parted curtains

I will remain restless, tense, and dissatisfied

2011-07-15T09:34:00.001-05:00

Dear Lord, I will remain restless, tense, and dissatisfied until I can be totally at peace in your house. There is no certainty that my life will be any easier in the years ahead, or that my heart will be any calmer. But there is certainty that you are waiting for me and will welcome me home when I have preservered in my long journey to your house.
- Henri J.M. Nouwen

Adventure in Three Movements: Third Movement

2011-07-14T12:22:00.014-05:00

The Newfoundland

Having experienced the Wonderland, it is impossible for us to ever truly return "home." We have been changed by the Wonderland, and our families and friends in the Homeland are always imperceptibly changing too. In returning from the Wonderland, then, we encounter the Newfoundland--our home as experienced anew through the lens of what we have lived in the Wonderland. This Newfoundland is where the missionary journey truly begins.

Whatever we accomplish in the Wonderland, we do so as outsiders, foreigners, "birds of passage." Assuming that we have been affected by the novelty, challenge, and depth of the Wonderland, we return as new or renewed people. Meanwhile, the events occurring in the Homeland--the changes taking place there--have been incremental and gradually assimilated by the community. Expecting, quite literally, to return "home," it can be deeply disturbing to discover that the Homeland does not feel like the same place we left. Returning to the Newfoundland can produce as much disjunction, surprise, discontinuity, and even pain as the entrance into the Wonderland may have produced. Yet, experiencing "home" as a Newfoundland can also be a profound gift. We can return renewed, reinvigorated, and actually relevant to the communities we had left behind. We can offer fresh perspective, a new witness to the gospel, and a deeper sensitivity to those around us.

Adventure in Three Movements: Second Movement

2011-07-13T12:20:00.001-05:00

The Wonderland

The Wonderland is a world different from our own--it is someone else's Homeland. The rules of our homeland may not fully apply because different worlds are built on different systems of meaning. But because of our common humanity, we can expect to encounter commonalities even as we encounter differences. The challenge is to know how to interpret both the commonalities and the differences.

Adventure in Three Movements: First Movement

2011-07-12T12:20:00.001-05:00

The Homeland

The Homeland is the place that formed identity, the place into which we sank our cultural roots. The Homeland taught us how to understand and interpret the world from a particular perspective. From the Homeland and its people, we learned how to "make sense" of a complex world.

Returning from Service

2011-07-10T20:32:00.001-05:00

by Andrea Roske-Metcalfe

*The Two Gretels
by Robin Morgan

The two Gretels were exploring the forest.
Hansel was home,
sending up flares.

Sometimes one Gretel got afraid.
She said to the other Gretel,
“I think I’m afraid.”
“Of course we are,” Gretel replied.

Sometimes the other Gretel whispered,
with a shiver,
“You think we should turn back?”
To which her sister Gretel answered,
“We can’t. We forgot the breadcrumbs.”

So, they went forward
because
they simply couldn’t imagine the way back.

I discovered the poem by Robin Morgan at a coffee shop in Cuernavaca, Mexico, where I live and serve as an ELCA missionary. I was sitting with a good friend, flipping through Cries of the Spirit, a book of poetry. When I came across the “The Two Gretels,” I almost fell out of my chair.
“This is it,” I said to my friend. “This is what it’s like to go home.”

There's no place like home?
The notion of returning home from international mission service is a paradox. Although missionaries may return to the same physical locations from which they left, they have been so changed by their experiences that they can’t help but see everything through new eyes. This phenomenon is compounded by friends and family who often operate like Hansel by “sending up flares,” expecting them to find their way back to the very same place from which they set out. Often times, neither the returning missionary nor their friends or family recognize that this place no longer exists. This disconnect between Hansel and Gretel, between missionaries and the communities that sent them, makes any attempt to return home precarious, at best.

Gretel moves to a castle
My name is Andrea, and in returning from Global Mission service I became one of the two Gretels. My first returning experience came at age 15 when I spent a week of service in Juarez, Mexico. I helped build a one-room house for a family of five. The day after I got back to Minnesota, my own family of five moved into a much larger house than the one where I grew up. For the first time, I had my own bedroom and it had more square footage than the house we had just finished building in Juarez. My new home felt like an extravagant castle. I cried myself to sleep out of frustration and guilt. I didn’t know how to talk to my parents about my feelings without seeming ungrateful.

