Carharts and Camo

I just wanted to pop in to say, have you ever sat down to think about what makes America great? Lots of things, no doubt, but at this particular time in my life I'm pretty convinced that limitless refills on fountain drinks is one of them.

Especially at restaurants that serve Diet Dr. Pepper. A never-ending flow of Diet Dr. Pepper... That's liquid happiness right there.

And while I'm on the subject, here is a list of reasons why I love home. In five words or less:

-rednecks are good people
-TV
-real, lung-cleansing cold
-crazy, wonderful family
-Union Chapel Missionary Church
-country music
-Wal-Mart
-driving myself in a car
-wide-open spaces
-a real kitchen
-naps every day
-understanding...culture and language
-lots of hugging

Hope you're all enjoying the last few days of 2008. Hasta pronto!

Christmas is A-Comin'

In case anyone's counting down with me, only eight days remain between me and a long, boring, FANTASTIC day of flying home for Christmas! That's one more week of school...complete with four Christmas parties, a two grammar quizzes and a Bible verse quiz (lest anyone accuse me of being a cake-teacher). And, not to be overlooked, an ice-skating party with the entire Middle School.



Yes, IMPACT is at it again. Now don't get me wrong; I love teaching Middle School. But I prefer the small doses of my classes (11-4 students per class) to the whole group together. Together they get a little...um, "squirrelly" is perhaps an apt adjective. A few too many hormones and a little less structure than is probably best. But we all need a bit of non-structure I suppose, to learn to manage ourselves without outwardly-imposed rules. I just wish that practice time weren't on my watch. Well, anyway, Alice (the aid of one of my students) has promised to sit with me on the bleachers and giggle at the kids with me. So not a total loss.



I've been trying to remember enough of the funny stuff I see around town to make a list of things for you. Enjoy!



You Might Live in Quito at Christmas Time If...



-Fireworks go off at all hours of the day, for no discernible reason


-All the billboards of Santa Claus say "Jo jo jo" (pronounced like "ho ho ho")


-Christmas time means an increase in crime (boo)

-You come back from your Thanksgiving trip to the beach (which cost you about $100 total for three days) and rejoice in how "cold" it is, even though you can still wear short-sleeves.


-Your Chinese take-out comes with a packet of ketchup and they don't have chopsticks. (admittedly not Christmas related)

-At the school Christmas concert, during the explanation of St. Nickolas (who was from Turkey) the Spanish emcee announces that St. Nick came from "Pavo" (which means turkey like the bird; Turkey like the country is "Turquia")

-The elementary Christmas program is totally bilingual, with some songs sung in eight languages.

-You joyfully stood in the POURING RAIN to pick out a Christmas tree at Parque Carolina

-You spend more time in the mall than normal because it feels like Christmastime inside.


Merry Christmas Everyone!

Christmas Miracle

Yesterday I saw an actual miracle happen. And as a result, I'm getting to go home for Christmas! I can't even believe how fantastic it is!

What happened was that a friend of mine, another teacher here, was talking to her dad about Christmas break, and I guess she mentioned that one of the other teachers wasn't getting to go home or have visitors over Christmas. He suggested that he could pay for part of my ticket! And then I found a good price on a ticket, and THEN my own dad said maybe he could help out a bit too, so North America, here I come!

For those who are interested, I'll be flying into Columbus on the 21st and back out on January 2nd. Whee! If you're able/interested in meeting up, let me know!

So with a little internet searching I have come up with a visual representation of the series of steps from the time I heard that someone wanted to help pay for my ticket, until today.

Step 1- skepticism...



Step 2- shock...

Step 3- Glee...

And at step 3 I remain...gleefully expectant of my upcoming surprise trip home! Whee!

In a totally unrelated point, while I was finding the above pictures, I ran across this one which I thought was so random and surprisingly humorous that I wanted you to enjoy it, too. (For me the funniest part was how long it took me to figure out the point of the picture.)

Thanksgiving, Take 2

Well, as it turned out, my internet access this weekend was limited. But I'm back home in Quito now, and ready to think about being thankful. Here is my current list of things to be thankful for:

-A fantastic, cheap trip to the beach
-A family that makes me prefer being home for the holidays over the beach
-The fact that my 34 bug bites and painful sunburn will be fade before long
-A mom that was so great that thinking about her brings me to tears, four years after her death
-A job that I love and that is significant and fulfilling
-The hope of visiting the US this summer
-Christmas music
-Friends on five continents
-A dad that loves me and is regularly sacrificial in showing that love
-A whole suitcase of stuff from the states after Christmas!
-No mosquitos in Quito
-My digital camera...a gift from my family at Union Chapel
-My sister, who loves me in spite of how different we are and all we've been through
-Access to an English library
-Spanish is easier than Mandarin
-My brother, who send me pictures of his kids...and his hunting trophies
-Christmas Eve with the Olsens
-Email, Vonage, Facebook, and Blogging
-A relationship with the God of the universe. who loves me enough to save me from myself.

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving, Everyone!

Giving Thanks

This is the generic Thanksgiving greeting that shall be replaced with something more meaningful, possibly even amusing and/or profound, at some point this weekend. If I have access to internet. And if I can drag myself away from the beautiful beaches of Ecuador.

This is Same Beach (pronounced "sah-may"), where I'm going. Whee!

Autointerview

In which the author is again interviewed...by herself.

Interviewer: So Les, it's Friday again. How was the week?

Leslie: Not too bad. We had so many shortened weeks in a row that these past couple normal weeks have been a little rough. But now we're a 2.5-day-week away from Thanksgiving break!

I: Right, Turkey Day's around the corner. Any plans?

L: I'm so glad you asked! I'll be hopping an 8-hour public bus to the beach for Thanksgiving. I'm pretty excited because I've heard the beach here is awesome, and because it's a chance to escape the city. Plus, I've never been west of Quito, so I'll get to experience another region of the country. Did I mention we're going to the OCEAN???

I: Yep, I think we caught that. So who's "we"?

L: I'm going with the girls from my Bible Study; basically most of the single women at school. And a couple of boyfriends for good measure. :) I mean, the boyfriends are attached to specific girls; not like, "a couple to share around". :)

I: You've been in Ecuador for about 3.5 months now. Is anything about the place starting to get on your nerves?

L: Well, let me begin with the qualifier that I LOVE living here. It's pretty easy. I mean, for a foreign country. Lots of things I really like...

I: I feel a "but" coming on.

L:...but, I'm about to go crazy over the STINKIN' CAR ALARMS!!! When I first arrived, a neighbor jokingly mentioned the car alarm as the national anthem of Ecuador. She was not kidding. Every morning. Every night. Every afternoon. I cannot for the life of me figure out the reason. Are they checking to be sure their alarms work? Do they abhor the silence? Are they not able to figure out how to prevent the alarm from going off? No clue. So far this remains the annoying mystery of Quito. If I ever find out the answer, I'll let you know.

I: How's the orphaned visitation going?

L: Great! This week I went for my second visit. We took the bus this time so that we can learn how to get their on our own. Busses here, as in many developing countries, are more an art than a science. You have to know where to wait for one (there are rarely marked bus stops) and where to ask to be let off. But it's much cheaper; the trip by bus is 25 cents; by taxi is about $3.50.

I: Were the babies as cute and squishy as your first visit?

L: Definitely. I worked mostly with the bigger babies this time, so I was more tired at the end. But it's also fun because they are starting to be able to respond. I love to cuddle the itty-bitty ones, but it's pretty hard to beat the feeling when a baby holds up her arms, asking you to hold her.

I: On Thursday evening you went to the high school play. How was it?

