Animal in a Zoo

I am currently sitting in a little conference room in the library of the school where I used to work (stealing the internet, of course, as well as seeing people and generally making trouble). The room has a window to the hall. One of the third grade classes (the last group I taught, and one of my all-time favorite groups) just walked by on their way to science.

Only they didn't walk by. They stopped. They looked in the window at me. I smiled and waved. They stayed. They stared. I waved and smiled. They stood. They stared. The science teacher is a bit of a practical joker, so I suspected that he was behind this, especially since one of the girls, whom I had and I know that she always does EXACTLY what she is told to do, stood there, not blinking, not smiling, just staring at me.

Eventually the science teacher popped his head in a window with a big grin and a wave, but not until I had hollered at the children, "I feel like an animal in the zoo!" Please come see this rare specimen that we have over here, Homo sapiens sapiens Lucia, acting as she would in her natural environment...

Important Lessons

As I've mentioned quite a few times before, I am a teacher, and I just can't get away from that at times. So I took it upon myself this morning to teach Molly (age 11 days) her first really important lesson, something that every girl and woman should know as early as possible. (I wonder if, with the XX chromosome, we do just inherently know this.) On the computer screen was an advertisement for Tiffany and Co. I taught Molly about Tiffany Blue, and how she should ask for things that come in boxes of that color, please.

The last time I received something in that color I think was in 1993, but a girl can dream, as well as instill (totally reasonable) expectations in the next generation.

Failed Princess

Some may say that I have been a princess all my life (but I imagine them saying it in not a very nice tone of voice), but I am here to tell you that last night I failed the test, and I am definitely not a princess.

I am with my friend in Ithaca, helping out with baby #2 who arrived 8 days ago. I have been camped out on an air mattress in the living room of their tiny apartment. The mattress gets shoved behind the couch during the day and the room turns into the playroom for the two and a half year old. At night, the toys get put away, and I pull out my bedding. I've gotten used to sleeping on the air mattress, and, so long as it is inflated enough, it is actually fairly comfortable.

This morning, as I groggily put away the mattress before getting the older child ready for preschool, I saw that my wool clogs were still in the middle of the living room floor. I had plunked the mattress right on top of them and slept quite soundly.

I failed the Princess and the Slipper test. A princess I am not. Alas.

I wonder if I have to give back the tiara.

Deflated

I was driving back from the post office this afternoon (sending out Christmas cards, of course, because I am just that organized and anal--but only a few cards that needed to be air-mailed. I wouldn't want my friends over here to know how organized and anal I am. It's not like I already have all the envelopes addressed and am just waiting until it is a bit closer to the actual holiday to send them). I passed a house, the small front yard of which was completely filled with a variety of inflatable Christmas decorations (ornamentations? gaudiness? Not sure what those blow-up things are called), only none of them were blown up. They all lay, deflated, strewn about the lawn.

That family brought me quite a bit of joy, only not how they intended to, I suspect.

Up and Away... again

Staying true to my (new) self, after five weeks of being in one place, I packed up two weeks’ worth of clothes, gifts, and a pillow into a very small bag, and I boarded a plane this morning. I’m back in Ithaca NY, doing my duty as Best Friend and helping out as baby #2 is due to arrive pretty much at any moment. I’m sure this will be quite the experience for me, for my friend, and for her two-year-old. She warned me to pack my patience. Hopefully that didn’t get squeezed out of the bag by that extra pair of wool socks I added when I saw the weather report.

This morning I received a courtesy call from the Orbitz Customer Care department, three hours before my flight, to let me know that it was on time. If they really cared about me, they would know that three hours before a 7:20am flight is way too freaking early to be calling anyone, especially a woman who has already checked in, is checking no bags, and lives 20 minutes from the airport. I still had an hour and a half left to sleep, and I did not feel particularly cared for when my phone started buzzing, nor now, as I am still attempting to scrape the sandpaper from the inside of eyelids.

Maybe Orbitz was trying to get me ready for two weeks of being in a small apartment with a newborn. God, I hope that my earplugs didn’t get squeezed out by those socks.

Who Are You?

My horoscope today (not that I follow such nonsense, of course) said that "Sometimes you need to remind [others] of who you are..." Oh, how right it is! The question I have heard many times of late is "Who are you today?" I understand the question (having posed it myself many times to various substitute teachers), but it became funny to me when I actually started to think about it. The easy answer is Chris or Sally or whomever I am subbing for, but periodically I do wonder, Who AM I today?

Do we get a choice in the mornings as to who we will be? Can I be Oscar the Grouch one day, Snuffleupagus another, and Bert (probably closest to my real personality) the next? (Happy 40th, Sesame Street!) What are the factors that make me into one person or the other? Getting out of the bed on the wrong side? What outfit I put on? The alignment of the stars? Or the fact that the dog drooled on my once-clean trousers, someone took the last piece of bread, or I almost got run over crossing the street? Some days any of those events will put me under, and other days they earn nothing more than a shrug and a que sera sera. Can I switch my personality mid-day? (Copious amounts of chocolate seem to help me do that, for better or worse.) And do I have control over who I am each day?

Maybe the question I should ask myself is not "Who am I today," but rather "Who do I want to be today?" The next logical question I suppose would be, "What do I need to do to be that person?"

Tomorrow I think I'll be Halle Berry. I wonder what I will have to do to be her. Probably a lot of sit-ups and a padded bra.

Dear Lousi

One of the greatest things about being a teacher of young children (which almost makes up for the bodily fluids projected at high velocity all over you) is the love note. I've really only worked with six and seven year olds, who are in the throes of learning how to read and write, and they are oh, so excited to use their new skills. Younger kids will draw pictures for you, but the older kids will add text. Over the years, I collected a number of paintings, pictures, and notes. (My two favorites were the drawing of me, supposedly putting my hand behind the child's head, but it looked like I was smothering the child, and the "Best Teacher Award" ribbon that a child made for me, to which one of MY students asked why she gave it to me... why didn't she give it to Sally, one of the other teachers.)

Last week, when I was subbing in first grade, at indoor recess I was given a couple of pictures, and one girl (VERY cleverly) folded a piece of paper in half and used scissors to cut a message in it to me, which read "Thank You".

For the past three days I subbed in second grade. I worked with those students a smidge last spring when I came back from my trip, but I didn't know them terribly well. Working with the (slightly) older kids was interesting, for they can (usually) do quite a bit more than the first graders I am used to. (One child commented to me that I "put a lot of space" between my words on the chalkboard. I guess they are slightly better at focusing on words than the younger kids.) While the kids at least feigned sadness at the prospect of me finishing up my term as sub yesterday afternoon, and I did get some hugs on their way out the door, there was nothing in the way of pictures or notes given. (No problem, for I usually "file" the notes in that nice blue plastic tub in the corner.)

Today I am back at school, subbing for the librarian. I had told the second graders this, and one of the girls, whom, as I taught all four of her older brothers, I have known basically since they day she arrived, brought me a note this morning. (I will translate some of the more creative spelling for those of you who might not be quite so fluent in "invented spelling".)

"Dear Lousi,
Thank you for substituting for us. We liked the activity of felt belts. They wore all nice. It was fun. We liked the math.
Love,
M"

Yes, I got a thank you note for being a sub. Any of you who are feeling unappreciated in your jobs, I highly recommend looking into teaching.......

Back to Work...ish

I've been back home now for about ten days, and as soon as I returned I got myself lined up to do as much subbing as I can. Four days last week and three (thus far) this week. I think that seems a reasonable amount to work. I mean, I wouldn't want to push myself to extremes or anything.

It is nice to be back at work, for the most part. I love the interactions with all my old friends (although those pesky children do get in the way of my conversations sometimes), I love having things to think about (I actually dreamt of school and lessons last night!), and, believe it or not, I don't even mind getting up in the morning (especially now that the time change has happened). What I DO mind, however, is that, because I see the same people every day and I am expected to have at least a modicum of professionalism, I have to wear different clothes each day, rather than the same outfit for three days. The gall!

The only other (very small) grievance I have is when people see me in the halls and say either "It seems so NORMAL for you to be here" or "I can't get used to you being here." Clearly, their worlds did not stop completely when I left as they were supposed to do. How can anyone's world exist without ME in it? I mean, mine can't...

(Actually, it really is so great and so normal to be back at school, even when I'm subbing in a grade that I haven't taught in 13 years. Fingers still crossed that they'll let me back for real at some point!)

Time to Go

Yesterday I packed up all my stuff and started my drive towards my winter stomping grounds. I was not sure about leaving New Hampshire quite yet. I didn't feel like I was quite ready to go. I could still do some work with my brother on the house he's building, and goodness knows that there are projects to do at home. The ocean was still there, needing to be walked by, and the trees were all looking lovely.

But there are people at home with whom I would like to play, and people between here and there who have been chomping at the bit wondering when I would appear. So pack up and leave I did, feeling a little sad about it. And then I woke up this morning outside of Boston and looked out the window.

It was freaking snowing. Yes, actual snow accumulating on my car. The scraper was buried underneath suitcases and boxes. So I just blasted the heat and hit the road. It snowed for the first hour of my drive. In some places the bare trees were white. This wasn't just some flurry. In fact, the radio somewhere in upstate New York was giving us a Winter Storm Advisory. Winter. If I'm not mistaken, the date on the top of this blog post is mid-October, a far cry from winter. Closer to summer in fact. But I guess not around these parts.