Gretel meets Super Target
Several years later I returned again, this time from a summer with Youth Encounter, in Tanzania. Once home, I accompanied my mom on errands to a Super Target store, an expanded version of the typical store chain. When we were ready to pay, I noticed that only two of the 32 registers were open. I had been back for several months already, but my mind began reeling. I was trying to calculate how much one register must cost, and how many bags of rice that would purchase, when my field of vision started going dark. I handed my purchases to my mom, stumbled out of the store, and promptly threw up in the garbage can.

Returning from Global Mission service is to become one of the two Gretels—it is to find yourself without breadcrumbs, without a map, without a GPS system for finding your way back to the place you call home. It is to find yourself in the midst of a reverse culture shock, which hits without warning in the unlikeliest of times and places. It leads you to wonder if you ever really knew your dearest friends. It makes you feel lost in your own community.

Gretel returns to herself
But returning from Global Mission service is also to become the other one of the two Gretels—it is to return home by going forward, because you simply can’t imagine the way back. It is to understand your own culture in new ways, through different lenses. It is to discern more fully who you are as a child of God, and to discover new ways of living faithfully and authentically in the world. It is to re-discover kindred spirits who were there all along.

I’m relieved to say that every time I’m faced with the paradox of returning home from an intense, inter-cultural experience, it gets a little easier. I don’t expect home to be the same, and my friends and family have stopped sending up flares. I no longer expect to return unchanged, and my friends and family no longer expect to remain unchanged themselves.

And this, perhaps, is the key: just as reverse culture shock affects the returning missionary and everyone around them, so does Global Mission service itself. The Holy Spirit blows in and through these experiences and relationships, changing everyone involved, but only if we let her in; only if we expect to be changed.

As the community of God’s people, we can’t go looking for breadcrumbs, and we can’t keep sending up flares. All we can do is go forward, because we simply can’t imagine the way back.

* Copyright 1974 by Robin Morgan in her poetry collection Lady of the Beasts (Random House).

The Cost

2011-06-30T11:51:00.000-05:00

Part 1:
My friend Erika is one of the most amazing people I know. Her four kids are full of energy, enthusiasm, and snark. She manages them with so much calm, so much cariño. She works ungodly hours to be able to provide for them. She can scrape together the most delicious meals on a very tight budget--a little of this, a little of that. She speaks with me honestly about the violence in her neighborhood, and I feel trusted and respected and at home, but I have trouble believing in her fear; she seems fearless. She is a five-foot-two Amazon. She worries that I will have to spend important holidays alone, and tells me she's not sure what they'll be able to eat that day, but if I'm lonely I should come over and at the very least we'll dance until we collapse with exhaustion. She always remembers that I'm allergic to hot dogs, and that I don't like soda. She makes my favorite sweetened pumpkin dessert when she knows I'm coming for lunch.
When they first arrived in la estación, their house was made of cardboard and scrap tin and billboard plastic. She and her husband put up concrete blocks one wall at a time. He made all of their furniture by hand. They have just one room, one bed, for all six of them, and their four kids are growing like weeds.

Part 2:
I never understood floods--maybe because I've never seen it. I remember conversations my parents had about flood planes and homeowners insurance when we moved to South Carolina, and feeling baffled. I remember a vague terror over hearing about floods on the news, but it was a terror I reflected from my parents--it was not mine. "It was just water," I once said to my father. "What's the big deal?" The whole worry seemed silly and over-blown and far-away.

Part 3:
Erika's house sits at the bottom of the only hill in la estación. They tell me they've always had a little trouble when the rainy season hits, but that most of the water has been able to flow into the barranca, or ravine, without much drama. This year, people started throwing their trash behind their house because the other dump sites have gotten too full.
Last week, their house filled up with a meter of water, which churned around and around in their living room/kitchen/bedroom for a while before the rain died down and it was able to drain out. When the water left, it took with it almost a foot of the packed dirt that had formed their floor, the kids' school uniforms and good shoes, their school books. It ruined their simple but beautiful wood furniture, their stove, their mattress. It was just water.

