Alien Floors and Homemade Cards

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

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...

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

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.