I was begrudging the fact that my clothes didn't fit in my backpack, because instead of packing light trousers and a few thin shirts like I had for my trip, I had jeans and sweaters and fleeces and heavy shoes. But now I'm grumpy about the fact that all I have are fall clothes, and what I really need is a pair of boots and a good heavy coat.

It is clearly time to go.

Detours

I am, I'm afraid to say, one of those people who, once I make a plan, must stick to it, come hell or high water, no matter now little or inane that plan is (e.g. I'm going to go to the grocery store around two this afternoon).

Yesterday's plan was to get up, pack, play with the dogs, leave the house around 10, hit the library (looking for Twilight #2, which, alas, they didn't have yet, but my name is now on the list), and head for my friends in Northern New York. It would be about a 7 hour drive, but it was a lovely day, so no worries. The plan all proceeded beautifully, with a slight hitch when I realized that, despite the fact that I have done this drive a couple of times, I wasn't actually sure which highway to take once I hit Vermont. No problem, I have an atlas.

I love maps. I don't know how people survive with that dinky little GPS system telling them where to go. I like to see the big picture, and, well, plan my route. I look at the map regularly, just to see where I am, even on the trip from St. Louis to NH, which I have done, literally, 70 times.

So I was driving along, everything going according to plan, arrival time to be around 5 pm, when I happened to look at the map in the middle of Vermont, just to check my progress. A little red point of interest caught my eye. I don't normally notice them, but there was something about this one that jumped off the page. It said, "Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Factory". When I focused a bit closer, I noticed that it was, lo and behold, at the next exit.

Thus ensued a little grapple in my brain. It went something like this:

I love ice cream.
But the plan has us driving from NH to NY, perhaps with a stop for gas.
I really love Ben and Jerry's.
But if you stop, you won't arrive at 5.
I wonder if they have a tour.
But that would REALLY throw the plan off. Only stop for gas.
I need gas. I bet they have a gas station at the Ben and Jerry's exit.

Really, the planning side of my brain was absolutely no match for something as great and good as a Ben and Jerry's factory. The only thing that probably could have gotten me off the road faster would have been Will Shortz giving a talk about crossword puzzles.

So detour I did, and it was good. They did have a tour, a very fun, funny, and vaguely informative 25 minutes, and yes, there was a free sample at the end. (Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, mmmmmmmmmmm) I bought a postcard at the gift shop, wandered up the hill to the Flavor Graveyard (Popcorn ice cream? I'm not surprised it didn't make it), laughed at the fact that the sugar vat was twice the size of the milk and cream vats, and yes, I bought myself an ice cream cone (Coconut Seven Layer Bar, which is one of my all time favorite desserts, although the ice cream wasn't that great, actually. Not enough condensed milk, I would guess). The sun was shining, it was beautifully warm, I was eating ice cream and looking at the green mountains.

That is what my Gap Year(s) is all about. Taking those detours, because I can. Because I really don't have to be anywhere at any time. Letting the planning part of my brain go on a little vacation (even if it is a forced one).

Life is good.

So is ice cream.

Brrrrrr

What was I saying about looking forward to crisp weather? Well, this morning it was 56 degrees in the house. My poor nephew was shaking as he ate his hot oatmeal. I gave the kids a cup of hot water, just so they could have something to warm their hands! (By noon I was sitting in the sun in shorts and a tank top, so it wasn't too bad...)

Fall

I noticed that the trees are starting to change color here, and I pointed it out to my brother. He groaned and said he wasn't ready. I, on the other hand, am quite ready for fall. Usually I too think it comes too early. Perhaps it is because I've been in summer for the last 15 months (less a month in England that was bloody cold), and I am looking forward to the crisp air, lovely colors, and chrysanthemums (my favorite flower)... That is until it actually gets cold here and I start to bitch and moan about the fact that I am freezing. (I went to village district meeting last night-- about sidewalks, woo-- in a neighbor's barn, and he must have seen me shivering, for after he handed me juice and cookies, he passed over a large wool sweater.)

I may be ready for fall, but I am not one of those people who likes to jump the gun. Driving down the street the other day I saw that someone already had their Halloween flag flying, and I hollered (inside the car) "It's not even OCTOBER!!" I mean come on... the leaves are pretty enough, why muck it up by hanging a garish flag to distract the eye?

???

I just tried to access my blog by typing in my address, and was diverted to "Mega Site for Bible Studies". Wow. That's different. On the second try it went the right way (although I'm sure some would argue that the first way was the "right" way).

NOT My True Calling

It pains me to say it (really, I am actually in pain right now), but I think that becoming a manual laborer is not for me.

Yesterday I had grand plans to polyurethane the new dining room chairs and sand the drywall joins in the chicken coop (which I mudded, oh, last July). I put on my work clothes, and then... What did I do instead? I read Twilight. All of it.

So the grand plans got switched to today. After a few errands this morning, a late breakfast, and of course the crossword puzzle (I can't really do anything until that is out of the way... it being Thursday it took a little time to get it out of the way), I got down to work. First order of business, sanding the six chairs. (First find the sandpaper. Dickie said it was right here. Oh, here's the box. Empty. Expletive #1 of the day.) That done, I then got out the foam brushes. (This one won't even fit in the can of poly. Expletive #2.) Vaguely appropriately sized brush in hand I got to work. Drip, drip, splotch, and, somehow, a small white imprint of probably my elbow in the middle of the seat (Expletive #3), and the first chair was finished. The problem is that my skill level does not match my perfectionism. Sigh. Chair Two was a bit better, although, inevitably, I did end up getting poly on my forehead (Expletive #4).

I decided to let the chairs dry for a bit to see how they looked before I mauled the next four, so I got Dickie's plastering bucket and off I headed to the chicken coop (a two storey outbuilding that various members of the family have been working on fixing up for about the last decade. Drywalling started 5 years ago, and I am almost done with it). All I needed to do was sand the ceiling downstairs, then I could vacuum it all (LOTS of spiders and webs in there, as well as all the drywall dust), and then start on the second (and last, so help me god) layer of mud.

So I started to sand above my head, a fine, white powder flying everywhere and getting into every orifice (Expletives #5-25). I lasted about 15 minutes, finishing only half the room, before storming out in a billowy huff. I seem to have used about seven times as much mud on the first layer as necessary, and now it all needs to be sanded off. Clearly, the only thing that I know about drywalling is that it is worth paying someone else to do it.

But these aren't the only experiences that have hinted that maybe I'm not meant for a blue collar. The most dangerous thing I have to contend with in the classroom is sniffing too many markers. (One day I collected my kids from art class, and the teacher told me that they had been using permanent markers. My normally rambunctious class was basically silent and stoned.) With Dickie I've hit my thumb with hammers, kicked a saw blade, worried about falling off a room, and wrestled with various power tools (always wearing my safety glasses!).

A couple of weeks ago I was helping my brother (and his crew of three men in their 50s) build a 'shed'. (If anyone asks, it is a shed. Don't mind the fact that it is two storeys, has a shower, and costs more than some houses. According to zoning regulations, it is a shed. I think they are going to put a rake in it, for good measure.) I thrive on human interaction, so I was happy to be busy (more sanding, but not drywall) and have other people around. When I worked at school, I loved hanging out and talking with coworkers. We talked about all sorts of things. But here's a conversation I never had with them:

Ray: Do you want to see pictures of my (soon to be ex-)wife with her moose?
Me: Sure. Look at a little collection of photos of woman in camouflage, holding shotgun, standing next to gigantic moose on a hook. Other pictures of her next to wild (dead) boar. Wonder why he would leave her.
Rod: That's a nice crossbow you got there.
Bob: I shot a deer last year with a [blah, blah, blah, it is all Greek to me].

I have to say that I truly respect the fact that these guys can feed themselves rather than relying upon meat which comes conveniently anonymous and divided into little packages, but I'm just not quite used to conversations about various sorts of weaponry and tactics used to kill things.

Although earlier in the summer, when walking through Home Depot with Dickie, I, unemployed, suggested to him that I get a job there, he said, Sure, you're surly enough, (Um, Dickie, the adjective you were looking for is burly), I think I may just not be cut out for this.

Except for the week of trail clearing I'll be doing next week on an island in Maine, and the week of work I'll be doing later in the month with my friend in New York, that is. Then I'll get the iron out and start working on starching my white collars.

True Calling

Despite the fact that I don't actually have a teaching job (or any job for that matter) for this fall, I am still absolutely sure that being a teacher is my true calling. I know this not because whenever I see a child (my niece or nephew, a friend's child, or a strange child at the pool) I cannot help but add in "please" and "thank you" when appropriate or explain the whys and wherefores of how plants grow. I know this not because I periodically burst into song if something around me reminds me of a song I know. (I sang "Oh, when the rain comes down it cleans up the sky" all too often in July.) I know this not because when I walk into a bookstore I spend more time poring over the children's books than adult books. I know this not even because on my trip I noticed that within the first two minutes of meeting someone, I had uttered the statement "I am a teacher", when almost no one else ever mentioned their job (which caused me to wonder if it was me or if it was the profession that caused these declarations).

I do all of the these things (with alarming regularity), but these are not the reasons that I know I am a teacher through and through. No, I know that I am meant to be a teacher because, just like clockwork, and just like teachers all over, in the wee hours of August 1st, I had my first school dream. Ask any teacher you know about this phenomenon. It is quite startling. Somehow a teacher's subconscious, which has been so quietly resting and rejuvenating for the month of July, knows exactly when it is the month which will usher in the return to school, and it reacts, usually stressfully.