This is the cost of being poor. Because land titles aren't being recognized in this community, the government refuses to help the community figure out appropriate solutions for waste management or drainage (despite all the promises during campaign season). My friends can't afford better land. They can't afford to build their house in such a way that it won't flood. They can't afford to protect their few belongings, and they can't afford, now, to replace them all. It was just water.

When I stopped by unannounced on Tuesday, Erika was at work. Her husband was mixing sandy concrete to try to put down a new floor. A few muddy books were hanging on the clothes line. Some of the kids' toys were sticking haphazardly out of a pile of dirt that had been shoveled off into the corner to clear the floor. The kids hugged me fiercely, brought me a chair, offered me the last dregs of a two-liter Coke. They dragged their puppies out from the corners in which they were hiding to show me how big they've grown. Their father mixed concrete. I had nothing to say. Nothing to offer. It was just water.

10 Suggestions for Helping your YAGM Return Home

2011-06-19T10:59:00.000-05:00

10 Suggestions for Helping your Young Adult in Global Mission (YAGM) Return Home
by Andrea Roske-Metcalfe

1. Don’t ask the question, “So how was it?” Your YAGM cannot function in one-word answers right now, especially ones intended to sum up their entire year’s experience, and being asked to do so may cause them to start laughing or crying uncontrollably. Ask more specific questions, like “Who was your closest friend?” or “What did you do in your free time?” or “What was the food like?” or “Tell me about your typical day.”

2. If you wish to spend time with your YAGM, let them take the lead on where to go and what to do. Recognize that seemingly mundane rituals, like grocery shopping or going to the movies, may be extremely difficult for someone who has just spent a year living without a wide array of material goods. One former YAGM, for example, faced with the daunting task of choosing a tube of toothpaste from the 70-odd kinds available, simply threw up in the middle of the drugstore.

3. Expect some feelings of jealousy and resentment, especially if your YAGM lived with a host family. Relationships that form during periods of uncertainty and vulnerability (the first few months in a foreign country, for example) form quickly and deeply. The fact that your YAGM talks non-stop about their friends and family from their country of service doesn’t mean that they don’t love you, too. It simply means that they’re mourning the loss (at least in part) of the deep, meaningful, important relationships that helped them to survive and to thrive during this last year. In this regard, treat them as you would anyone else mourning a loss.

4. You may be horrified by the way your YAGM dresses; both because their clothes are old and raggedy and because they insist on wearing the same outfit three days in a row. Upon encountering their closet at home, returning YAGMs tend to experience two different emotions: (1) jubilation at the fact that they can stop rotating the same 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts, and (2) dismay at the amount of clothing they own, and yet clearly lived without for an entire year. Some YAGMs may deal with this by giving away entire car loads of clothing and other items to people in need. Do not “save them from themselves” by offering to drive the items to the donation center, only to hide them away in your garage. Let your YAGM do what they need to do. Once they realize, after the fact, that you do indeed need more than 2 pairs of jeans and 4 shirts to function in professional American society, offer to take them shopping. Start with the Goodwill and the Salvation Army; your YAGM may never be able to handle Macys again.

5. Asking to see photos of your YAGM’s year in service is highly recommended, providing you have an entire day off from work. Multiply the number of photos you take during a week’s vacation, multiply that by 52, and you understand the predicament. If you have an entire day, fine. If not, take a cue from number 1 above, and ask to see specific things, like photos of your YAGM’s host family, or photos from holiday celebrations. Better yet, set up a number of “photo dates,” and delve into a different section each time. Given the high percentage of people whose eyes glaze over after the first page of someone else’s photos, and the frustration that can cause for someone bursting with stories to tell, this would be an incredible gift.

6. At least half the things that come out of your YAGM’s mouth for the first few months will begin with, “In Mexico/Slovakia/South Africa/etc…” This will undoubtedly begin to annoy the crap out of you after the first few weeks. Actually saying so, however, will prove far less effective than listening and asking interested questions. Besides, you can bet that someone else will let slip exactly what you’re thinking, letting you off the hook.

