of the trip home I read every sign out loud until my mom finally asked me to stop. :)

#29: God has an ironic sense of humor. When I was in middle school I remember wondering what would ever possess someone to teach middle school. When I was choosing a college, I looked for a school with a major where I could use language in some capacity other than teaching or business. Now I'm a middle school language teacher. Never say never.

#30: I think it's appropriate that my final trivia day falls on my late mother's birthday. My mom was an amazing women; she taught me so much. She would have been 58 today. My final bit of trivia is that my mom is my hero. It's such a huge compliment to me when people tell me I remind them of her.

Recipes, please??

2010-03-19T21:01:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'm back and feeling better. AND I'm asking for your tried-and-true (and preferably easy) healthy recipes. I need stuff that's low carb, low fat, and has a low glycemic index.

[Editor's Note: If you're not familiar with glycemic index, it is a way to measure how quickly your body processes the food. A generalization is that bad-for-you-yet-tasty foods (sweets, breads, pastas, etc) have a high GI, and less tasty stuff (whole grains, veggies, not-sweet fruits) are lower. In any case, if your recipe is low carb, it's probably already low GI.]

Anyway, I would really appreciate your advice. Keep in mind that I live in Ecuador, so I don't have access to a lot of convenience/processed foods. Oh, and I bought a used juicer today, so if you have good veggie juice recipes, I'd love those, too.

Thanks in advance, kids!!

The Last Straw

2010-03-18T19:41:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER: I feel angry and frustrated and I'm using this post to vent. Please do not put a cliche comment at the end, ok? I'm sure it's well intentioned, but don't. Thanks.

This afternoon I went to the doctor for my annual check up. It's a new doctor, so I got to go over all the medical history, all the family history, etc. In Spanish. When it was all done, the doctor gave me the big spiel:

-you need to lose weight

-you need to bump your exercise from twice a week to four times a week

-you shouldn't drink pop- not even diet

-you should eat small meals throughout the day

-you should eat lots of salad, especially at supper

This is not new information for me. I could write a book. But you know what's put me over the edge from "Yah, I should really try. Again." to "NO!! WHY must I do everything I hate and not do everything I like?!?!?! I REFUSE. Just, no."? Know what did that?

No diet pop.

I've heard all the rest before, but this is a new rule. According to this doctor, studies show that people gain weight when they drink diet soft drinks and know one can figure out why.

You know what? I'm not supposed to eat sugar or bread or pasta or potatoes or processed anything or basically anything that tastes good. I am supposed to eat salad. I hate salad. And veggies and boring meat that's good for you cause there's no fat to give it flavor. Nothing that's easy or convenient. Everything that's not. And now I can't even drink diet coke? Seriously?!?

I give up. I don't usually feel rebellious, but tonight I do. Tonight I'm angry and tired of trying and failing. And being told to try harder. I just don't want to.

If Only We'd Known...

2010-02-26T19:31:00.000-08:00

I monitor a class each day that's called GRC and is basically a cross between a study hall and private tutoring. Twice a quarter I send our paperwork for my students' teachers to fill out. The forms ask for students' current grades in their courses, missing work, upcoming projects/test/quizzes, and comments.

After I collect all the paperwork, I have a mini-conference with each student to go through their class info and talk about how they're doing. The kids usually look forward to this time. There are lots of conversations that go like this:

Me: So, Mr. X says you're having trouble with quizzes. Does that sound right?

Student: Yah, I guess.

Me: Any ideas why you might be having trouble with quizzes?

Student: ....Umm....well....maybe I could study more?

Me: Yah, that seems like a great plan. Let's try that...

This week I was going through said routine with my kids. I call a student up to talk, and the other students work on homework. I have a very small classroom, so everyone is hearing what's being said. I don't like it, but can't really leave the room.

So I was conferencing with Maria (names have been changed to protect the...guilty? :) ). Maria has some trouble keeping her mouth to herself during class. Even if I didn't have her in three classes myself, I could have guessed that from the consistent complaints about talking from every teacher.

I was on Maria's 4th or 5th review out of six. We were basically repeating the same dialog for each subject:

Me: Hmm, Miss Y says that you need to stop talking in class...?

Maria: (look of surprise and indignance) I'm not TALKING!

Me: Really? Why would Miss Y say you were if you weren't?

Maria: Ok, so I'm sitting in class and I have to ask Camila for a pencil and Miss Y says, "MARIA! Stop talking!!"

(I stare dubiously at Maria for a moment)

Me: So how did you ask for a pencil without talking? Are you blinking out the message in moris code?

Maria: But I was just asking for a pencil!!!

Me: So you WERE, in fact, talking...

Maria: But!!