My school dream this year took the form of a faculty meeting. In it I was supposed to be singing a song, but I couldn't remember the words, so I just made them up as I went along. For many people, this would be a stress dream of unmentionable proportion, but for me it was pretty much normal. As I mentioned above, I sometimes break into song anyway, and at my school (former school??) it would not be at all unlikely for someone to sing during a faculty meeting. Many a time has a grade level team given a presentation in song.

So even though I may try my hand at any number of odd jobs this year, I am sure that teaching is what I should, and will soon, be doing.

Last batch of flicks

Here are the last movies, from Thailand and New Zealand.

This is from atop an elephant. Quiet and bumpy...


This is what I awoke to (at about 4 am) in a village in Thailand when I did my little trek. Egads.



It is kind of hard to hear the audio on this, because it was really windy atop the pass on the Milford Track.


Okay, so I didn't realize that I couldn't turn a video clip, so you'll have to cock your head. Sorry!


This is a little clip from the Milford Track, just to show how wonderfully peaceful and beautiful it was (despite the fact that I was in a group of 46 hikers).


A quick clip from the Milford Sound. Enjoy the prettiness (and the accent of the boat captain).


One last video, this one from my favorite place, Punakaiki. (Go way back to February to see the first half of this piece.)

More Movies

Here are some more video clips... This first batch is from Guatemala. I narrate the first four; the last one is walking in the back door of the cathedral in Antigua as one of the Lenten parades is starting up. (I heard this music way too often in my two weeks there.)









This next group of clips is from Kenya. The first is a local tribal dance, but I loved the fact that the kids (off stage, so to speak) were dancing right along.



This is the view from the train as it came into Nairobi.



A couple more will come later...

Movies

As I can't figure out a way to get the movie clips I took on my travels to project on anything larger than my little laptop screen, I thought I'd try putting them on my blog (assuming that the internet connection in this 150 year old farmhouse is slightly faster than it was wherever I was before... big assumption), and then I can show them to all the houseguests on my brother's slightly larger screen. And I guess you can look at them too if you wish.

The first five are from Australia. You'll hear me chatting on all of them except the last, which is of some poor kid with possibly the worst summer job.

The last two are from Costa Rica. I have loads more, which I'll put on when I'm in the mood...

Houseguests

The nice thing about having 16 adults, four children, and seven dogs in the house for a weekend is that it makes six adults, three kids, and five dogs seem like nothing.

Guns

When I was in cold and rainy England last October (weather very similar to the last three weeks in NH, alas), I remember having a conversation with someone about America or something. I can't remember any of the details of the conversation (who, where, how much I'd had to drink), but I remember that I had the impression that this person thought that all Americans were gun-totin'. I said that I didn't have a gun at home, nor did I know anyone who did. The person was visibly relieved to have that stereotype dispelled.

Well, I'm afraid I need to amend my statement. I certainly do not have a gun of any shape or size, nor do I intend to EVER have one. But, this morning I climbed into the truck of the my brother's construction sidekick (I was doing some dry walling for my brother), and noticed something sitting on the floor at my feet. "Is that a HOLSTER???" Yes, a holster for a handgun. I asked no further questions about it, but sat in disbelief for a few minutes. The question that mostly went flying through my head repeatedly was "Why, why, WHY?!"

Not necessarily how I thought I would be starting my day.

Rain, rain, go away

I had thought that I was being excessive, materialistic, and a bit crazy when I brought so many long shirts and trousers and wool socks to my summer beach haunt, but I am afraid that I was a bit prophetic in my packing. I have been here for two weeks, and I have seen the sun two days, I think. The other days I have been wearing as many clothes as I can, happy that I had purchased some jeans and winter trousers from Beans, which I thought wouldn't be worn until October. Wool socks are a must, and often I throw a scarf on as well. In fact, the other evening (when it was only cold and foggy, not actually raining) I was sitting outside and I noticed I could see my breath. It was June 30th.

The cold and rain is pretty abysmal, I have to say. Two weeks of being house-bound. Not fun in and of itself. Now know that we currently have FIVE dogs in the house (about 350 pounds worth of dog), and FOUR children aged four and under. Aside from the din, the mess, and the diapers, what really is rough is that means I can't use the words I want to use to describe how I feel about the weather.

It @#$^&*! $#*%@s, and that's all I have to say about that.

Shoes

Why, when I traveled around the world with only two pairs of shoes, did I feel the need to bring five pairs of shoes with me to New Hampshire? I already had about five pairs here, and it is summer anyway. I spend most of my time barefoot...

Change

Any inclination I had that I was a new, changed, more relaxed and go-with-the-flow kind of girl got thrown out the window this morning when I opened the NYTimes and discovered that the magazine (with my sacred crossword puzzle in it) had been shrunk, reformatted, and used a new font. I think I used every curse word I knew, and grumped for about an hour.

Apparently, change is NOT okay... At least not first thing in the morning.

Dancing

I put the last piece of the puzzle of my former life into place last night, and I went to ballet class. Dance classes are the one thing that I truly missed this year, so it was great to put the tutu back on (I don't actually wear a tutu, but I like to pretend), which fit for the most part, and headed over to crash class.

I was pretty sure that the instructor would let me participate, as we've become friends over the past 5 years of me fumbling around in her class. (I never had any ballet when I was little, so when I took it up at age 30, it was definitely the hardest thing I had EVER done. While I certainly know more now than I did when I started, there are still MANY things I cannot do, and when she runs through a combination, I just chuckle to myself, knowing I'll be happy if I can remember the first 5 moves-- out of about 20... before we start over on the other leg.) I was greeted warmly, both by the teacher and by the ladies in the class, who happily told me they got my postcard from Paris (from the Opera/Ballet House).

I was a little anxious about taking class after a hiatus of a year plus, but I figured I had started from scratch once and survived, I could do it again, probably without the deer-in-the-headlights look this time. I was prepared for not having the flexibility or strength ("You want my leg at 90 degrees? I think 45 is plenty."), but I was surprised (I don't know why) that my coordination had disappeared as well. Double frappes (two quick taps of the toe to my ankle before pointing it out to the floor) were non-existent. A little jumping combination (which was always a bit dicey for me even in the best of times) had me just jumping up and down in place while others were going sideways and forwards and back. But the true kicker was when I attempted to turn across the floor.

Not having built all those spinning synapses when I was young, I've never been the best turner, but this was just comical. I managed about three turns across the floor, and promptly got out of line and went to the end, knowing that the girl behind me would run me over. Take two wasn't any prettier. Again about three spins, and all hell broke loose... or at least that's how it felt. There was no balance, no verticality, and certainly no spotting! I just laughed and flailed myself across the floor any way I could. But I made sure to put a nice ballerina "look at me" ending on it.

So I guess I am coming to the painful realization, once again, that I won't be a ballerina when I grow up. So sad. But I'll keep practicing and taking classes, just in case...

What Next?

The question I keep being asked (and which I ask myself periodically) is "What next?" Well, I'm heading to Maine this weekend, and then to New Hampshire soon for the summer, but I don't think that is what people mean.

I'm not sure what is next. I've been subbing the last few days in first grade (my old job), which has been loads of fun, and so normal and natural to fall back into. I would like to come back and teach next year (I've even managed to get up at a reasonable hour and not be any grumpier than I normally am, even after not having to do so for a year!), but, alas, it doesn't look like there will be any jobs available here. I could get my resume together and apply elsewhere, but a) this school really is great and b) I don't feel like it.

So my plan is to 1) go to Maine for the weekend and have a blast, 2) go to New Hampshire for the summer and have more of a blast, and 3) wait and see what I feel like doing. Maybe I'll want to stay in NH until it gets cold (is that September 3rd or 4th?). Maybe I'll want to do construction work for one of my brothers or whatever financial finagling the other brother might be getting up to (still not really sure what he does). Maybe I'll come back to St. Louis and be a permanent sub. (No lesson plans-- good. Always having lunch duty-- bad.) Maybe I'll volunteer a lot.

I figure I'll either be happy with whatever bits and bats I am doing or I'll become so bored that I will have some impetus to organize a resume. I won't be homeless and I won't be starving, so I don't really have any worries except for my mental well-being. (Which sometimes can be quite worrisome, but that is a whole different story!) In fact, my biggest worry at the moment is what the weather will be like in Maine and what I should pack.

In the mean time, if anybody magically has a job for me, I'm happy to entertain offers! (Does this count as networking? It feels kind of like a debutante party, only there it is basically saying "I am now ready to entertain offers of marriage," which, by the way, I may or may not be ready to entertain, depending on who's offering....)

Thanks

Even though my journeys still continue (I am in San Francisco right now), my Big Trip has come to an end, and I feel like I need to do a little wrap-up, and give thanks and praise where it is due. So here it goes.


On my whole trip I never got sick, never had anything stolen or lost, never left anything unintentionally. I never had issues with transportation or housing or anything. The Fates were smiling upon me and clearly meant for me to do this trip.

What I did was nothing special. Just ask any 25 year old who shared a dorm room with me, who has been in Central America for 8 months. But it was something completely outside of anything I had ever done-- or was ever likely to do-- and yet I am so glad I did it.

I learned a lot about the world and about myself this year. I learned that life is hard lots of places, and I had no concept of what it means to be needy. I learned that happiness can come really easily. I learned that I can do a lot of things that I never thought I could do. I learned what I need in my life and what is a bonus extra.