7. That said, speak up when you need to! Returning YAGMs commonly assume that almost nothing has changed in your lives since they left. (This happens, in part, because you let them, figuring that their experiences are so much more exciting than yours, and therefore not sharing your own.) Be assertive enough to create the space to share what has happened in your life during the last year.

8. Recognize that living in a very simple environment with very few material belongings changes people. Don’t take it personally if your YAGM seems horrified by certain aspects of the way you live – that you shower every day, for example, or that you buy a new radio instead of duct-taping the broken one back together. Recognize that there probably are certain things you could or should change (you don’t really need to leave the water running while you brush your teeth, do you?), but also that adjusting to what may now feel incredibly extravagant will simply take awhile. Most YAGMs make permanent changes toward a simpler lifestyle. Recognize this as a good thing.

9. Perhaps you had hopes, dreams, and aspirations for your YAGM that were interrupted by their year of service. If so, you may as well throw them out the window. A large percentage of returning YAGMs make significant changes to their long-term goals and plans. Some of them have spent a year doing something they never thought they’d enjoy, only to find themselves drawn to it as a career. Others have spent a year doing exactly what they envisioned doing for the rest of their lives, only to find that they hate it. Regardless of the direction your YAGM takes when they return…rejoice! This year hasn’t changed who they are; it has simply made them better at discerning God’s call on their lives. (Note: Some YAGMs spend their year of service teaching English, some are involved in human rights advocacy, others work with the elderly or disabled, and at least one spent his year teaching British youth to shoot with bows and arrows. The results of this phenomenon, therefore, can vary widely.)

10. Go easy on yourself, and go easy on your YAGM. Understand that reverse culture shock is not an exact science, and manifests itself differently in each person. Expect good days and bad days. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if necessary. Pray. Laugh. Cry. This too shall pass, and in the end, you’ll both be the richer for it.

As you might've gathered from recent posts and newsletters, our time here in Mexico is winding down. We, as a YAGM community, have been doing our best to prepare for this transition, knowing that there's no true way to prepare for it. We've had to find new ways to do that, in light of the three volunteers who were sent home early. We've also been quick to remember that it is not only our transition; this time of receiving YAGMs will be equally difficult for those who never left home. I thought I would start to be a little more pro-active in sharing some of the things I'm reading and thinking about with y'all. Beginning with this list, written by our country coordinator, Andrea.

In some ways, it would make more sense to share this list with you right before I get on the plane. It might make sense to carry around copies of it and hand them to people before we begin the first conversations we will have face-to-face in over a year. But that only makes sense if my sole concern is my experience of coming back. If we are to get through this time together, I think we need to be honest that we're coming from different places. So, here's a starting point. Here are some suggestions from Andrea--some requests from me. I hope it will give you an idea of where I'm starting from so that we can start this conversation, and some context for other clips, quotes, and ideas from other sources I'll be sharing in the next month.
Now it's your turn. Where are you with this transition? Are you going to be camped outside the airport on the 15th so you can be the first to see me? Are you living on the other side of the world yourself, and realizing that my being in the Carolinas doesn't mean that much difference in our ability to talk to each other? What are you looking forward to learning about once I'm back, that you haven't been able to ask me about while I've been gone? What are you nervous about?
[My answers might be a little more complicated, since there's only one of me, and there's a lot of you, but I'll be sharing those thoughts, too, in the coming weeks.]