Me: Ok, the rule is no talking. How can we solve your pencil problem AND keep your from getting in trouble with Miss Y? Ideas?

Maria: I could bring my own pencil to class?

Me: EUREKA! I think that's a great plan. Let's try that.

As Maria and I hammered out ideas for how to annoy her teachers less, one of my other students, Josué, stops working on his homework and looks up at us thoughtfully.

And then these hilarious, heartening words spilled from his sincere middle-schooler lips:

"You know, Maria, sometimes in class it kinda helps to pay attention."

No sarcasm. No attitude. It was moment of heartfelt sharing of "new and profound" information.

I laughed long and loud. Then I repeated Josué's profundity for the whole class.

Me: Everyone! I want you to remember this wise thing Josué just said: Sometimes in class it kinda helps to pay attention.

Touché, Josué. Touché.

The Valentine's Day Cookies

2010-02-15T14:53:00.000-08:00

This year I decided to make some cut-out cookies for Valentine's Day. I've never done that before. I think maybe the fact that I didn't really get to make Christmas cookies this year influenced my decision? Anywho, I knew I had a little heart cookie cutter and had never used it. So I mixed up the dough and put it in the fridge to do whatever sugar cookies do during the obligatory "one hour or overnight" stint in the fridge. Then I went in search of said cookie cutter.

I couldn't find it. I have a tiny kitchen, so it didn't take me long to realize that either I'd lost the cookie cutter or it's in Ohio in storage and I was mistaken in thinking I'd brought it along to Quito when I moved here 18 months ago.

Dangit. Now what? I considered using a knife and cutting them freehand. Thought about that for about 2 seconds. Nah. Then I contemplated just using a glass and making round cookies. But that seemed boring and not very Valentine's-y. I scanned back over a year and a half of shopping here to detect any heart-shaped cookie cutters in my memory. Nope.

Then, a stroke of genius hit me. I did have a set of Christmas cookie cutters from my awesome former Roosevelt House roommates (they sent me a care package last Christmas). I could take one of them and reshape it into a heart, right? I decided to give it a whirl.... here's the before and after:

This isn't the actual cutter I reshaped, cause I didn't take a picture of it before. But it was very similar to this little gingerbread guy.

Tah-dah! My first-ever metalworking masterpiece!

And the best part is that the cookies looked better than the cutter! Here's a picture:

What do you mean, "where's the missing cookie"? I couldn't very well not try the cookies to make sure they're safe, could I?

So, on my last round, I didn't have enough dough for a whole cookie sheet. Instead I baked them in my toaster oven. The extent to which I burnt those cookies may be indicative of how poorly (and slowly) my regular oven cooks. Maybe. :)

I just thought the contrast was comical.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Toothpaste and Carrots

2010-02-05T20:26:00.000-08:00

Just now I opened the box of my new tube of toothpaste. If you're a regular reader, you may recall the fiasco of dropping the cap from my last tube down my drain. I finally used up that tube and once again have a cap on my toothpaste. Best of all, it's a flip-cap, so I don't have to worry about a repeat of the drain situation.

But believe it or not, I have a more random story to relate. As I was breaking the box down to throw it away, I was reminded of a Christmas while I was in middle school that I chose to put each of the gifts I was giving in some sort of household item box. And the gift that I remember most vividly from that Christmas season was definitely blog-worthy.

I hand-sewed a plush carrot for my friend Alicia Evilsizor.

Yes, you read that right. A carrot. Why? I have no idea. And in case that isn't weird enough, I'm fairly certain I boxed the carrot in a Velveeta Cheese box. Yep. Alicia received from me a hand-sewn. plush carrot boxed in a Velveeta Cheese box.

Kids are weird.

Journal Entry: August 13, 2008

2010-02-03T18:37:00.000-08:00

I'm living in a city.

Again.

I'm a country girl, farm-raised. I love the feel of nothing around me but cow pastures and bean fields.

And here I am, living surrounded by millions of other people.

People so thick, they're stacked several stories high. Walled in by concrete and glass. Organized into blocks and neighborhoods and separated by strips of asphalt.

Lights stretch to the horizon; beyond it, even. Farther than I can see. They shield the stars from sight.

My soul is pressed in upon by the crush of humanity.

Rich people in their SUVs with their suits and tinted windows.

Poor people in ragged, faded clothes, hawking their wares.

Moms with babies, bundled fiercely against the chill.

Teenagers, laden with hormones and insecurities.

Bus drivers, teachers, politicians, housewives, store vendors. All with separate but interwoven lives. All working, playing, resting, loving, laughing, talking, winning and losing, in the same space.

Traffic ebbs and flows. Shifts begin and end. The new arrive. The old depart. The city breathes- one more day crosses over from present to past.