Thank you to those of you who supported me this year (both financially and emotionally). Thank you to the people who left me comments or sent me emails. Thank you to the myriad people who hosted me this year. Thank you to the people whom I befriended (or who befriended me) along the way.

But most of all, thank you to those of you who said I could do it, those who said I should do it, and especially to those who let me go even though they wanted me to stay. It really was a year like no other, and I couldn't have done it without you.

Clothes

The first thing I did when I got home (after washing absolutely every single thing in my backpack-- anything I didn't pitch, that is) was to purge my wardrobe. I've never considered myself to be a girly-girl or someone obsessed with clothes, but I had ridiculous amounts of everything in my bureau(s) and closet(s), some of which hadn't been warn in literally a decade. (The dress code at my school was a bit more lax than previous places I'd worked-- altough not as lax as it was five years ago, alas-- and I decided that even if they don't hire me back, I don't really want to work some place where I need to wear a silk blouse. Ever. And that Little Black Bridemaid's dress that of course I would be able to wear again which hasn't been put on since September of 1997 went too.) Lucky for me, the woman who lives in the carriage house is opening a thrift store, so the ridiculously large pile of clothes that I amassed will go to good use.

But even with the great purge, I still have about ten times (maybe more) as many clothes now than I've had for the past seven months. Now I have choices to make. I thought that might make getting dressed in the morning a bit of a challenge with all the decisions (shorts or skort, printed t-shirt or plain), but it hasn't. No, what has happened is that now I seem to change my clothes four times a day. Seriously.

Today was this:
Jeans and grubby t-shirt first thing in the morning.
Yoga pants and top for yoga class.
Capris and different t-shirt to head into school to bring treats to my teammates.
And now, same capris (but different Chacos) and a tidy shirt to go the auction house and out to dinner.

Good lord, what has happened to me? Maybe tomorrow I'll try wearing the same outfit all day. Guess I just won't be able to go to yoga or do any gardening. Maybe I'll do both in my pajamas, and that will eliminate two outfits.

Being Home

Technically, my travels are over (except of course for a weekend in San Francisco and a trip to Maine, both in May), but I suspect that my travails will continue (such as they are), so chances are good that I'll still be putting posts up periodically. People around me will probably continue to do ridiculous things, which I will of course feel the need to comment on (always excluding names to protect the innocent... and DeAnn).

I've been home a week now, and it is good. Sure, I've been really confused as to what season it is. (I keep thinking that it is fall, as I'm returning to St. Louis after being somewhere warm.) Sure, I've had wacky dreams each night. (Why am I dreaming about my high school reunion, when it is my college reunion that is coming up??) Sure, the dogs didn't have their toenails clipped all year, and clearly haven't been walked past the end of the driveway. Sure, my gardens are filled with weeds, and the house is filled with mail (most of which can be recycled I'm sure). Sure, I keep wandering into school each day. (It's where all my friends are, plus I don't have a computer at home right now, and I am hoping that if I keep showing up they will eventually offer me a job again...)

But it is really, really good to be back. It smells right, it sounds right, it feels right. It is so nice to see all my friends again, and my old students, and my family, and even my old-lady dogs. I can call my friends any time I want (and some of them even answer the phone). I drove a car today for the first time in almost eight months. It's just like riding a bike (which I've only done once in the last eight months).

I did have to chuckle to myself the other day as I was doing some errands with my mom (no matter how old I am, I revert to being a petulant teenager when I'm doing errands with my mother, but to my credit, she says it will be an hour, and it turns into three!), and we were stuck in traffic. This past year I have spent HOURS waiting for buses, trains, planes, which I've done with complete calm and patience. Such is life. No big deal. What's an extra three hours at the airport? But I come home and suddenly an extra round of being stuck at a stoplight and I am irate. I figured out that the solution was to take the Metrolink and then walk. I am in charge, I am happy, and I'm getting exercise. (Walking the dogs doesn't count as exercise, because I think my heart rate actually goes DOWN.)

I always knew this, but my life is really good. It is filled with beautiful things, beautiful surroundings, and beautiful people. It's nice to be truly reminded of this now and again.

Surprise!

My flight home was booked for May 5th, but a few weeks ago when I got an email from my brother with pictures of my niece and nephew and my heart just hurt, and then when I thought about having three weeks of travel in Costa Rica and I started to cry, I thought to myself, Why can't I just go home earlier? And then I thought, Why CAN'T I go home earlier?? There was no reason I needed to stay in Costa Rica, and clearly the joy of travel had dissipated, so what I really needed to do was just go home. Once I made that decision (especially after I realized that the cost of changing my ticket would be less than the cost of a week of hostels and food), I suddenly was happy and whistling and humming (something other than Homeward Bound).

So I changed my ticket, but told almost no one. The last few days in Costa Rica I kept saying to myself, "48 hours from RIGHT NOW, I'll be on a plane.... I'll be on the Metrolink... I'll be in MY bed." The last days on the road were just treading water until I could come home. On Wednesday evening I arrived in St. Louis, caught the Metrolink, and walked with a very light step (and a pretty light backpack) down the road to my house. My father was in NYC, so I knew not to expect his car, but mom's car wasn't there either. Oh well. The door, however, was unlocked, so in I went. I greeted my dogs (who seemed to know me a little, or just appreciated the fact that I was someone to pet them), greeted the stranger who was sitting in the kitchen (not a surprise at all to have a stranger in the kitchen... although I eventually figured out that she was a classmate of my mother's who was in town for their 50th reunion), and then got about the business of doing laundry.

When I heard mom's car pulling in, and I went and sat on the doorstep and awaited her. She came around the corner of the porch, looked at me blankly for a moment, said, "Oh my god!" and then was rendered speechless for a few minutes (that never happens!). I did much the same thing the next day at school. My teammates (still present tense, so far as I'm concerned) were on a field trip of course, so I had to wait around until they came back. In the mean time I wandered through the halls, chatting with teachers and kids, generally wreaking havoc around the school. I pretty much was a rock star, with kids (and some adults) screaming my name and running to give me hugs. It does a lot of good for one's ego! (Although there were some older kids who asked if I had been gone three years. Either they missed me THAT much or else they don't really have a good sense of time.)

When my teammates reappeared I just stood in the hall as the first grade filed past me. When they saw me, they too looked blankly at me while they processed that I was there but shouldn't be, then squealed and gave me hugs. They said that they were going to surprise ME by picking me up at the airport next week. Oh well, sorry to wreck your surprise, but now we have a few more days to hang out!

After school I loitered in the hallways and got to see lots of my favorite parents. LOTS of hugs, lots of smiles, and lots of good feelings all around.

On Friday I flew to NYC (my morning flight was cancelled and afternoon flight was delayed two hours, but I ran into another parent friend at the airport, so it was worth it) with my mom to come to a birthday party here. We hadn't told my father (who was already in NY) that I was coming, so when he opened the door of the apartment of Tommy the Wig (the only person I HAD told I'd be coming home, as I needed to ask to stay at his apartment as well) and expected to see mom, he got me. Another blank stare, then hugs and tears.

Oh, there is no place like home. It is soooo good to be back, and not just because I actually can flush the toilet paper here. It is normal, it is right. Everything is as it should be. I even got to polish some silver this morning. Life is good....

Monteverde

This past weekend I was in the mountain town of Santa Elena, which abuts the Monteverde Cloud Forets. It was high and cool and lovely. I had heard that it was windy there, but that would have been an understatement. After my little run-in with the cinderblock blowing off the flapping metal roof in Guatemala, I am a bit wary any time I hear wind knocking about tin roofs. As basically all the roofs in Costa Rica are metal, and as Monteverde is possibly the windiest place I´ve ever been, I spent the last few days ducking and cringing.

I went on a guided night hike one evening. We didn´t see many mammals (one something off in a tree, and what looked like an overgrown hamster before it got dark), but we did get to see lots of leaf-cutter ants marching back and forth, and a tarantula. Two actually. A small one (relatively speaking, of course) on a tree, and a very large one (by any standard) in a hole. That poor spider probably gets poked with a stick every night by the guide trying to bait it out for the amusement of the tourists. One of the girls on the hike about jumped out of her skin when the spider appeared, and her boyfriend pointed out that she was shaking. Good choice of activities for her to be doing.

One afternoon, I went to the Frog Pond (no ponds, just a lot of terraria displaying various cool froggies) and an Orchid Garden. Everything came with a guided tour, so am now slightly wiser in the ways of frogs and orchids than I was before.

My last afternoon I went on an (unguided) hike (at a snail´s pace) through the Santa Elena Reserve, which is another cloud forest. That means that it was actually lush and green, as opposed to the rest of the country which has been in the dry season for the last six months and is brown and dusty. I didn´t see many of the animals for which Costa Rica is famous, but that´s okay. I heard some lovely bird calls, saw some creepy crawly bugs, and enjoyed the vegetation. Orchids and moss and lots of things that I recognize as houseplants.

As I finished wandering around the reserve half an hour after the shuttle left (and two and a half hours before the next shuttle), I walked down the hill a bit to this Eco-Park place to check out the hummingbird garden. The park offered canopy tours and ziplines and all sorts of fun for vast amounts of money, but I handed over my measly $5 to see the cheapest thing they had, and it was worth every penny. The garden would have been fantasticallly tranquil and mesmerizing if the zipline hadn´t gone directly overhead. Nonetheless, hummingbirds are now officially my favorite animal. I stood about a foot away from the feeders and had hummingbirds swooping in and out and around me. They are so amazingly FAST, as well as agile and downright goregous. I also got to see a coati (sort of like a racoon) prance in and avail himself of the feeders, emptying every one on one stand of its sugar water.