Identity

2011-06-16T09:54:00.000-05:00

Maybe part of the problem is that I've sort of been forgetting that I'm not a poor Mexican. I joked at the start of this year that I've changed my name so many times because I'm still trying to figure out who I am, and trying on a new name helps me feel like I can start over. "I wonder who Carolina will be," I mused. That was back when I thought people might use my full name (chosen, in part, by a liguistic goof-up), before I was called Caro to my unending confusion, and before I started waging the still-undecided battle for Lina.
Whatever you call her, it's not an easy answer. In some ways, Carolina is a girl whose friends live in the "worst" parts of Cuernavaca, whose mamá makes her hot chocolate and tamales when she's sad, who walks to work to save the five pesos and fifty cents it costs to take the bus, who listens to Jarabe de Palo and Reik.
But she's also just one part of Miriam Kathleen, a young woman who has a college degree and reads for pleasure, who speaks three languages, who has had frequent opportunities for international travel, and who can get a couple thousand pesos out of the ATM whenever she feels like it. The same person who was once Katie and then Miriam and then Kat and sometimes Katja. I forget that although people frequently compliment how well I speak Spanish, I still have a foreign accent and limited vocabulary. I forget that although Licha calls me m'hija ("my daughter"), I'm still blond and a foot taller than the rest of my family.
It's easier yet to forget that all of those are me, that I don't get to suddenly become someone else because my name has changed and I operate in a new language. That I don't get to stop being privileged because I have chosen one year of simple living and accompaniment with the poor.

But I wonder, is this not true for all of us? Who is you're forgetting that you are?

2011-06-09T09:00:00.001-05:00

My April/May newsletter is now available here.

A La Marcha

2011-05-19T10:01:00.000-05:00

I wrote in my March newsletter about going to hear Javier Sicilia speak as a part of a march for an end to drug-related violence in Cuernavaca. This month, another march was organized, this time from Cuernavaca all the way to the city square of the nation's capital--the zocalo surrounded by government buildings and the national cathedral.


An effigy of President Calderón hangs beneath a sign that reads "imperialism's puppet," with protesters and the cathedral in the background.

While demonstrations in Mexico City on May 8 attacked a variety of issues (most of them anti-Calderón in one way or another), the largest faction was the "No Más Sangre" group led by Sicilia. The complaints against the government are complicated and controversial, but the crux of their argument boils down to this: in Calderón's attempt to legitimize his presidency, he has declared an unmanageable and un-winnable war against the drug cartels, but this war's toll has proven too great--we either need a dramatic change of policy, or a all-out change of leadership.
Many question whether Calderón's actions influence the rising death toll of the drug war at all, or if his political posturing just makes him an easy scapegoat. From The Esteyonage:

I went by [the march] for a bit, and just couldn't help but thinking what the hell cartel bosses around the country were thinking watching this all play out on TV. I kept thinking about a friend's cynical perspective that they would see this as a joke. That the government - who most appealed to - can't fix the real problems.
Despite all the positive energy, and thousands of people, I couldn't shake that somber thought.

And The Globe and Mail:

But when he in turn condemns the Calderon administration, declaring, “Your struggle for power has torn apart the fabric of the nation,” Mr. Sicilia steps outside of reason.
His son was not murdered by the state, but by criminal gangs. Contrary to what the poet says, the death can only “be blamed on our failing institutions” insofar as those institutions have been unable to vanquish the murderous cartels, not because they have had the courage to try.

There's an important question here: to what extent does any president have the full control of his country? What's more, this political climate has an eerie echo: a dubious election, a divisive president, an unpopular war against an invisible enemy. And in Calderón's responses, I see the same cocky cowboy tenuously defending the pursuit of justice, rooting for courage in the face of terrorism. Maybe I'm getting too caught up in the excitement of being on the ground in the midst of a populist movement, but I couldn't help but see the urgency in people's faces as they listened to Sicilia speak on that blistering Sunday. I, too, worry that these demonstrations are pointless, but I can't help but hope that where our passions failed to unify us in the States, Mexico might find a different outcome. I won't stop hoping that although there are no easy fixes in wars against Drugs or Terrorism, saying "We don't know the answer, but we do know this isn't it," might be enough for the moment.

Two marchers, whose signs put a twist on the popular slogan, "No More Blood."
These read "Yes, More Love."

Christ is Risen

2011-05-07T23:02:00.000-05:00

Growing up a PK (pastor's kid), I felt keenly aware of what was going on in the life of the church. But I never paid much attention to the liturgical calendar, other than to know when the next big party was coming up. My interest in it diminished even further when I started practicing Quakerism, and trying to think of each day as equally holy. But here in Mexico, I've found the seasons of the church a helpful tool for keeping in contact with the people I left at home. I've discovered new ways of processing my experiences through the lens of each season.