L: I was really pleasantly surprised! This was my first Alliance performance, and you know how high school plays can be; one doesn't hold one's breath. But I was impressed. It was funny. A lot of that humor comes from the multi-cultural makeup of the student body (and therefore of the actors). Sometimes they mixed Spanish in with the English script. The Asian kids purposefully switched their pronunciation of "r" and "l". The Hispanic kids hammed up their accents. At one point, one actor asks the other one, "How do you say 'parade' in Spanish?" The reply was, "I don't know....'parade-o'?" This line was met with uproarious laughter; hilarious because in the American-school-in-Ecuador, ex-pat, MK, TCK- filled auditorium, we all can relate far too well to this sort of grasping at linguistic straws. In all, it was a fun couple of hours. AND at intermission the sophomore class was raising money by selling STINKING AWESOME rice crispy treats and chewy, delicious molasses cookies. Mmm-hmmm.

I: Have you tried anything new recently?

L: Just today I cut up my first fresh pineapple.

I: Really? That seems like something you would have already tried. After all, you could do that in the U.S., and in China.

L: This is true. But, uh, nope. Maiden pineapple voyage was tonight.

I: How'd it go?

L: Not too bad. I ended with the feeling that perhaps a bit of instruction would have produced better results. But in spite of my distinct lack of pineapple-carving finesse, it still tasted good.

I: I know that you usually develop an intense craving or two when you live abroad. Has any particular desire risen to the surface yet?

L: Well, one of my roommates keeps getting packages from home that include a ridiculous twist on Cheetos, called Flaming Cheetos. They're so hot that they burn your mouth, but the worst part is that they're so maddeningly close to the real thing that it's torturous to refuse. So as a result, I've developed a pretty healthy (or perhaps more accurately, unhealthy) craving for crunchy Cheetos.

I: Wow, that must be rough. And yet you soldier on!

L: True. I come from tough stock. No Cheetos craving is going to get me down!!

I: (ahem) Well, that is most encouraging. I'm sure we all admire your...fortitude.

L: As well you should.

I: Anything else noteworthy before we close?

L: Yes, two things. First, it's annoying to me that, for whatever reason Blogger refuses to spell-check my posts. And secondly, it's almost "the holidays", which is the traditionally accepted time to start wishing you were able to be together with family. Of course, I've always been an early-bloomer in the area of missing family. So far it hasn't been too bad. But I'm sortof bracing myself for the onslaught.Therefore, may it be known that if anyone is bored and needs holiday plans, feel free to come visit me in Quito.

I: Ok. I'll pass on the news. Thanks for talking to me, Leslie. I hope you have a good weekend, and a good time at the beach.

L: Thanks! Over-n-out.

Babies, Babies, Babies,,,

So yesterday I finally got to go to the babies house at a local orphanage. It was so wonderful! I can't even express how amazing it was. The house has 16 babies, all of them young enough that they can't walk yet, or are just starting. I saw three workers while I was there, so it wasn't like the horror stories you hear about in government-run orphanages. The babies seemed to be clean, happy, and healthy. But still; a ratio of 1 adult for five babies isn't great. So we (two friends and I) walked in, and basically just started picking up whichever kid we wanted.

There were three rooms, with about five babies per room. I got to hold and feed and talk to two little tiny babies- I know one was only two weeks old, and the other looked younger than that, even) and three other, older babies. They all seemed really healthy and happy- responsive and active, although several of the kids clearly had some medical or developmental problems. No doubt, those issuess played into their being at the orphanage in the first place.

All that to say I can't wait to go back.

Can't.

Wait.

Can you even imagine?! Just babies, all of them needing love and attention! It was heavenly.

Babies are the best. So soft and squishy and trusting. Their little eyes say, "Really? You're here to hold me and play with me? Ok!" Holding babies must be the world's easiest ministry.

Except the leaving part. I know that crying isn't necessarily bad for babies, but the sound still grabs ahold of your heart and yanks. Leaving was terrible. But at least I can go back. I'm hoping to go regularly; once a week. I'll try to remember to get some pictures.

Ah, babies. They make my heart happy.

Jesus and The Woman

I'm memorizing John 7:53-8:11 right now. I picked this particular passage because I love the story, and more specifically the way Jesus deals with this woman.

In my years of listening to sermons, chapels, devotionals, etc., I've heard a lot of different parts of this story brought out, but tonight as I was reading something new caught my eye.

The final two words of the story: "of sin".

Jesus has already done a stellar job of telling off the religious leaders who have tried to use this woman as a pawn to trap him. "If any of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her."

Shazzam! Even the elders took that to heart, dropped their stones and left in shame.

They've all gone. All of them. Only Jesus and the woman remain, in a silent tableau; Jesus, by now a famous teacher, prophet, and teller-off of the religious leaders; and the woman. Caught in the act of adultery.

No doubt this day would go down in the woman's list of Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Days. Did she love the guy? Was she selling her body to feed herself or her family? Was it even her choice?

We don't know any of that. What the scripture says is that Jesus, who'd been intensely interested in the dust for the past couple of minutes, straightens up, tells the woman that he doesn't condemn her, and sends her on her way, with one last, significant instruction:

"Go now, and leave your life of sin."

POW! There it is. She was guilty and Jesus knew it. And yet he did not condemn her, neither in public or in private. In fact, he defended her!

I mean, seriously. I could see him standing up for someone who really was innocent. But this? This is revolutionary. He knew, and still he saved her life.

He knows me. Better than any of you. I can put on a pretty good show, but He knows me. He knows the things I keep hidden. The sins I excuse or hide or pretend aren't there.

He knows I'm guilty, but still he saved my life.

Don't rush past this miracle of miracles. Stop and ponder; savor it for a minute: Jesus knows, but still...

Still, day after day he intercedes for my dirty, unworthy, sinful soul before his Father. Not because I deserve it, or because I'm sorry. Not even because he thinks I won't do it again. He knows. But he does it because he loves me THAT MUCH. Me! He loves ME!

And not just me- he does this for all of us who will let him. He wades through a landslide of sins. A mountain of filth. Our filth. A garbage dump of our fallenness.

He knows. And he loves us still.





John 7:53-8:11

Then each went to his own home. But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. At dawn he appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, "Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?"
They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.
But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, "If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her."
Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.
At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?"
"No one, sir," she said.
"Then neither do I condemn you," Jesus declared. "Go now and leave your life of sin."

Memories of Mindo

As I write from my dining room table, I can see the clouds lying low on the mountains and hear the thunder crash nearby. It's been raining most of the morning, and I'm happy to be warm and dry in my apartment. Last night I got back from my trip to Mindo with the 7th graders. Here are some highlights for you: -Mindo: a small town on the other side of Mt. Pichincha (which I can see from my window), began turning itself into an eco-tourist hotspot a couple decades back. Until that time the people there had been harvesting the forests and raising cows. Now there are lots of tourist attractions, like zip-lining, tubing in the rivers, waterfalls, a butterfly conservation place, and lots of hostels. It's still a little place, though, and definitely out in the sticks.

-Our Group: We were six adults (three teachers, including Janelle (science/math teacher and trip leader), Andrew (history/English teacher), and me) and three volunteer sponsors (Mari- school counselor, Len (my pastor here and a parent), and Brett (my neighbor and a parent). We busied ourselves with 34 7th graders.

-Activities: We left at 8:30 Thursday morning and got back about 6pm Friday. We visited the butterfly farm, tubed down the river (I actually got out of that by volunteering to drive the bus back to the hostel- first chance to drive in three months!!), took three hikes, played games, and went swimming in a river.