I didn´t do much else in town besides eat a mango every day. (I haven´t had a mango yet today, so I might have to head off to the store soon to remedy the situation.)

On my way out of town a couple of guys asked if they could switch seats with me, as one of them gets carsick and needed a window. So I sat right behind the poor guy, and was forced to listen to him retch into a plastic bag (of which he and his two friends had plenty). The friend who was sitting next to him (whom I assume drew the short straw) held up his backpack so he couldn´t see his friend every time he bent over the bag. Even when they got off the bus (at a bus stop on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere), the guy was still doubled over and heaving. You would think that he would spring for renting a car if it would help....

Beach Bits

Here are a bunch of random thoughts from my week at the beach (which was supposed to only be three days, but, well, you know...):

People at my hostel were getting sick left and right. Two Dutch girls were throwing up and had fevers, and one of the French Canadian couples got ill. The two girls had drunk the water from the kitchen. (I'd asked about the water, and the hostess told me that the water from the bathrooms was okay, but not the kitchen.) Not sure about the Canadians. I am happy to say that not once in my travels (knock on wood) have I been sick. Either I have a really strong stomach, or else I ate enough stuff off the floor growing up to be able to withstand anything.

I went to the grocery store with a Danish girl from the hostel one evening. She bought a melon that had the price (360 colones) written on it in marker. She smeared the 6 to make it look like 310 colones. She saved herself 50 colones, which is 10 cents. Woo.

On the bus to the beach I heard a bunch of American girls chatting with an Israeli guy (no, the nationalities of these people is in no way important, but I think it's fun knowing where everyone is from). I heard one of the girls say, "We finished college a long time ago." The Israeli asked how old they are. "25" Yeah, that's a long time ago....

Walking into the town of Montezuma one evening (with a Canadian and a German), we were approached by some guy asking if "You want something for your brain?" Somehow, I don't think he meant a book.

I love that getting dressed in the morning meant putting on a bikini, and changing in the afternoon meant putting on dry one. I didn't wear underwear for a week.

One evening the road to town was covered, and I mean covered, with crabs heading for the hills. I've no idea what's up with that, but the crab roadkill carnage the next day was pretty impressive. And stinky.

The grocery store in town sold candy bars (like all good stores do), but it was about a constant 95 degrees in there, so I can't imagine what the chocolate bars were like!

I watched some guy try to body surf in really rough waters. I saw his feet go over his head, then he disappeared for a moment. When he reappeared, he was pulling up his bathing suit.

On the bus out of town, when the journey started, the local guy sitting next to me made the sign of the cross. Did he know something I didn't??

We drove by a hotel/resort that claimed to be the "Home of Temptation Island." Bummer I missed that.

There are lots of signs around the country that declare "Jesu Cristu es el Senor de [wherever]". In my Spanglish, I first translated that as "Jesus Christ is da Man".

Costa Rica is hilly. One hill into Monteverde was so steep that the bus couldn't make it up the first time. We had to roll back, then take another attempt at it. (Second time worked.)


I'm off to hike around in a cloud forest today. Woo hoo!

Tough Day

Thus far my day has consisted of:

Waking up when the sun rose, hearing the sound of the sea.
Getting up and sitting in the hammock for an hour, reading my book, and listening to the sea.
Walking up the beach, listening to and feeling the sea.
Swimming alone in a swimming hole on a stream that fed into the sea.
Reading my book listening to the little waterfalls in the stream and the sea.
Watching a group of monkeys in the trees over the stream that fed into the sea.
Listening to the rain on the roof of my hotel by the sea.

A tough day, but someone has to do it...

(If it makes you feel better, know that tomorrow I'll be spending the day on buses.)

La Playa

Sorry I haven't put up a post in a while, but I've been much too busy being at the beach doing a whole lot of nothing. And it has been good.

Last Saturday I left San Ramon (aka Podunk, Costa Rica), and headed for the port of Puntarenas on the West coast on a bus that was so full that I had to stand in the aisle for the first half hour, until some nice Tico (Costa Rican) offered me his seat. I'm not sure WHY he offered me his seat, as he didn't get off for another ten minutes. Perhaps I was just the nearest female to him. Perhaps he saw me yawn. Whatever the reason, I accepted.

Puntarenas was insanely hot. I got off the bus with my big pack on my back (down to 14 kilos last time it got weighed) and little pack on front, and headed for the post office to send my last letter. I've run out of airmail envelopes and stationery, and I'm almost out of time, so I think I managed that pretty well. From there I started wandering in the general direction of the ferry, which was reputed to be 3 kilometers away. There was supposed to be a bus to the ferry that went up and down the main street, but I didn't see it. I had finally decided to hail a cab, but I couldn't find any that were free. So on and on I trekked in the heat. Eventually a bus did pull up. It wasn't labeled Ferry, so I wasn't sure, but the driver said he was going that way. I think he just felt sorry for me, for there was noone on the bus, and he didn't charge me anything for the ride. Gracias!

The hour-long ferry trip across the Bay of Nicoya was uneventful. At that point I was still pretty jaded (I'm better now), so I wasn't terribly impressed by the scenery. It was really wierd, however seeing all the trees brown and leafless. It's not because it is fall or winter, but rather because it is hot and dry. (Believe it or not, it is raining right now. Real rain. Hard rain. The first rain I've seen since New Zealand, I think. As I walked into town there was a bolt of lightning closely followed by a clap of thunder, which in turn was closely followed by a bunch of monkeys putting up quite a racket. I guess they don't like lightning.) But even in my jaded state, I was impressed by the schools of fish that you could see off the side of the boat. I was not impressed, however, by the number of jellyfish. Peachy. Rip tides and jelly fish. Just what I want in a beach!

From the ferry I got on another bus (this one of the chicken variety, although it was mostly filled not by chickens but with backpackers like myself--although I don't really consider myself a true backpacker, as my goal isn't to get drunk every night, smoke ridiculous amounts of cigarettes and anything else I can get my hands on), which also was standing room only, and felt exactly like a sauna. It was pretty much unbelievable. I turned to the guy standing behind me and commented on it, and we struck up a conversation. He and his girlfriend were headed to the same hostel as I, and I ended up spending the last four days with them. Pat and Nat were a lovely couple from Montreal, who were about my age, and were much fun to hang out with.

There actually were quite a few great people at the hostel. Another French Canadian couple, a French couple (they all were very nice to me and spoke in English all the time), as well as the younger crowd of a great guy from Edmonton, and a German who was so, well, German that I couldn't help but laugh sometimes. (When I finally admitted to him that I spoke German and I said something to him, he got a funny look on his face and said, "Well, that was an interesting combination of German, English and Spanish.") The first night at Hotel Lucy (seriously), when I was in a dorm with 5 other people (real backpackers) and I heard one say "I hope I didn't lose my rum," and another respond "You can drink my gin; I'm not going to drink it," I was terribly unsure about the whole situation. But they all left and I connected with all the Frenchies, and everything became much better. Finally, FINALLY I have the experience that everyone talks about-- "You will meet loads of people." Not until now, with just a few weeks left in my trip. Just saving the best for last, I guess.

With my new friends (who hopefully will come down from Canada this summer to the beach!), I explored Cabo Blanco, Costa Rica's first nature reserve. We hiked the two hours to the beach, had lunch and a dip, then hiked back, being chased by two women who worked there who wanted to make sure we left the reserve by 4pm when it closed. The hike through the forest was pretty, and we saw a few animals here and there, but it was hot. More hot than I possibly have ever been in my life. I know this because at the end of the hike my shirt was absolutly sodden, except for a very small patch on the bottom of the front. I drank three liters of water, and didn't pee once. I just sweat it all out. Yarg!

The next day we explored the local waterfall. Hike up a stream for about 20 minutes and you get to a great swimming hole with a huge waterfall. Swim, watch the fish, enjoy. Then climb pretty much vertically up a "path" and then up some more, and then down something which luckily had a rope to hold onto (all this in a bikini and sarong), and you get to the upper waterfall and three more swimming holes. Many people (who have much less sense than I) hurled themselves off the 10 meter waterfall into the pool below, but I was content with staying in the middle pool, swinging on the rope swing a few times. (Two days later, my arms are still incredibly sore.) Come down with the German guy in the lead, get lost a bit, end up at a fantastic lookout point with a tremendous view of the coast, then watch a group of male howler monkeys for a while. Not a bad day!

Yesterday I trekked WAY up the beach with Pat and Nat (it was crazy hot again, and the ocean was pretty rough an univiting), to an amazing beach, where it was flat, with gentle waves that weren't trying to drag us out to sea or pummel us into the sand. And someone had very kindly built little shade huts along the beach out of driftwood and palm fronds. When we got there, there wasn't another soul there. This was definitely the life.

Most of my new friends left yesterday, and Pat and Nat left today (but then the other French Canadian couple returned, due to the boat they were to take not actually having a motor or something), so I was a little worried I would be sad and lonely again, but I'm okay so far. (I've got a great book) This past few days just reinforces yet again that I really need to be with people that I like-- and respect. It was nice having grown-ups to hang out with. Even though the Edmonton kid was 13 years my junior, he was fun to talk to as well (and not just because he thought I was 28, and wouldn't believe that I am actually 36). Smart people, kind people, respectful people. Those are the people I need.