And as it does, I sit and watch it from the perspective of my third-floor window. As insignificant and as critical as every other person who passes under my gaze on the sidewalk below.

Babies!

2010-01-30T11:01:00.000-08:00

Babies are cute. In general. Some babies are less cute than others. Especially when they're newborns. I mean, seriously? Newborns often look like aliens. Personally, I think this is where the pictures of aliens originated.

Of course, everyone thinks their own baby is the cutest baby EVER, regardless of how misshapen his or her head may be; no matter how scaly it's skin or how many baby pimples it has on its face. Sometimes I get email forwards from friends asking me to vote for their kid on some cutest-kid-contest thing. Some of their kids are legitimately cute, but other times I can't bring myself to vote for them. It seems too close to flat-out lying. Clearly, this temporary suspension of reason is a gift from God, which prevents new parents from saying, "Huh. That's disappointing. Our kid's...well, not so cute. Maybe we could trade him in?"

I think that bi-racial babies are always the cutest. I've often thought that I wouldn't mind marrying someone of a different race just for this reason. Then next in line of cuteness after bi-racial babies are any race of babies other than white. [Editor's Note: clearly, this list excludes my own nieces and nephew. Though they are white, they are quite obviously the cutest children on the planet]

Today as I looked at a friend's facebook photo album and saw a picture of a stinkin' cute Chinese baby, I started thinking about this topic. I swear, in my whole year of living in China I never saw a not-cute Chinese baby. That CAN'T be just a coincidence, can it?

I wonder if everyone thinks their own race's babies are less cute than other races' babies, just because they more likely to see their own race? Or is it really just that white babies are the least cute? Does this opinion mean I'm some variety of backwards-racist?

If you are a race other than Caucasian, I would love to hear your opinion on baby cuteness. Well, actually, if you're white, I'd like to hear what you have to say, too. So, if you're human, please feel free to comment. And here's to the cuteness of babies around the world! Yay for babies!

Grocery Run

2010-01-16T18:06:00.000-08:00

The other day I was talking to my very-cool friend, Josie, about how I HATE to go to the grocery. Josie thought this odd, as she enjoys grocery shopping.

So do I, when I live in the land of independence and convenience. Sadly, I live in Ecuador right now. :) Well, not like it's always sad. But in the area of grocery shopping, definitely sad.

After a long day of teaching ESL middle schoolers, I walk to the store. Just down from the school, I see an Ecuadorian man come around the corner- SKIPPING! Please take a moment to recall the last time you saw an adult skip. This guy was wearing a suit and tie. It made me smile.

I climb the steps to the pedestrian overpass, trying to ignore the stench of urine [it's common here for men to whiz on the sidewalks, and the slightly-more-sheltered overpasses are, apparently, spots of choice].

On the corner I pass the lady selling produce out of her basket. One time I bought some avacados from her. This was before I learned that it's not uncommon for the street produce sellers to try to pass off their poorest quality produce to the clueless gringas. Like me. She sold me avacados that were so overripe that I ended up throwing them away. Every time I pass her on her corner I remind myself to learn the Spanish word for "cheat".

I enter the store and am pleased to see that it's not particularly crowded. I grab a cart and dig out my shopping list. Fruits, veggies, meats... I see what looks, at first glance, like stew meat. I pick up a package and look closer...hmm, could be stew meat, or could be some sort of organ meat. The word on the label is one I don't know. I consider asking someone, but realize that I don't really have the specialized vocabulary to say, "Hey, is this stew meat or some sort of organ meat?" in Spanish. Not a chance I'm willing to take. So I put it back and make a mental note to ask around for the words I need before my next trip.

I gather my groceries, with a couple more "I don't know enough" moments, and get in line. I have a particular gift for choosing the slowest check-out lane, and so I wait a long time to get checked-out (in Ecuador's defense, this was true in the States, too).

While I was being checked-out, I have a weird, surreal sort of moment. The cashier said a few things to me that I understood and replied to coherently. The same thing happened with the bag boy. It was all so strangely smooth that I thought suddenly, "I live in Ecuador. When I'm out, I speak in Spanish. And on good days, it works. Hmm."

Still feeling a smidgen odd about how normal my life here seems sometimes, I tell the bad boy I need a cab. He wheels my groceries to the sidewalk while I dig around in my purse for the $.50 tip I will give him once my stuff is loaded into the trunk.

Finally, a cab pulls up. I jump in and direct the driver to my address. He doesn't know where it is, which is pretty unusual. I give some more specific directions, and feel quite satisfied when his face lights up and he happily announces that NOW he knows where I mean.