-Funny stories:

Medicinal Plants: On one of our hikes we were split into groups, so I was with my 9 kids and our Ecuadorian guide, Alfredo. Alfredo led us up a slipper mountain side (it rained the whole time), stopping regularly to point out special plants that the locals use (or have used in the past) to remedy various ailments and for other practical purposes. It was really interesting. I managed not to fall down or step in any cow droppings (unlike several of my kids) and was happy NOT to have met up with any of the snakes that Alfredo told us we might see.
So the trail was narrow and we were walking single-file, Alfredo in front, me at the end. Whenever he told us about something, one of the kids in the middle would holler back to us what he said, because we couldn't hear in the rain. As Alfredo was talking about a specific plant with green leaves and pink tips, he told us that it was used for medicine. "What kind of medicine?" asks Levi. Alfredo looks at me, which was odd, and finally says, "Problemas menstruales." As this information filters to the end of the line, a hilarious variety of reactions follow it- from confusion to embarrassment to innocent oblivion. Levi (an MK and Spanish learner) says, "What's that?" Giggling and awkward silence. Finally I answer him, "Girl problems." Levi promptly turns red and I tell the kids to keep moving. Alfredo (also a little pink) has started moving again.

Leslie and the River: Friday's main activity was hiking up to and swimming in the river. By the time we got to the river I was really hot and pretty excited about getting into the water, although I had been warned that it's cold.
Cold it was. Cold enough that eventually I had to get out because I was losing feeling in my feet. But I didn't care. I love to swim, and it was a fun place. The current was strong enough that I ALMOST couldn't make progress against it when I tried to swim upriver. It quickly became evident that I was the only adult who was going to swim. Two others, Janelle and Len waded in to catch any kids who were floating too far downriver.
So I bit the bullet and stripped down to my bathing suit in front of the entire 7th grade class and waded in. COLD. But it was refreshing cause I was hot. And it was clear that the kids were impressed. Everywhere I went I heard kids saying with astonishment, "Meese Fohstehr! You are sweemmeeng!!"
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
There was a place on one bank where you could climb up to a jumping-off point. Eventually I decided it looked like fun and that I needed to try it. So I made my way over (you had to hold on to something or get washed down the river) and started up the little rock cliff. The whole thing was a flat, smooth slab of rock. Nothing to hold on to. I was barefoot. And by now, the whole rock was soaked from a ton of kids going up. Wet and slick. I was almost to the top (basking in the chorus of amazed comments from the kids from the top) when my feet slipped out from beneath me. The amazed voices became startled. And then terrified. I slipped more, and eventually, with nothing to hold onto, slid, in my bathing suit, spread-eagle, all the way back down the rock.
Above me, kids are screaming out, "Meese Fohstehr!!! Are you ok!!?!?!?"
I calmly picked myself up, assessed the damage (scraped and bleeding knee and arms; nothing serious) and started up the rock again. Now it was personal. This time I made it without incident and managed to convince the kiddos that I would likely live to tell the story. What's that they say about pride and falling? Yah.

-Conclusion: I think most everyone had a good time. I was glad to get to interact with my students outside of the classroom. Even my challenging students behaved admirably. I am glad that the trip only happens once a year, but I'm also glad I got to go.

-Other tidbits of info from me:
-it doesn't rain as hard here as in China during rainy season. But I still seem to be wet more often. How does that work?
- the potato chips here aren't very good, so I've taken to eating Doritos instead. They are just like home (except cheaper), but for whatever reason they're always smashed to smithereens. I can't figure out why. They're not being shipped from the states; the bags are in Spanish. It's annoying.
-Today is November 1st, and this is the first year since my mom died that my back didn't start hurting in October (when she was diagnosed as terminal). I don't know if this is coincidental, or a weather thing, or what. I DO know that I am immensely thankful to be entering November with no back pain.
-It's November!! This week I've been here for three months. Crazy. And Friday was the last day of the first quarter. Time is flying. Still no culture shock or homesickness, but I'm on the defensive. It will come. The question is, when?
-I'm debating about the possibility of getting a driver's license here. I've never had the SLIGHTEST inkling about doing that anywhere else that I've lived. But it would be really nice...if I can muster the courage to do it. Driving here is like in any other non-US country- a bit on the psychotic side. And lots of stick-shifts. I HATE driving stick. We'll see.
-I found out this week that there's an orphanage here that takes babies, and that I could probably go hold babies there if I wanted to. I am beyond excited about that. Babies! So soft and squishy and little! I hope it works out!
-I am very nearly totally out of groceries. But I hate to go shopping in the rain. Sigh. Many things are easy here, but grocery shopping is just a hassle.
-The end. Oh, except here are some pictures from the Mindo trip:

The whole group. Mari took this for me...

Jennifer holding a butterfly at the farm.

Crossing the "bridge" on the way to swim

Our river...

A few of the nice cows we met on the way. I was really impressed with how calm and tame they were. They didn't spook or kick, even as 34 kids ran past them.

Shell Weekend

Last weekend was a holiday weekend in Ecuador; Friday was Guayaquil Independence day. Guayaquil is the biggest city in the country, followed by the capitol of Quito.

Let's pause here to note that I still have trouble remembering which spelling to use for a big letter and which to use for the governmental seat of a country. This is mildly embarrassing to me as an English teacher.

Anyway, in order to make the best possible use of the vacation time, I opted for a super-cheap, get-out-of-the-city trip and joined five other AAI teachers (or more precisely, three other teachers and a chaplain) on a bustrip to Banyos and then Shell.

Another pause to say that I don't know how to put the Spanish accent marks into my writing for the blog, so I'm adding a 'y' where it doesn't belong in Banyos. Just in case you were wondering.

Thursday after classes the six of us set off for the bus station and were soon on our way south, toward the resort town of Banyos. The word means bathrooms or (as in this case) baths. Banyos is known for its natural hot springs. The trip took about 4 hours (probably an hour more than it should have) because our gracious driver stopped every so often to pick up people on the side of the road and charge them a reduced fair to ride standing in the aisle. Mind that this a reduction from the original price of $3. Moderately frustrating for us. Quite convenient for them.

Interesting tidbit about the long-distances busses here- there are bathrooms in the bigger busses, but all of them that I saw were for women only. It said so right above the door "Solo Damas". "Hmm," I thought to myself. "What if a man has to relieve himself?" I mean, 4 hours is a substantial amount of time. Lucky for me, I got to find out first hand. Here it is:

What Happens When a Man Has to Pee on a Long Bus Trip in Ecuador

1. said man gets the attention of the ticket-taker and expresses his need

2. ticket-taker rolls his eyes and asks the driver to pull over

3. man hops off the bus, stopping immediately in front of Leslie's window

4. man unabashedly relieves himself in full view of the entire population of the bus

5. Leslie's seat companion comments, "Wow, that's a lot of pressure to pee"

6. Leslie giggles, feels a little sorry for man, and remembers that she is indeed in a foreign country

7. man returns to bus and bus continues on its route

Anyway, we eventually pulled into our destination and hopped a cab to our hotel. It was pretty nice for what we paid. My biggest complaint was that my mattress rested at an approximately 30 degree angle. But the inclusive breakfast buffet made up for one night on a terrible mattress.

Friday we spent the morning and early afternoon wandering around the town, watching a local race (presumably in celebration of the holiday), and climbing down to and back up from a whirlpool. That was pretty cool. The best part was getting to ride on a zipline over a big canyon! I mean, it was awesome! And it only cost $3! If you're not familiar with a zipline, it's a big cable that's strung across the area where you want to swing (usually over a canyon, a river, over tree tops, etc.) and they hook you up with a climbing harness and strap you to the cable and you swing down to the other end of the cable. SO fun. Even worth having to climb back up the hill afterwards.

After lunch we packed up our stuff and hopped another bus toward Shell. We got off about halfway, so that we could hike some more, cause we hadn't done that much yet... (ahem) I mean, so we could go see an amazing waterfall. Note that I just saw Niagara Falls a couple months back, which dwarfs this falls. But it was really beautiful. Much narrower than Niagara, but equally intense. It was so loud that the sound drowned out everything else.

When I was finished huffing and puffing my way back up the side of the mountain, we got on another bus (this time WE were the ones flagging down the bus from the side of the road) for the remaining 40 minute ride to Shell. This was an eventful bus. I was hot and tired and a little queasy from the combination of three mini-hikes that day and a greasy lunch, and we were standing in the aisle of a bus that was careening around curvy, mountianous switchback roads. It was stuffy and hot in the bus. Then, the kid in the seat I was facing from my standing position in the aisle quietly turned his head toward his grandfather's chest and vomited pink nastiness onto it.