Tomorrow I think will be my last day here at the beach (I already extended my stay here three days longer than I thought), and then I'll head up to the mountains to do some hiking in the cool weather. That should be nice. After than, not much longer until I head home! Woo hoo!!!

Adios San Ramon

Today is my last day in San Ramon. I can´t say that I´ll miss it terribly. It´s just a regular old town with people doing regular old things. The family I´ve been staying with have been nice enough, but with the language barrier we haven´t really been hanging out too much. Plus, there are way too many teenagers. They have a 13 year old girl, and boys aged 15 and 18. My first day there were so many kids wandering in and out that I had the wrong boy pegged as the 15 year old. A few days later I heard someone at the door calling him, and then the boy I thought to be Darió turned out to be the friend on the sidewalk. Oh well.

My career as a volunteer construction crew has drawn to a close as well. Sometimes I was busy and happy, and sometimes I was purely decorative. I felt kind of like the magician´s sidekick, who just stands around much of the time until she needs to hand over something. I was the human saw horse, vice grip, and sometimes I just was a spectator. (When I was helping my friend in NY last summer with construction on his house, we noted how it seemed to be a specator sport.) Today was my last day, and there were no teary farewells. There weren't even any Thank Yous, for that matter. I'm going to guess that's a cultural thing, for they all seemed quite pleasant. The 10 year old was proudly wearing the t-shirt that I had pawned off on him this morning under his school uniform, however. And when I was at the bus stop, one of neighbors (I think that's who she was) saw me and came over to chat. I didn't really understand anything she said, so I just took hold of the conversation and told her that I was going to the beach tomorrow and home in a couple of weeks. She at least gave me a hug and a kiss. (I HOPE it was a neighbor....)

The grandpa (although I don't think he actually is the grandpa, for the kid called him by his name, not Abuelo) commented on the heat to me this morning (it was damn hot), and asked if I wanted juice. Sí. Lemon or oatmeal? I opted for the lemon this time, so off he trotted to pick some lemons. Gotta love that. This afternoon he offered me a glass of milk. Every day around noon the milk truck comes down the road, honking it's horn. Picture a milk truck in your head.... That's not what this was. This was a little red pickup truck with a bunch of silver milk jugs sitting in the back (remember how hot I said it was?), and people come out to it with their jugs or soda bottles, or even plastic bags, and get some milk ladled in. So when I was handed the glass of milk, it was slightly warm, and some seriously whole milk. There was so much cream in that milk that it left bits on the side of the glass, and I could actually feel the fat on my lips when I drank it. Much to my dismay, no oreos or chocolate of any kind was served with this huge glass of milk, and Gramps just stands there watching you drink, so you have no choice but to basically chug it. I haven't gotten sick on my trip yet, but I figure if I am going to, it will be from this.

I have to say that doing construction in third world country is both similar to and different from that at home. OSHA standards are a bit lacking here, but just like at home there is a lot of standing around taking measurements and discussing how many pieces of wood to buy. Here the wheelbarrow may only have one handle and the ladder is homemade, but just like at home, when the officials come they stay for only 25 seconds-- long enough to ask the name of the owner, write it on a piece of paper, and drive off.

A few other random bits about being here. In attempting to converse with the construction guys, I pretty much adhered to the policy followed by my father's mother (yes, she would be my grandmother, but as she died 13 years before I was born, I think of her as dad's mom) when she (being French) attempted to talk with the local Yorkshire folk-- Say yes unless they look surprised, and then say no. I totally did that the other day when we were talking about the Brazilian dance style called capoeira (I think). I thought I was asked if I knew of it, but when I said yes and got a very startled look, I figured I was actually asked if I knew how to do it, and I said no.

The younger son was sitting with me at lunch one day. He had in his hand a little cup (like the sort that comes on the top of a NyQuil bottle), that had some light blue liquid in it. I sniffed it and decided it was probably mouthwash. The child actually drank it. Alas, my Spanish skills didn't extend to Do you really think you are supposed to drink that??

I guess that's the end of that. Tomorrow at the crack of dawn I head off to the beach. After all this hard work, I clearly deserve it.

Construction

I´ve had 5 days of work at the construction site now. We (when I say "we" I mean me and the two Costa Ricans I´m working with, Robert and Juan) are building a little house for Robert´s in-laws (I think that´s the relation. They are the something of his wife, so I´m assuming he said parents). They are currently living next door, and he lives down the hill with his wife and two kids, aged six and eleven, with whom I attempt to chat sometimes. Robert is about my age, happy and smiley and knows about three words of English (about as many as I know Spanish). Juan, the other guy, is older, and seems to be missing quite a few teeth. I suspect he knows a bit more English, but he doesn´t use it. I think he´s the hired help-- as opposed to the free migrant laborer, who doesn´t understand what they are telling me to do, so I look like a complete idiot most of the time. I´ve given up on pretending I know what they are talking about, and just reach for my dictionary if sign language doesn´t work. It am having fun, though.

So far I´ve sifted a lot of dirt, moved dirt around, mixed concrete, moved concrete, poured concrete floors, and, my favorite, sanded conctete walls with-- wait for it-- a piece of concrete. (I think it was about 8 grit. That would be a rough sanding job.) My muscles are a bit on the sore side, but that´s okay. To get to the site, I have to take a local bus (which is an old school bus, of course) about 15 minutes out of town, and then walk for 15 minutes down a ridiculously steep hill. (Yes, I have to walk back up it at the end of the day... today I was a bit late, so basically ran up it in 13 minutes, because if I missed the 3:15 bus, I´d have to wait until 4:45 or walk back to town. My calves are in pretty good shape...)

Robert´s wife and/or father-in-law (who seems to have three teeth total, talks about a mile a minute, and I can´t understand a thing he says, but I love him) appear throughot the day bringing us drinks or snacks. Today they each appeared in the afternoon bearing coffee and cookies. Yesterday I was served hot fried plantains (kinda like bananas). At lunch today, the wife (no idea what her name is) brought me a glass of fresca, which was I think a melon smoothie made with condensed milk. My favorite drink though, would have to be the milky water that was kind of sweet. Oatmeal, I wondered. I asked, the grandpa said something, and the six year old pointed to the chunks in the bottom of the jugs. I checked my dictionary for what oat is, and yes, they were giving me aqua avena-- oatmeal water. It really isn´t that bad, and I kind of look forward to it now. (I still can´t stand to eat real oatmeal though. WAY too slimy.)

I´ve been studying my Spanish a bit, looking through my flashcards. I took out words that I didn´t think I would need, such as to fit, to seem, and to shave (I rarely use that word in English!). I did, however, keep in the word for to fall down, thinking that might come in handy. (It´s caer, by the way, or caigo for I fall down.) It has, three times now. I tripped over the radio cord, a piece of string leveling the floor, and yesterday I slipped on some gravel and ended up sloshing oatmeal water all over my back.

In chatting with Juan and Robert today (when I say chatting, I mean that I think about one sentence for about five minutes, finally attempt to put it together along with a fair bit of sign language and a few checks of the dictionary, then they say it back to me properly and then launch into a response for the next five minutes, about 2% of which I understand), I told them that I had been to Kenya and done some volunteer work there as well. I am pretty sure that they then asked me if people in Kenya eat each other. NO! It´s amazing what stereotypes people have. I told them that the white people I met in Kenya thought the blacks were stupid and tired (that was my translation of lazy). I said I didn´t like it. Robert asked (in Spanish), You don´t like the blacks? No, I don´t like the whites!

Two more days of work. Not sure what exciting tasks or bizarre mis-translations I´ll get up to tomorrow (or what odd things I´ll be fed), but I´m looking forward to it.

Easter weekend

As I had four and a half days off work (after only one and a half days ON), I went away last weekend to La Fortuna, the town next to the largest (only??) active volcano in Costa Rica. There used to be a couple of towns closer to the volcano, but they got obliterated in 1968, when what they all thought was just a mountain erupted after being dormant for 450 years. (My father tells me that he was actually here at that time. Bet that was exciting!) I don´t know about you, but when the rivers started to run hot, I might have gotten out of town....

As I mentioned before, La Fortuna is basically just a tourist hotspot, but at least that meant it didn´t shut down completely on Good Friday. I wandered around the town a bit (okay, I pretty much walked through the entire town in about half an hour), popping in to various souvenir shops. No, I didn´t buy a hammock or sarong, which seemed to be mostly what was on offer. I did look at various wooden bits and bats, but I´m not willing to carry anything around the country. Maybe I´ll head back into a claptrap shoppe right before I leave. Maybe not.

I did get to go on an outing to see the volcano. Unlike in Guatemala, we weren´t allowed to actually climb on this volcano. (In Guatemala, I could have touched lava if I were insane. No barriers, no guards. Just common sense protecting us. Or at least some of us.) In fact, we saw it from quite a distance, but we did get to go on a nice nature hike through the forest (I think that´s what they call it here, rather than bush or jungle or something else I don´t know). Lots of palm trees, vines, and those wacky plants that you can grow in a little shell on the side of your fridge-- bromeliads, I believe they are called. They are happy growing anywhere, and don´t need a lick of dirt. (I won´t be mentioning that to any of my first graders, for it will just confuse them.) We saw howler monkeys and various birds. Everyone ooooohed and ahhhhed while the guide said "This is the most common monkey/bird in Costa Rica." As I said before, I wasn´t too bowled over, although seeing the hummingbird nest with two little (and I mean little) chicks in it was pretty cool, even for someone as jaded as myself.