We pull up to my gate without too much trouble, and he helps me unload my bags onto the sidewalk. I pay him, get my change, and move my stuff from the sidewalk inside the gate, so that it's not-so-stealable. I go through the standard internal debate: do I try to carry everything in one trip to the third-floor, or take two lighter loads? I decide for the faster option and nearly cut off the circulation to my hands in the process. I get inside, dump my bags on the counter and catch my breath.

I start to unload the food, getting out my big plastic bowl to decontaminate the produce. To avoid various and sundry amoebas, parasites, etc., you have to soak your fresh fruits and veggies before you eat them. They sell stuff here to do it, or you can use bleach. I prefer the non-bleach flavor. I set the first batch of green beans to soak and unload and put away the rest. I open some items and divide them into single-person size, re-wrap them, and put them in the freezer. Three more loads of decontamination and I'm done.

So there it is. I'm home and unpacked and have food. Now I just have to prepare some of it for supper!

Blessed Beyond the Curse

2010-01-10T19:05:00.000-08:00

This song really spoke to me this morning in the service:

I am pressed but not crushed

Persecuted; not abandoned

Struck down but not destroyed

I am blessed beyond the curse

For his promise will endure

And his joy's gonna be my strength

Though the sorrow may last for the night

His joy comes with the morning

I recognize that, compared to some Believers around the world, my persecutions and pressed moments don't even register. But I think that to say that my sufferings don't matter because they're minor is like a high schooler looking at 3rd grade homework and scoffing. Our sufferings may be minor to some, but they are never minor to us.

Anyway, the point is the bolded lines:

I am blessed beyond the curse for his promise will endure.

Not that I escape the curse. Not even the earth and the rest of Creation escaped the curse. But my blessing as a daughter of the King is more powerful than the curse that I live under each day. I have the hope of the day that's coming; the day that Creation and all the children of the King will be freed from the curse.

And that, friends, is good news regardless of your personal level of suffering.

Remember to live in victory. The battle is won. We win! And one day our reality will reflect this Truth.

New Year's Eve, Quito-Style

2010-01-03T09:53:00.000-08:00

Welcome, everyone, to 2010! I like this year already. Hope it's treatin' you ok, too.

Before I get started with New Year's Eve in Quito, let me throw out an enthusiastic "Happy Day of Birth" to my favorite little brother, Josh. He will be...let's see...28 tomorrow! Wow, is he old! Happy Birthday, Porge. I love you and I hope it's your best year yet!

So, on to some pictures of my New Year's Eve. Though staying in the city wasn't my first choice for Christmas break, it did have its advantages. One example is getting to see New Year's Eve celebrated, Quito-style. Here are some pictures and memories of the night...

[editor's note: these pictures are courtesy of Leslie's friend, Rick Sams]

I spent the evening with friends at the Saavedras' house. We did a sleep-over party. Everyone else who stayed has little kids, so most of them were out long before the New Year arrived. We ate yumminess and talked the last of 2009 away. Then, a few minutes before midnight we went up on the Saavedras' building roof to watch the fireworks. It was pretty amazing...

According to photographer Rick, this is a "doctored" shot. This is several minutes of action caught in one shot via the miracle of a longer exposure time.

Pretty much everyone sets off their own fireworks, which is fun because there's stuff to see all around- 360 degrees of light explosions. However, that also means that any Joe-shmoe off the street can set off fireworks. :) Our neighbors set some off that hit other houses and caused us to fear, just a little bit, for our lives. :) I'm sure I've never been this close. It was that fun, sorta scary/very exciting feeling, standing on the roof, watching in amazement.

After watching fireworks for awhile, we left the roof and headed for the street to experience another Ecuadorian tradition: burning the old year. For about a week before the 31st, you can find effigies for sale on the streets. Some look like politicians or other well-known people, but many are just generic old men. Burning the "old year" symbolizes putting the past behind, and preparing to face the new year ahead. The picture above is us getting ready to burn our old year.

Due to the low oxygen content (at our altitude, we enjoy about 20% less oxygen in our air than at sea level), things don't burn as easily here. We experienced this up close and personal as we tried to burn our old year. As we watched and waited, we gringos also watched all the neighbors burning their own old years. Clearly, they knew something we didn't. :)

A third custom here is to walk around the block with a suitcase at midnight. This symbolizes that travel will be part of your new year. Since everyone in our group is living and working overseas, we decided there would probably be more than enough travel in our 2010 without doing a lap around the block. :)

Eventually our old year started burning well. We watched for awhile and then decided that it was time for the first night's sleep of the new year.

Happy 2010 Everyone! I hope this year treats you well!

New Year's Curtains

2009-12-28T08:57:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-20T18:08:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-12-12T08:15:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-07T13:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-30T19:42:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-17T10:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-10-03T19:41:00.000-07:00

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?!?"