Oh man. Not good.

Then began a big flurry of activity as the grandparents (who were soon joined by the kid's mom) set about cleaning things up. I was fortunate enough to look over to check the progress in time to see the second round come out.

Now I'm not usually queasy, but that pink barf nearly did me in. By the time we arrived in Shell I was really ready to be off that bus. But after a half an hour or so I was feeling much better. We met up with some friends of one of our party, and went with them to the next town (10 minutes by bus) for pizza. Shell and Puyo (the neighboring town; pronounced POO-yo) are right on the edge of the jungle, and they're really small. You can walk from one end of Shell to the other in 15 minutes? I think about that. Maybe 20. So the aminety options are considerably more limited. Talking with the new friends we had just met, I felt (for the first time ever in my life) like the city mouse talking to the country mouse. I like the slower pace of the smaller places, but it helped me to appreciate all that Quito has to offer.

Saturday was pretty low key. I lounged around the HCJB guesthouse where we were staying all morning, reading a book, doing devotions, donating my blood to the local insect population, and humoring my companions by losing to them at Scrabble. After lunch we went swimming and then waited out a torrential downpour before going to supper. We went to a (pretty mediocre) Chinese place. On the way home we bought tickets for the bus home the next morning. That night we watched "Through the Gates of Splendor" at the guesthouse.

If you've never seen this documentary, I highly recommend it. It talks about the five families that moved to the Shell area in the early 1950s to reach a local and very hostile Indian tribe. All five of the men were killed in 1956 (including Nate Saint, an MAF pilot and Jim Elliott) by the tribe. It's an incredible story, mostly because after their husbands were murdered, the wives stayed in the area and eventually moved in to live in the tribe. At the time of the mens' murders, the tribe was the most violent people group in the world. Today, after two generations of work and sharing the love of Christ, the entire culture is altered. The statistics are amazing. You should watch it.

It was especially impacting to watch this film in Shell, where two of the families lived, and where today there is a monument to Nate Saint. It was strange to realize that these people were a lot like me; missionaries to this place (many of them were even graduates of Wheaton College). Not exceptional people. Just people who were obeying God, and whose obedience has led to a whole new way of life for an entire people group. Wow.

Sunday morning we packed up again and loaded ourselves back on a bus. This driver seemed to have a hot date in Quito, and we didn't stop once for extra passengers. We made fantastic time.

I had a great time. It was so nice to get out of the city for awhile. The humidity and bugs of the jungle also helped me to remember to be thankful for the blessings of Quito. :) Here are a couple pictures, with more to come when I figure out why Blogger is turning some of the pictures sideways...

This is at the whirlpool we climbed down to in Banyos

The view from inside a truck-taxi. This one was covered, but we rode in an open one from Puyo to Shell, which was especially fun because the two guys in the car behind us noticed how beautiful we gringas were and followed us, flashing their lights and passing anyone in their way to keep up.

This is one of the waterfalls we saw- the one I talked about. I'm still wet from the spray. This is pre-the long huffing/puffing climb.

Doubt

I'm sitting in my classroom paralyzed; unable to plan for the review day for my Bible class. Unable to grade papers or create the test for tomorrow.

I close my eyes and see a room full of middle schoolers- some wise, some immature, short, tall, fat, skinny, wearing the latest fashions or castoffs from five years ago, rich with friends, all alone, full of insecurity, sure everyone is looking, laughing, scoffing; following hard after God, or wondering if He really exists.

They have chosen to sit in the prayer circle labled "things aren't good at home".
Mom and Dad fight every day.
My brother's in a gang.
My parents got a divorced last year.
Dad's lying to the judge about mom. I love him but it makes me sad when he does that.
My sister cuts herself.


Afterwards I pull a crying 7th grader into my classroom between classes and find out that she's one of the statistics. Little Gaby, beautiful little Ecuadorian girl; good student, nice girl. Dad comes to visit on Wednesdays, but he always fights with mom. He hasn't sent the check for two months and mom's worried.

I sit and listen to her, asking questions, saying how hard it must be, my mind a blur of happy memories from my own childhood. A fairy tale, compared to this generations' experience. When did it all fall apart so completely? And why does Gaby have to suffer quietly, day by day, for the mistakes of her parents?

Six years of Christian higher education; 23 years of walking with my Lord; nothing to say but "I'll pray" and "God can change people" and "I'm sorry things are so hard for you at home".

I am overwhelmed by my own impotence. Do my words sound as flat and helpless in her ears as they do in mine? Does it matter that I'm here? Can I really help these kids in any sort of real way?

Gaby goes on to History class. I sit in my classroom and listen to the doubts echo in my head.

I've Got You

This weekend I went climbing. As in, up a mountain. You may recall that I'm from Ohio, where the highest point in the state is in Bellefontain; 1549 feet. Here in Quito I trudge back up the hill to my apartment each day, and a height of over 9000 feet. The top of Mt Rucu (which I have yet to see personally) is 15.500 feet.

Since I've lived here I've often thought that the altitude gives me a small idea of what it must be like to be asthmatic. And yesterday, while struggling to keep going up to Rucu I think I got an idea of what an asthma attack might be like. My fingernails turned blue; I gasped for every breath, even while taking breaks in redicuously short intervals. There was nothing to do but keep going. Keep stepping. Keep gasping for air.

(side note: It is newly my opinion that people who are out of shape shouldn't try to climb mountains)

The climb itself, outside of my cardio-vascular-unpreparedness, was pretty easy for a long time. It wasn't until we wound our way around to the highest peak that I started to have any concern about safety. Before you get to the skree (a new word for me- it's an area of loose rock, and in this case, it's pretty steep. You have to switchback your way up it, sliding down a step for every two up) the path winds around the mountain, with a pretty steep drop off. For awhile, even with the drop-off it was pretty easy; I was even in the lead of our group of four when the path ended. I mean, we're traipsing along and suddenly the path stops. So I stopped. "Hmm," I said. "It seems the path is gone now..." We traded places and our leader took the lead. From that point until we turned back there was much less walking and much more climbing. Lots of precise foot-placing, coaching, and helping.

Whether I was dealing with dizziness from the lack of oxygen, or if it was from being so far up with the big drop looming on the right, I'm not sure. I do know that I didn't feel nearly as sure-footed as normal, and I found it a little ironic, since being on the side of a mountain is a good time to be sure-footed. We kept on, over rocks and mud and old rockslides. After awhile we stopped for some lunch. I mentioned that I wasn't feeling hungry (which pretty much never happens to me :) ) and that scared the rest of the group. Apparently that's another symptom of the dreaded altitude sickness. The only cure for altitude sickness is to go down. It's a big deal here. But we decided to eat and see how I felt afterward, and then decide whether to keep going.

After lunch, as snow-ball-sleet stuff started bouncing off of our bodies, one of the others decided she wasn't feeling well, and she thought we should turn around. I was disappointed to face the reality of not making it to the top, but also really relieved to start going down. So in the sleet, we turned around and started picking our way back down.

At several points in the return trip, the two men in our group helped hand us down in steep and slippery places. There was a time that we were going down a little wall of rock, maybe 5 feet high. The sleet had stopped, but the rocks were wet, and my shoes were muddy and I was feeling a little stressed about the huge drop-off that started about 2 feet behind me. The guy at the top took my pole from me and offered me his hand. We grabbed each others' wrists, and as I started down he said to me, "You're ok; I've got you."

"You're ok; I've got you." Simple words to remind me that I wasn't alone. I wasn't strong or smart or experienced enough to do it myself. But that didn't matter, because I was with someone who was.