My favorite part of the hike, however, was hearing this American guy ask a woman with an accent where she was from. She said Israel, to which he replied, "Cool. I have a friend who just went to India." (I think he might have been someone in Guatemala who would have melted his shoes on the lava.)

After the hike we went to a lookout spot at dusk so we could see the lava coming down the side of the volcano. We were (literally) miles away, but it was pretty neat nonetheless. From there we went to a hot springs spa place, with 25 pools of different temperatures. I particularly liked the Giant Jacuzzi, as well as the pool that had tile recliners built into it. But, as in Thailand when we went to the hot springs (although this place, thank goodness, didn´t smell like sulphur), we were allotted two and a half hours there, and I was ready to go after 20 minutes. I assumed something like this would happen, so I had brought a book.

One evening in La Fortuna, at a restaurant where the poor waitresses were forced to wear ridiculous lacy-collared blouses and huge peasant skirts (I wanted to give her an extra big tip just for having to endure that, but when I had to ask twice for the bill, I decided on a regular tip), I saw a child with a paper napkin tucked into her shirt-- but not as a bib as I would have expected. No, this child had hers tucked into the BACK of her shirt and was wearing it as a cape. That´s my girl.

Two nights there in a hostel (I was in a dorm room, but happily had the whole room to myself), and then I came back to San Ramón. Not much going on here, so I read a lot, studied my Spanish a bit, and then took myself to the movies. You know you are truly desperate for entertainment when you pay to see Dragonball: Evolution... in Spanish. That was Saturday afternoon. Yesterday, Easter, I treated myself to Monsters vs. Aliens, again in Spanish. Luckily, neither of these plots were terribly hard to follow, and the dialogue was pretty predictable, so I was able to catch bits and pieces of it. I think my next movie will be that Benjamin Button one (in English, but with sub-titles, so I can read along and perhaps learn a bit). The final movie they have here (I still have 5 days in Podunk) is Infamundo: Mays 18. Does anyone know anything about that, or what "Mays 18" means? Is that like NC 17, because if so, I need to be mentally prepared before heading in. Maybe I´ll see that on Wednesday, when it only costs $2.40 to go to the movies (as opposed to full price of $3.80!!).

Oh yeah, I´m wishing that there was another volunteer here with me, but I did find Their Eyes Were Watching God and The Diary of Anne Frank, so at least my reading has classed up a bit. (I tend to rotate between a real book, like The English Patient, which I finished in La Fortuna, and mindless rot, like the Patricia Cornwell book I finished yesterday morning.)

I would have loved to ask my hostess if there are any special things that they do or eat on Easter (I saw no evidence of eggs, or bunnies, or chocolate of any sort), but that question is just too beyond my level of Spanish (please see David Sedaris´s story in Me Talk Pretty One Day about discussing Easter traditions in French class).

I guess that´s it for now. Adios, amigos y amigas!

Homeward Bound

A couple of months ago I was in a hostel somewhere in New Zealand and, as always, I had gone to bed early with my book. While reading, I could hear the other hostel guests sitting below my window, listening to music and chatting away. I was only vaguely aware of all this until I heard the familiar strains of Simon and Garfunkle´s Homeward Bound. I stopped reading and listened closely to the words, which suddenly had new meaning to me. After a minute I realized that all the conversation had stopped among the other guests, and they too seemed to be listening intently to the song. Apparently they also longed to be where their thought are escaping, where their music´s playing, where their loves lie waiting silently for them.

I have been singing that tune to myself (and sometimes out loud) for quite a while, but now I am singing it a bit louder and more frequently. I will be homeward bound in just a few weeks, about which I am very excited. I think I am done with traveling, certainly with traveling alone. I see other people with their friends, and I get jealous. I have read a lot of books. I have spent a lot of time sitting and thinking (sometimes I just sits). I have seen many lovely things, but at this point I have simply become jaded, and as I see another monkey in another jungle-vined tree, I think to myself, "Seen it already."

Is this what it means to be world weary? I don´t think so, but that is exactly how I feel. Right now I just long to be Homeward Bound....

The Grass Is Always Greener...

I am currently in the tourist mecca of La Fortuna, the town closest to the active volcano Arenal (to which I have booked a tour tomorrow). In my wanderings around town this afternoon, I saw a place called Cafe Vienna. Naturally I had to go check it out. The guy behind the counter greeted me in English (how could he tell I was a Gringa?) so I asked him if anyone there was actually associated with Wien. Yes, he was from there. I thought to myself, Great, now I can practice that German that I am so fluent in. I opened my mouth, but I could not think of one word in German. All I had in my head was Spanish.

I guess I am only fluent on the other side of the fence.

GORP

I just ate a bunch of gorp that I got from SuperMega (the local supermarket), and noted that they seem to add a bit of cayenne or something to it, for it is kind of kicky. My tongue is tingling a bit. Unless, of course, it is the fact that I was eating it out of the hand that I just used to smear DEET all over myself.

Apparently, common sense seems to have taken a vacation....

Constructing

Worry not, I bought lots of chocolate last night (but managed to consume only three chocolate covered coffee beans), and today the world is much better. I went to work on my own today, and spent the morning (work ended at noon, because of Holy Week) sifting dirt, cleaning up the site, and playing soccer (to the best of my non-abilities) and chatting with a six year old. If nothing else, this will be 10 days of total Spanish immersion. It was reassuring to me when the child could actually understand what I said to him (and vice versa). But clearly either he has quite a limited vocabulary or my accent is horrendous, for sometimes I would look up a word in my dictionary (always in my pocket), and he still had no idea what I was saying. (I'm guessing it's not HIS limited language....)

I do like talking to kids, not only because I am comfortable with them (after 10+ years I should be!), but because he had absolutely no qualms about chatting away in Spanish, despite the fact that I could only get a word here or there. It reminded me (as have many moments in the last few weeks) of the scene in Love Actually where Colin Firth and the Portugese woman (if it wasn't Jennifer Ehle, she's incidental) were holding a conversation of sorts, each in their own language. That's me (but alas, Mr. Darcy is nowhere to be seen).

The kid asked me the names of my students (I wasn't up to explaining that I don't have any this year, so I went with last year's class, all of whose names I eventually remembered... in alphabetical order). He got a kick out of hearing their names, and happily told me that he has an Abby in his class too. Hearing him attempt to pronounce "Oliver" what quite a trip. It just wasn't going to happen even remotely. Sort of like me trying to pronounce "Luigi" (I think that is at least a little bit like the name he was saying to me).

As to names, I've just admitted defeat, and now introduce myself as Lucia. It's just easier.

Costa Rica Service Trip

I knew that the service trip in Costa Rica would totally pale in comparison to that which I just did in Guatemala, but, three days in, I have to say that so far it pretty much sucks.

Granted, I didn't do a whole lot of research on the internet (being someone who can spend WAY too long mulling things over in her mind, but having limited time between deciding I wanted to do a service trip in CR and actually arriving here), but I will have quite a few things to put on the evaluation at the end. I was heartened when I met some folks in Antigua who had actually heard of the organization (called i-to-i), but it's gone downhill from there. It apparently is almost exclusively geared towards young adults, for there was way too much coddling going on during the orientation.

Yes, everyone else in the room was 18-23 years old and on their first trip, but come on, how many times to I need to be told that I can call them any time I might want, and that I should take a shower each day (well actually, I probably should be told that). But I could handle all of that, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, because I do appreciate that others might have needed it.

What I am not particularly appreciative of, though, is that, unlike the three other service trips I've been on this year, this seems to be more of a middle-man for volunteer organizations, and I'm working for some Costa Rican/Canadian group (although I haven't seen any Canadians yet). Okay, whatever. But here's the kicker. I am the only freaking volunteer. Today there were four other volunteers, but it was their last day. All of them. So this week (which actually only consists of one more day because of Holy Week, which is another big issue I have... if I had known that sooner than yesterday, maybe I would have booked for a different week, or at least been able to look into what I want to do with my four day weekend when ALL of Costa Rica will be going on vacation and oh, the buses don't run on Thurdsay or Friday, so I'll be stuck in Costa Rica's version of Creve Coeur-- I'm actually at the mall right now) and next week I will be toiling away by myself and with whatever the local crew might be (today it was two guys). Well, I guess my Spanish will be much improved by the end of it, so if you need to know how to say, "How many scoops of concrete would you like in the wheelbarrow," just let me know.

I'm not impressed with Costa Rica thus far, no matter how much other people love it. I think I need to head into the grocery store behind me and stock up on copious amounts of chocolate (which clearly I am in need of) before it shuts for the long weekend. (I did buy myself three books in English yesterday, so that should get me through the weekend if all else fails.)

Guatemala

I recently finished my two weeks in Guatemala, and I have two distint impressions about the country (or at least Antigua and Guatemala City, which is where I was exclusively). Firstly, there are a lot of guns in Guatemala. Secondly, (and completely unrelatedly) that country sure does love Lent!