I love living here. I love my job, I have great roommates and new friendships with lots of promise. But sometimes I feel very much like I'm alone. There are lots of people who would help me if I needed it, and I am really thankful for those people. But no one is looking out for me. No one checks in on me each day or night. I'm an independant person and I enjoy the freedom that comes with that. But sometimes it's good to be reminded that someone else has got me. God's got me. He knows when I lie down and when I rise. He knows when I can't sleep and when my students are making me crazy and when I miss my family so much that it hurts. And He's got me. He is stronger, smarter, more experienced. Everything -er than me. And I'm not alone here in Quito. Even without my coworkers and roommates and students, I'm not alone. I know.

Sometimes it's good to be reminded by someone with skin.

The first picture is taken by a cement thing that marks a point higher than any place in the continental US. In the background you can see the mountaintop disappearing into the clouds.

The second picture is as much of the peak as I got to see. Those of the group who made it all the way up reported that the clouds kept them from seeing the awesome view. In our group we mentioned that it reminded us of Moriah from Lord of the Rings.

My Dad

What's this? Leslie, writing two blogs in one week? What is the world coming to?



Fear not, faithful reader. All is well with the world. I am writing today because it's September 22nd; first day of fall AND the birthday of my father, Mr. Thomas B. Foster. In honor of Dad's birthday, and because he is so good to me and I love him mucho much, I wanted to write a few words about my dad.



(ahem)



My earliest memories of Dad were often riding with him in the pickup truck. The truck was, even in the early 80's, a rusty white clunker. The floor had rusted through on the passenger side, so we kids were always careful to step on the frame of the door rather than on the plastic floor mat. Stepping on the mat would result in falling through to the driveway gravel. This is especially painful when your leg isn't as long as the distance between the truck floor and the driveway.



Anyway, after sucessfully getting INTO the truck, Britt, Josh and I would usually vie for the seat next to Dad. Because SOMETIMES, if you were lucky, Dad would let you shift the gears. We would sit up as close to the edge of the seat as our seatbelts would allow, both hands on the gearshift, listening carefully for the sound that meant it was time to shift. If you shifted at just the right time, you usually earned a word of praise. If not, a horrid, jarring screach sounded somewhere in the mysterious bowels of the old white truck.



Other times we would get to ride in the BED of the truck, which was roughly equivalent to a minor holiday. This almost never occured on the road, although once or twice I think I rode to the Zeller's in the back. Usually it was a trip up to the house from the back barn or maybe the woods. Those trips were dangerous adventures, indeed. Or so they seemed in my little pre-school mind. The drive from the front barn to the back one was bumpy. A kid who wasn't paying attention could fall off. Dad always warned us before we took off, "Hold on tight!" When I was really little I imagine my knuckles were white from my grip. I was afraid that I might fall off and a wolf might come attack me.



Yes, a wolf. And yes, I grew up in northwest Ohio. I can't recall a single wolf sighting in our area in my entire life. What can I say? Little kids aren't always logical. Anyway, after a few years we got Scooter, a little yellow mutt that was as loyal as the day was long. After she started tailing the pickup, I was much less concerned about the wolves.



Once in awhile I got to go to the elevator in LaFayette with Dad on a Saturday morning. I don't remember much about those trips except that the people there were a little scary and I was glad Dad was there to protect me. You may not know this, but when I was 4, my Dad was pretty much the biggest, strongest person in the world. He could pick all three of us kids up at the same time. I was pretty sure his head touched the clouds sometimes.



Some of my favorite Dad memories took place while we were on vacation. When we went on vacation it was always a holiday. Miracles happened. For example, when we would go camping for a few days at Indian Lake and we kids asked if we could have ice-cream, the answer was yes! I mean, not 'no' but 'yes'! Or if we were at a store picking up a couple of things and we asked if we could have quarters for the gumball machines (aka for a little piece of colored plastic junk) the answer might be YES! Until I was in my early teens I thought that "camping" and "vacation" were the same thing, but we had a good time camping because Dad and Mom always made it a special time.



One more endearing Dad-memory before I close. Mom was never a morning person. When you woke her from a deep sleep it took about 40 minutes and a strong cup of tea before she was coherant again. I remember one night when I was sick with who-knows-what childhood ailment, I was awakened from sleep by my father. He was holding a plastic, aligator-shaped liquid medicine dispenser full of some nasty pink concoction. I was so tired and I managed somehow to convince my father that I could successfully swallow said pink grossness from a horizontal position. I'm not sure if Dad was just too tired to see the truth, or if he was just inexperienced enough to trust his angelic daughter, but in either case he gave me the dispenser while I was still lying down.



Imagine, if you will, three-year-old Leslie, sick and in her pjs in the middle of the night, smeared from the shoulders up with pink liquid antibiotic. Imagine as well my bed, smeared equally liberally- sheets, pillow, the whole nine yards. And finally, imagine my weary, exasperated father, starting at the brightly colored mess in disbelief. This 3 minute mid-night job just turned into a 20 minute fiasco. Wash kid, change the sheets, find new jammies and put them on kid, give kid a glass of water, and THEN get back into bed. I bet he had never imagined how much fun daddy-hood could be.


So may this be a banner year for you, Dad. Thanks for all you've done for me through the years, and all you continue to do. Thanks for loving my mom. Thanks for being around and working hard to provide for us. And thanks for loving me.







This is the Christmas after I got back from a semester in Russia. Note the fur hat I brought home for Dad. He's a fan of a weird hat.







Photo circa 1982. Curtains and couch, circa 1970.










Dad's Christmas gift from Mom of a new pair of coveralls. I liked the way they made him look like a kid in a snowsuit.

Proof that Dad could hold all three of us at once.

Dance

Last night I went out with some friends (and some strangers) to a club in the city, to watch a live band. One of our number happened to play guitar in the band, and his girlfriend, a friend of mine really REALLY wanted us to come. Her intensity was the primary reason for my decision to go.

Clubs have never been my scene, which will be a surprise to only strangers reading this blog and those on the farthest end of the clueless spectrum. I don't dance; don't even like to watch people dance. It makes me feel awkward for two reasons:

1. If you sit at a club for long enough, people start to think you're not dancing because no one has asked you, and so someone inevitably sets about making it their own personal challenge to coerce you onto the dancefloor. Any number of reasonable, honest refusals will not be enough to convince such a well-intentioned yet annoying person to leave you alone.

2. Watching people dance the free style that you tend to find in clubs, at weddings, and in peoples' livingrooms in the US is painful. If you're dancing, you probably don't notice, (often your reason has been tained by a little alcohol) but from the outside you look stupid. I don't know how to dance like that (although people regularly tell me you CAN'T not know- you just move) but even if I thought I did know how I wouldn't be interested. Pride. I think they look stupid, and I KNOW I would look stupid, and as a general rule, I try to aviod looking stupid, whenever it is within my power to do so.

But all that being said, I had a great time last night. Know why? Because people here don't dance like that. HelLO Latin America! Salsa, rumba, mambo, more salsa, other things I don't know the names for, all mixing together in a whirl of high heels, black hair, low-cut shirts, bongo drums, excitement, and blue jeans.

It's contagious. I was tired and my lungs were turning black from the secondhand smoke, but I couldn't help tapping my fingers and smiling as I watched the crowd of people on the dancefloor. I kept trying to watch the steps, but it made me dizzy so I eventually gave up. They were having a great time. And I was too. The first time I ever enjoyed watching other people dance.

I like the rhythms. I liked the variety of ages on the floor- everything from a 10 year old girl to couples around my parents' age. I liked that brothers and sisters dance together. I loved the music. I liked the way the people move their bodies (I'm not sure my body is capable of moving like that...maybe white bodies can't do that?). I liked the atmosphere of having fun. Just having fun.

Another Week Gone By

Wherein the author is interviewed regarding noteworthy situations in her life.

Interviewer: So, did you come up with this idea for a blog on your own?

Me: No. I am unabashedly stealing it from my amazing friend, Brooke. I highly recommend that you check out her blog: africahome.blogspot.com. Just try not to notice how much better her blog is than mine, please.

I: You just finished week three at Alliance. How's it going?

L: Really well. This week (which is actually the second regular week; the first being just Thursday and Friday) was much better than last week. I think the kids and I are settling into an understanding.

I: Understanding?

L: Yah, like "here's the line. Cross at your own risk." It really reminds me a lot of babysitting. They're just testing out the boundaries. Some test harder than others. In spite of my repect for confrontation, it's stressful for me. But I trust that the first few weeks of being firm will result in the remainder of the year being easier. I'll let you know how my theory pans out.

I: Tell us about this picture.

L: This is Lori. She's the director of the Skills Center and therefore my boss. This morning she went with Cherie (a fellow teacher; lives across the hall in my apt.) and me to The Swiss Corner for breakfast. In the picture Lori is displaying my super-delicious-European-style roesti and omlete. While I was backpacking in Europe, Megan, Katie and I ate many a roesti in Switzerland. This one wasn't quite as good, but considering it got transfered over so many miles, it was still quite lovely. Incidentally, we sat next to a famous Ecuadorian musician at the restaurant. He was H-O-T-hot.

I: You and your roommates hired a maid this week?

L: Yah. That was an experience. Good practice for my Spanish. It seems my vocabulary in the area of household cleaners leaves a bit to be desired. But when it was all said and done our house was clean, she was paid, and life was good. I'm pretty excited about the whole thing, especially since we can leave her ingredients and a recipe, and she'll leave supper behind when she goes!

I: This picture begs some explanation...

L: (chuckling) So this sign is posted in the FACULTY bathrooms at school. I took the picture not only because it's funny, but because it made me think of all the various toilet or pseudo-toilet situations I've been in in the past. For example, this sign is obviously not posted in Russia, because it pre-supposes TP. It is not in Dominican, because it pre-supposes flushing. It is not in China because it pre-supposes a toilet. I DO so love traveling!

I: So, for those of us NOT living in Quito, why is this sign necessary?

L: Oh! Because here it's assumed that you throw your used TP in the trash can. Most of the plumbing can't handle the TP. Thankfully, the plumbing at the school is up to the challenge.

I: Back to your classes. Any class in particular you'd like to talk about?

L: Well, I teach seven different groups of kids, but lots of them overlap, and I actually only teach about 25 kids total. My biggest group is my Home Base group (11 students), which is the homeroom set up for the middle school. I only have 8 desks in my classroom, so I had to find some extra chairs for them. They come in from 8-8:10 each morning except Wednesday. That day we have chapel schedule, so there's no Home Base, but in the afternoon I teach the same group in "Impact", which is more of a character-building class than an academic one. We talk about things like attitude, responsibility, citizenship, etc. Here's a picture of my Home Base group:

Notice the various displays of attitude. It's an interesting mix. The windows above the kids' heads are my classroom windows.

I: Any funny jr. high stories you'd like to share?

L: Always. Which to choose? Let's begin with the Pentateuch story.

In my Bible class, we're learning the books of the Bible. We're starting with the Old Testament, and this past week I introduced the idea of the books falling into seperate catagories. So I had one kid write the first five books on the whiteboard. Let's call him Nate. I explained to everyone that these books are all part of the same group called the Pentateuch or Books of the Law. We talked about what "pentateuch" means, what law it is, etc. I told the students that the same man wrote all the books and asked if anyone knew who that man was.

Before I recreate the dialogue, it's important for you to know that one of the students in this class, whom we'll call Sandy, has Asburger's Syndrome. For the sake of my classroom, that boils down to her social skills are way behind for her age, she has little awareness of her volume and usually speaks really loudly, and she has trouble staying focused for long. She has a full-time aid that goes with her to every class and helps to keep her on task. Sandy is a sweet little girl, and VERY smart. She also tends to be very literal.

L: So, does anyone know who wrote these five books?

(Students randomly responding): God? Jesus? John the Baptist? Luke?

(in the meantime, Sandy's aid is asking her the question personally)

Aid: Sandy, do you know who wrote the books of the pentateuch?

S: What?

Aid: Do you know who wrote those books on the board?

(long pause, as Sandy takes in the question)

S: (matter-of-factly) NATE!

I couldn't help but laugh. She was indeed right. Nate HAD written those books on the board. Teaching Sandy is always a challenge. But I like it. I would take special needs over big attitude any day.

I: It sounds like your students keep you on your toes.

L: Definately. It's exhausting, but I love how much face time I get with them. Many of my students I have for two or three classes a day, and I'm trying to make the classroom a good balance of secure enough for them to feel relaxed and comfortable, and structured enough that I don't lose control.

I: Anything else you'd like to share with the readers?

L: I think that should do for now. Oh, except to say that I really like this city!

I: You? City? How can this be?

L: I know! But the mountains are so beautiful and they dominate every part of the city. Plus the traditional culture here is fantastic. The music, the dancing, the colors and vibrancy. I love it. I'll leave you with a few pictures from today. They make me happy. I hope they make you happy, too.

Reflections from the Week

I am ti-red. Very, very happy that it's Friday afternoon, 4:53pm. It was a good week overall. Lots of learning about students and their needs, quirks, challenges, etc. Lots of lesson planning. Lots of funny Spanglish. On Wednesday, the whole middle school (which is just 7th and 8th grades here) went to a camp about an hour from the school for a daylong team building day. Here are some pictures from our day:



Here's the pool and a glimpse of the mountains. Even through it was probably 75 degrees and the water was freezing, a good number of the kids got in. You have to hand it to junior highers- they're ambitious...

Here's my bus, right before we left the school. These are all 7th graders. The woman in the front on the right is Miss Moore; she's the full-time aid to my student with Asburgers. I'm enjoying getting to know her.

When we arrived at the park, we spent about 30 or 40 minutes doing some crowdbreakers, like this one that required the students to get their classmates' signatures on their papers. This provoked a flurry of melodramatic activity (as do many things in the middle school wing, I'm finding...)

Here we have my very own Impact group. Impact groups meet for homeroom each morning, and also for a once-weekly class on topics such as responsibility, morality, leadership, etc. The whole middle school is divided up into six impact groups. Here, my group is working on a teambuilding game, where they're required to walk around an obstacle without letting the soles of their shoes lose contact with the soles of the next guy's shoes. I've done it before, so I know it is a difficult task. But I'm pretty sure that if my groups' lives depended on their ability to complete this game successfully, none of them would be with us now.

E for effort.

Next up is an example of the ever-popular "cross the swamp" game, where your team is given 4 paper plates and you must all cross over an area without touching the ground. Except since we're in Quito, we were crossing a molten lava field instead of a swamp. But I'm sure you could tell that from the picture.

The blind leading the blind. This was my team's second try; about 3 minutes after they all went crashing down the hill in a sprawling, sightless heap. I was proud....

So there are some highlights for you. The trip was exhausting, but it went well. If nothing else, I nailed down the last few names in my group. And I came back with a sunburn, in spite of my diligent sun screen application that morning. It seems that SPF 15 is no match for the Ecuadorian sun.

In other news, I started my Spanish lessons yesterday. There's a woman who works in the administrative office at the school part time, and spends the rest of her time tutoring all the gringos in Spanish. She's so cute- obviously an experienced tutor. She always speaks really slowly and clearly, and makes you repeat things, even if you're not in a lesson. :) I even bought a Spanish notebook. Now all I have to do is, well...study.

Tomorrow, after I sleep in as long as humanly possible, I will be joining a group of other new American ex-pats for a pot luck lunch at the Ecuadorian ambassador's house. We had to RSVP in advance so they could do a security check on all the guests.

A: I'm pretty sure I've never been security-checked before

B: An exclusive pot-luck? Really? The US couldn't spring for some burgers and hotdogs?