I have never seen so many guns in my entire life (possibly put together). And I´m talking big guns. Every policeman, security guard, and even one random guy in regular clothes walking down the street, was carrying a shotgun. At banks, jewelry stores, street corners... everywhere. One day, when arriving back at my homestay, there was a delivery druck dropping supplies off at the little shop across the street, and standing next to the truck was a guy with a big gun. There were even armed guards at the amusement park we went to with the kids from Safe Passage. It was slightly disconcerting seeing big guns around small children. My favorite gun moment (if there can be such a thing) was when we saw a police car rear-end (quite gently, as they were inching along in traffic) another car. The cops got out of their car, bearing machine guns, and, surprise surprise, the whole incident seemed to be taken care of in about 15 seconds.

The ridiculous number of guns made me feel neither safe nor unsafe, merely bewildered. (I haven´t any idea, I´m happy to say, whether the guns were ever put to use, or if they were even loaded.)

As to the country loving Lent, well, Antigua is reknowned for their Holy Week celebrations. Although I left right as Holy Week was beginning (but not before I got to see Jesus walk down the street in front of my house on Palm Sunday), I did get to see quite a bit of pomp and circumstance. They had processions every Sunday, in which families paid (!) to have their son(s) dress in purple satin robes and help to carry around a monstrous float. Presumably this is a bit of a status thing, as well as a way to do penance. The floats were accompanied by a big brass band playing funeral dirge after funeral dirge. During the week I was there (the week before holy week), there were loads of processions as well. While wandering along, the float and band and all the guys in purple walking alongside, and anyone else that wanted to follow the procession, walked over ´carpets´ that people made (out of flowers and pine needles, or really elaborate ones out of dyed sawdust). Hours are spent making these, and then they just get pulverized. (I particularly liked seeing the cleanup crew and garbage trucks following along sweeping up and getting rid of the debris.)

It was all quite a trip. As I've left Guatemala now, I will share with you the other random things I saw, heard, and thought.

Only 18% of students in Guatemala finish elementary school.

Guatemala (or Latin America in general) is where school buses go to die. They get all pimped out and turned into what is affectionately called chicken buses. While there were no chickens on the bus we went on, there was way over the legal capacity of people! We were sitting three to a seat. On field trips with kids, that is no problem. But three to a seat with adults means that the third person has maybe one cheek on the seat and is being propped up by being smooshed into the third person on the opposite seat. (Lucky for me, it was a strapping 24 year old lad...) The chicken buses have loud, booming horns that they like to use. They use them when they think someone might cross the street in front of them or need picking up or when they get to a street corner or whenever they damn well feel like it. (My bedroom faced a large Avenue, and the honking started at about 5 am.) AND the chicken buses don't seem to have to have any emissions testing. The black smoke coming out of the exhaust pipe was exactly like (in color and size) the scary black smoke in the first season of Lost. (What WAS that?) I couldn't have the windows open in my room, because of the fumes. (And yes, I could smell them starting at 5 am also.) Blowing my nose emitted some lovely black stuff. Ick.

I got to feel two earthquakes while in Guatemala... one while I was skyping my brother (although he wouldn't have known it unless I pointed it out to him).

You are supposed to barter with the people peddling their wares. But when it is only $3 to start with, and that three bucks means way more to the Mayan woman who is selling it than to you, who cares? I bought myself a headband, and didn't blink at the price. She must have felt bad, for she threw in a bracelet for free. It reminded me of that haggling bit from Monty Python.

In wandering aimlessly around town one day, I went into a jade jewelry store. (Apparently, as in New Zealand, jade was big Guatemala.) I was totally followed around the store by a clerk the whole time. Yes, I had a back pack, and yes I looked scruffy, but really? (Welcome to racial-- or socio-economic-- profiling, take two!)

I saw a boy of about four swishing along one day in snowpants. It was about 75 degrees.

At an ATM one day, yet another armed guard made me wait outside while the (apparently incompetent) tourists attempted to work the machines. Eventually he went over to help them punch buttons.

At my homestay, the elderly and very deaf mother of my host lived with them. One night she was apparently ill, for I was awoken at about midnight by the most awful series of noises. Moans, retching, yells, and some other noises that I can't quite describe, but I'm pretty sure have been used in zombie movies. It was the only time in my entire trip that I have actually been scared. (I was very glad I had locked my door.)

In Spanish class one day, my teacher gave me a worksheet that had all sorts of kitchen implements on it (some of which I didn't even know the name of in English). On that sheet was the very useful vocab for 'meat grinder'. How often does one use that word? Well, it gave me the opportunity to wade my way through the story (in Spanglish) about the time that I was looking for an apple peeler/corer in my kitchen and couldn't find one, but found five (no, I'm not exaggerating), FIVE meat grinders.

I made flashcards for all the vocabulary I had been learning (not the kitchen stuff, for when will I use that? I did put down the phrase "I broke..." though). I went through them the next day, and the pile of stuff I knew was actually larger than that I didn't. (Probably wouldn't be now, if I did it again.)

Upon entering the security area in the Guatemala airport, these words actually came out of my mouth (hopefully not too loudly): "Why are they all green? And putting their pants on?" (It was a soccer team all wearing matching shirts and putting their belts back on after security.)

My flight to Costa Rica had a layover in Nicaragua. There's another place I never in my life I thought I'd be....

Speaking Spanish

I am nearing the end of my second week (that's semana en espanol, for those of you who aren't quite as fluent as I in Spanglish), and I am more or less managing to avoid any major catastrophes with my utter lack of language skills. (As you may have deduced from various posts, I took four years of German in college, preceded by 6 very useful years of Latin in high school. My total amount of Spanish would be a few phrases from Sesame Street. So as long as someone is asking me whether a door is opened or closed, I am all set.)

My Spanish speaking started off well last week. On the first day of our service trip, we went to the Safe Passage office, where we got to pick out two t-shirts. (By the way, my wardrobe has doubled in the last two weeks, as I got two t-shirts from Safe Passage, one from Bowdoin, one from the house building I'll be doing in Costa Rica, and one from the Spanish school. Getting dressed in the morning now is really hard, because I actually have decisions to make about what to wear!) I told the woman doling out shirts that I would like una blanca pico y una verde pico (probably totally screwing up all endings, but whatever). She told me, "Muy bien," to which I responded, "Danke... Bitte.... Scheisse!" (That would be German for Thank you... You're welcome... $#!t.)

While I had the Spanish-speaking Bowdoin folks around me, I pretty much rested on my linguistic laurels and let them do the talking. (I was eavesdropping on a fellow alum who thought he was talking about bacon one day, and I said "I could go for some [whatever the word was he said and I naively repeated]." The person I was speaking to looked blankly at me, and told me I had just said I could go for a Guatemalan woman. Hmmm, not today, I think.)

(By the way, I am happy to tell you that I am able to tune out children in any language. On the van to the amusement park on Saturday, I sat happily thinking my own thoughts while the din of excited children rang around me. Much the same thing happens on field trips at home. Happily, it was the OTHER van which contained the students who all started singing Waddlyacha, for which the other volunteers were not thankful to me.)

This week I am taking Spanish class for four hours each morning, and then doing my own thing in the afternoon. (Sometimes I have homework! I haven't had homework in 15 years. Sad to say, as soon as I pulled it out that first night, I automatically turned on the TV. It worked so well for me in college, why not continue thus? I like to pretend that watching American TV and reading the Spanish subtitles counts as language research.) I am staying with a family, and they chat to me in Spanish. So long as I have context and a fair amount of sign language, I can understand a fair bit, but I am not so good with the speaking myself. I managed to communicate to them that I don't eat breakfast, but I did inadvertantly accept a cup of coffee the other afternoon. (I don't drink coffee.) It came with a big chocolate cookie from this amazing bakery in town, so I decided it was worth it.

Taking Spanish class is funny to me, for I haven't been a student in quite a while. One morning I was learning to tell time in Spanish, so my teacher drew a clock and put the hands on it. She wanted me to read 6:30, but I was hung up on the fact that she had both hands pointing exactly to the 6. As anyone who teaches time (especially to the half hour) knows, when the big hand is at the 30, the little hand is half way to the next number! (I redrew the hands for her, and told her the time.) There was another time when she had me doing a little exercise where I had to change verbs from singular to plural or present to past within the context of sentences I was reading. I could do the exercise because I understood the formula, but couldn't have told you what any of it meant at all. There was no genuine understanding to be had that day!

Yesterday I decided that my Spanish skills were good enough (and I was in dire enough need) that I headed off in search of a place to get my hair cut. (I haven't had a haircut since the Gidget hack job that I had done in June.) The woman said something to me in Spanish, to which I looked blankly, and then she said "Shampoo?" No. No, I do not want a shampoo. No, I have not used any shampoo for the last week. Not sure what she was asking, but I think I answered it correctly. I told the woman that si, I wanted two or three fingers' worth of hair cut off. Then to emphasize the point, I put my hair in a ponytail to say that it still needed to be able to do that. I think my sign language translated to "Please cut it off to this length", for many inches of my hair fell to the floor. (Oh well, it grows.) I did have to do some corrective surgery with some kitchen shears when I got back to the casa, for there were quite a few hairs that hadn't gotten their due trim. Luckily the shaggy look is in. But for $6.60, what can I expect?

This afternoon I think I am going to treat myself to a hot chocolate while I make flashcards for myself. I head off to Costa Rica on Sunday for two weeks of housebuilding, so I'll be using my dictionary to translate such phrases as "Please hand me that hammer," and "I think I just chopped the top of my finger off."

pix

I put up a couple pictures on the last few posts, so you can check them out. I´ll put some more of my favorites here. Enjoy.