But I'm not really complaining...I'm excited. Never been to the ambassador's house before! I'll let you know how it goes.

Ok, off I go to dinner at a friend's house. Yay for the weekend! Yay for someone else cooking for me! Yay for friends!

Junior High: I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here.

I've completed my first two days of the school year. I can't say that I'm sad it's the weekend, but I am pretty happy to be back in a classroom- MY classroom, in fact, for the first time ever.
This is me in front of my custom-ordered-and-made-whiteboard, courtesy of Juan, the super-nice maintanence guy. I really have no idea where AAI found so many wonderful people. I think there must be a shortage of nice people in the rest of the city because the population inside the school gates is so high.

Anyway, the board, and the room, on my first day. It went surprisingly well. I wasn't even that nervous! That's odd, because I'm always a WRECK on the first day of class. Maybe it's because my biggest class is 8. Or maybe it's because I asked about a million people to pray me peaceful that day. :) Thanks if you're one of the million.



(notice my globe...I swiped it off a dispose-of pile. Score! I actually have things on the wall, by the way. You just can't see them in the picture.)

So, let the funny stories commence. I'm pretty jazzed about the excessive funny-story fodder which will be at my disposal as a result of being a junior high ESL teacher. I mean, junior high OR esl; either one makes for frequent hilarity. I can't wait to see what comes of the both together.

This next picture has a story. I'm sure you're relieved to hear that... This is a reproduction of a white-board drawing that one of my 7th grades drew me today. They were working on an assignment for me- a 2-3 paragraph story about something that happened this summer.

Because I don't yet have any Spanish/English dictionaries, I was forced to translate various words for the kids as they wrote their stories. This particular word was "aguamala". Literally that means bad water, but it translates as jellyfish (and debatably something else). Here's how the conversation went:

Cami: Miss Foster? (pronounced "Meese Foe-stare?")
Me: Yes, Cami?
Cami: How do you say in English "aguamala"?
Me: Uh, I don't know that word. Can you explain it?
Cami: It's a.... (motioning waves with hands) in the ocean...
Me: A fish? Pescado?
C: No, no. Not a fish (continuing "swimming" hand motions)
Me: A dolphin?
(at this point the whole class has stopped working and is laughing and trying to help with the explaination)
C: No!
Me: Is it an animal?
Class: YES!
Me: Does it hurt you?
Cami: Yes. It's bad.
Me: OH, a jellyfish? (now I"m making hand motions like a jellyfish)
C: no, not a jellyfish... (sigh) It's a...like a...hard and if you brush against it it hurts you
Me: Uh....I don't know.... Can you draw it for me on the whiteboard?
(Cami gets all shy and giggles. Her classmates urge her to draw. She comes and draws this....)

Hmm, I think to myself. That was distinctly unhelpful.

In the end I asked her if she had an English/Spanish dictionary at home. When she said she did, I told her to leave a blank and look up the word tonight. You gotta know when it's time to quit. :)

My classes are really unique, because in this school all the kids that need extra help are put in the same pullout classes, so I have ESL students and students with learning disabilities and some with both. Mind you, I've never had training or experience with LD kids. But I think I'm going to like it. Maybe even love it. So that's exciting.

One more funny story before I close.

Today, one of my eighth grades says to me at the end of her guided study hall, "Oh, Miss Foster, one of my friends said that you are cute."

Hmm.

I said, "Really? Is your friend a boy or a girl?" (critical information)

"She's a girl."

Hmmm again. What does it mean when a junior high girls thinks I'm "cute"? I said, "Well, that's nice. Thanks for telling me!"

Girl two (who has some developmental issues) in my class chimes in, "You know, you ARE cute, Miss Foster!" (obviously a new thought for Girl 2) "You should get a husband." she decides for me.

I couldn't help but laugh out loud. What a great idea! I'll get right on that...

The other night we had a beautiful sunset. The only downside to the mountains in all directions is that the sun gets blocked out pretty quickly in the evening. But at least it makes for sights like this.

Ah, Quito. Beautiful indeed.

New City, New Home, New Job. Lots of New.

I give up. For two weeks I have been trying to put together a blog about moving to Quito. I won't go into all the problems I've had but shall instead suffice to say that until my internet connection, or computer, or both learn to behave themselves I'm done trying to attach photos. So there.

With that frustration in black and white for all to see, let's move on. To Quito! Where I live now! That's still a bit unreal, but eventually I expect it will sink in.

Today was my first day of work and also the first day of new employee orientation. I was pleasantly surprised by how manageable the new information was. I didn't leave with a headache or anything. Hopefully the remainder of orientation will be equally painless.

I also got to see my classroom-to-be. I think it used to be someone's office, judging both from the size of the room and from the lack of any whiteboards, blackboards, or bulletin boards. The good news is that I can order those things and they'll be made and hung for me. The bad news is that I'm not sure if 12 students will fit in the space. We shall see.

In other exciting news, today I learned that the classroom directly across from mine is home to a huge snake. Not a big snake. A huge snake. Like, it takes two people to move it huge. I can't remember if Diamond is a python or a boa constrictor. I do know that every couple months she eats a guinea pig (as a true Ecuadorian should) and she sheds her skin occassionally. I was fortunate to see a couple of her older wardrobes.

This afternoon I saw the snake. This evening I met the teacher to whom she belongs. I think we may have come to an agreement of sorts. I have agreed to take care of any cockroaches that might infest her classroom. In exchange, she has agreed to warn me when she plans to take the snake on a sunning field trip, so that we don't meet up accidentally in the narrow hallway. I'm hoping it will work out well.

Seriously, it is ironic. The one creature that I can't stand, and of all the classrooms in the whole pre-K through 12 school; next door neighbors. God has a good sense of humor.

Meanwhile, back on the farm, yesterday was a banner day, seeing both the installation of our internet (and therefore our international phone service) and the first successful use of our clothes dryer! So now I can wash my clothes and call my peeps and post on my blog. Life is good.

Stay tuned for more on life in Quito. And maybe...if we're lucky...some pictures. Maybe.

The New Chapter Begins

*I finally got the pictures to load! So this was written awhile back, but it's still news to you, right?*



Here I am in Quito. My home for the next three years (or so). It's been a good week since I wrote last. I had a frustrating trip, with about three hours of delays, but I arrived safely and with all my luggage on Tuesday night.

After a long, stressful trip, things started looking up as I immerged from the "customs check" at the Quito airport and recognised a couple of the other new teachers and staff of Alliance Academy Internation (AAI) in the crowded waiting room. Then I saw a big sign that said "Welcome Home, Christy and Leslie". And then a kid I'd never met gave me a bouquet of roses and a big mob of excited AAI people came and welcomed me and hugged me and took care of my luggage and asked how I was and how my trip was and told me how happy they were to see me. It was such a relief to see people there; people that I knew- that I had to fight off tears for a few minutes. My flight was delayed and I didn't think to get a contact number before I left so I was a little concerned that I was going to have to spend the night in the airport. Plus I was weary from the journey. Traveling always makes me tired.

So much has happened since I left that I feel a little overwhelmed with sharing it all with you. Instead, I’ve decided to post pictures, and just tell you about each of them. That will give you a bit of an idea of how my last couple weeks have gone.

If you are thinking to yourselve, "Those children do not look Ecuadorian..." you are correct, indeed. This is right before saying goodbye to my brother and his family.

But on the positive side, I got to spend some really good time with family and friends before I left. I am thankful for that.

I’m sharing an apartment with two other women. All of us are new to Quito and to AAI. The apartment is a three bedroom, 4.5 bathroom. Yes, that’s right- 4.5 bathrooms. What the heck could we possibly need with 4.5 bathrooms? In continuation of the excessiveness, I have the biggest closet in recorded history. In a pinch, it could serve as a bedroom by itself. My clothes take up about 1/32nd of the space.

Also of note regarding my new bedroom is the rooster which resides outside the window. No hens, mind you. Just one very loud rooster. Who keeps just a rooster? He's obviously not laying eggs or providing meat. All he does is eat and crow each morning between 5 and 6am, and sometimes again around 7.

If I’m lucky.

I’ve been making good use of my earplugs. I can still hear him, stupid bird, but it’s not as loud.

PS- Notice that my teddybear, Alfred is waving. He says to say hi. He likes his new room. No mosquitos and it’s not too hot.

One day Christy (who lives across the hall), my roommates (Courtney, Linsey) and I decided to go to the historical district of Quito and see the Basilica. It’s a big, famous church. It was beautiful. For a mere $2, we were permitted to climb to the top of the towers. Actually, we had the option of taking the elevator, but where's the fun in that? This climb involved over 200 stairs (in the 9000+ feet of elevation), including three scary ladders (scary because they were out in the middle of nowhere) and a creaky wooden walkway that extended across the top of the sanctuary roof). It was very non-north-american. In other words, a little dangerous, WITHOUT making you sign a paper that says you won’t sue them. And the view from the top is great. By the way, the colors in this picture aren't enhanced. The sky is really super blue here.

During my first weekend I went to some market towns with a group of AAI people. I guess there aren’t any laws that require kids to go to school, so we see little guys everywhere we go. They’re impressively well-behaved. Usually they just play around with a toy (or not) as their parents go about their business. These two were so cute that I couldn’t resist being a tourist; whipping out my camera and taking a few shots. In a few years they’ll probably be arguing with tourists like me over the price of an el paca blanket, a local painting, or a traditional doll. But today, they’re just busy with the culture-crossing work of being kids.

Pizza Hut, Papa John’s, and Domino’s all have a thriving business here in Quito. This Domino’s is literally next door. One of my first nights here, Courtney and I decided to get pizza. Though we both like Papa John’s better, it’s hard to pass up next-door. So Christy, whose Spanish is the best of the three of us, offered to help us order. When the time came to pick up our gourmet, traditional Ecuadorian feast, the three of us trotted downstairs and out of our building. About this time the girls noticed that I was wearing slippers.

Now, I know that people here are less casual about their dressing than Americans. And for that matter, I wouldn’t normally wear slippers in public. But let’s be honest- it’s 10 feet from my front door and I’m just that lazy. So they’re laughing at me and I’m saying, “Stop drawing attention to them! They won’t notice!!”

In I walk, purposefully not looking at my feet so as not to draw attention to my slippers. Unfortunately I didn’t know that there was a big step down right inside the door. The force of the missed step allowed me to FLY across the room, catching myself against the counter, right in front of one of the 7 or 8 Domino’s guys that were working. Nice. Nothing like making a grand entrance. Particularly at the pizza place next door, where I will no doubt need to show my face again. Ai-yah.

This is me, happy. In Ecuador. My new home.

That's a negative, Ghostrider, the pattern is full.

In about an hour I will begin the first leg of my journey to my new home. Tonight Dad, Sue, Sara and I will drive to Detroit and spend the night a hotel. In the morning, I shall be at the airport by 7am, in time to actually see those early birds getting their worms. And if all goes as planned, I hope to fall asleep in my own bed in Quito, tomorrow night.

Packing went well, considering my limit of two, 50 pound bags to MOVE to a NEW COUNTRY. Stupid embargo. At least I hope to be able to come home at Christmas, which will allow for another load. And I must try to keep in mind how much fun it is to make do when you don't have, or have access to, many of the niceties of life here. Fun, fun, fun. :)

I'm excited to think about how the next time I write, it will be from Ecuador. And I'll probably have funny, overseas stories. And maybe I'll have already embarrassed myself with my piddly Spanish. And definitely I will have begun the next chapter in my life.

[Two Question Pop Quiz: "will have begun"
1. what verb tense is that?
2. why are we surprised when people find English difficult to learn?]

Over-n-out from Ohio.

Ohio in July

I can't believe that it's been nearly a year since I started this blog. It's strange how things can change in 12 months' time. Last July I was taking summer classes, working two jobs, and traveling in Spain, teaching English at a kid's summer camp. This July I'm preparing to move my life to another continent. Again.

Last night I rode with my dad on his motorcycle. It was a beautiful night for a ride- the wind was a nice break from the hot, muggy weather and as we rode home the sun was starting to set. The sky was clear, the moon was full, and the goodness of summertime in the country washed over me.

You know that smell- a wheat field, golden and ready to harvest, reflecting back some of the sun's rays that it's been collecting all day. Wholesome and natural and good. I closed my eyes and breathed it in.

You know that sound- the cicadas, industriously trilling out their love songs, for better or for worse. The growl of farm equipment and lawn mowers and weed-wackers; the rough melody our love/hate relationship with the earth.

You know the taste- fresh sweet corn and brats on the grill; and be sure to save room for a turtle sundae from the Dairy Haus for dessert.

Soon I will be gone again- off to a new kind of beauty, trading green fields for snow-capped mountains and brats for guinea pig (a specialty in Ecuador, apparently). But while I'm still here I'm trying to store it up. Breathe in an extra dose of all that is beautiful here. Store it deep down inside and pull out again later. On a day when the city is too loud and the language is too hard and my students are too draining. I'll go home, close my door and let the silence take me back here, to the smells, the sounds, the tastes. To Ohio in July.

The Little Old Lady from Lake St. Mary's

I have a hil-AR-ious story to share with you regarding my lovely grandmother, Nellie House. However, in order for you to really appreciate the story, you should get some background on Gramma Nell.

Let me think of how many harsh or unkind words I've heard Gramma say in our 28 years together. Ok, I'm done. Total count: 0.

Gramma's one of those people who demonstrate via actions what's important. I've never heard her tell me what she believes about God, but when asked to picture a godly person in my life, she's always at the head of the line.

My own mother's appreciation for nature must have come largely from Gramma Nell. She is always careful to conserve, recycle, compost, and make due.

Gramma in three words: gentle, kind, patient.

So, with this brief background, here's the story:

Sunday night I rode with my dad and stepmother to visit Gramma Nell at her duplex in a retirement center off Grand Lake St. Mary's. As the four of us sat in Gramma's living room, updating each other on the noteworthy going-ons in our lives, Gramma says, "I have a funny story to tell you."

It seems that a conversation came up between Gramma and a few of her neighbors regarding the speeds that their golf carts can reach. [sidenote: a few years back my grandparents traded in their car for a golf cart; a popular choice in this retirement community. Mostly the carts are used for transport back and forth to the building that holds meals and chapel services] Gramma apparently got to thinking about the varying speeds amongst their little fleet, and suggested that they conduct a simple experiment to determine which cart could go faster. Notice that sweet little Gramma Nell claims that she didn't INTEND to suggest a golf card drag race. Claims it with a straight face and I know I've never known her to tell a lie...

So it was decided that at 11am one morning she and a neighbor lady would race from the end of their road (Mallard Lane) to the bridge, a distance of a few hundred yards. A mutual friend of the competitors quietly told all the residents on Mallard about the race. So as they lined up at the end of the road to begin, they were looking down a column of residents. I certainly would have been there cheering with the others, given the chance...

As Gramma tells it, her competitor got a bit of a head-start, as she was on the same side of the road as the starter. "The noise got to her sooner," Gramma explained. But as it turned out, that little disadvantage didn't seem to matter in the end. To quote my quiet, godly, sweet grandmother on the results of the drag race, "I left her in the dust." This proclamation was delivered with the same straight face as the rest of the story.

Once Dad, Sue, and I recovered from our laughter sufficiently to breathe again, Gramma brought out her prize- a small bough of flowers. If I'm not mistaken, she was pretty darn proud of those flowers.

And rightfully so, Gramma! It's one every day that one octogenarian leaves another "in the dust" in a golf cart drag race. A well earned victory, indeed. :)

(Gramma Nell with her victory flowers)