That doesn’t mean that I’ve found it easy to live in the spirit of each one. Back in December, I wrote about my relative success in realizing Advent, but Lent felt pretty strange. But it is the season of Easter that really has me scratching my head. For one thing, I had never even really thought about the fact that there is a season for Easter. My focus as a child was on how much candy I would get, and what color my pretty new dress would be. As an adolescent, I greatly enjoyed being a part of our youth group’s Eggstravaganza, an egg-hunt carnival we organized for younger kids in the congregation. But Easter really only boiled down to one day. One event. One moment.

Secondly, I missed out on all the prep work. I went to Chiapas for Holy Week. Every state and city in Mexico boasts that they have the “best” Holy Week traditions, and since we wanted to see Chiapas anyway, Anneli and I decided to see what they had to offer. Particularly spectacular, I was told, are the Good Friday services in San Cristóbal de las Casas, where they do a live reenactment of the crucifixion. Long story short, we missed that service, and only barely got a glimpse of the silent procession that happened that night, with people dressed up as something resembling both a priest and an executioner carrying the “corpse” (in this case, a life-size doll) of Jesus through town. It was an uncomfortable experience to be having without our host families to explain things to us. We lacked the confidence to go to Easter mass. We worried that we wouldn’t find the kind of trumpets-blaring, hallelujah-singing excitement we missed from back home. We worried we wouldn’t be able to follow the order of the service, and we’d had our fill of being tourists. So we skipped it. We spent Easter morning eating bagels on a bus through mountain passes, looking at hillsides green with banana leaves and corn stalks. Hallelujah, I thought.

And so now it is Eastertide. The time when we celebrate victory over death. Did you catch that? Victory over death. Why, then, have images like these been so common?

I'm not in the States currently. I don't know how people are responding to this news outside of Cuernavaca. But news outlets of various political leanings make this look like the biggest celebration that's taken place in our country in a long time--the first I can remember that crosses party lines. But I, for one, cannot ignore that the headlines here read "Osama is dead," and not "Christ is risen." From a military standpoint, I understand that this is a victory. But it's a battle that was won, not a war. Bin Laden's death doesn't get us out of Afghanistan. To the contrary, the questionable method of disposing of his body will likely fan the flames of anger and distrust that started this whole mess in the first place. To me, that doesn't sound so much like victory. It doesn't sound like trumpets and hallelujahs.

Never mind how difficult it is to hope that we are freed from death in the face of the massive violence in Mexico--and I don't have the courage to link to some of the images of that war. If, however, I am to find comfort in the risen Christ, I cannot celebrate anyone's death, no matter how horrible their actions. I refuse to believe that this death comforts the souls of those who died as a result of Al Qaeda's attacks. Indeed, I am reminded of the German phrase for the season: Jesus bringt leben. Jesus brings life. This Easter is not the season of one man's resurrection, but the celebration of the life we have all been given, through grace, through the mere goodness of God. May we all remember that gift of goodness, and strive to live in a way that is worthy of it.

All photos found via google. Credits here, here, and here.

Headed South

2011-04-16T09:13:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry I haven't been writing very much lately. Some of you already know that my Granna has gotten quite sick in the last few weeks, and it's been difficult for me to manage my time well between work, calling home, and taking a moment for a deep breath alone.
This morning I'm headed off to the southern state of Chiapas for my spring break trip. I'll be spending two weeks visiting ruins, learning about traditional medicine, and breathing mountain air with Anneli. I'm excited for the trip, although it comes at a difficult time. I'll have lots of stories and pictures when I get back, I'm sure.
Speaking of pictures, I posted a lot of new ones over at my flickr this week, especially of Ari's quince in San Luis Potosi. If you've got a moment to head on over there, I encourage you to. This blog gets a good amount of traffic, but my pictures feel a little lonely.

I also wanted to link to the English version of Javier Sicilia's open letter to the Mexican government and drug cartels. I referenced these events in my last newsletter, but the letter is so much more poignant than anything I could ever say. I hope you'll take a few minutes to read it. Here's just one paragraph...

There is no life, Albert Camus wrote, without persuasion and without peace, and the history of Mexico today only knows intimidation, suffering, distrust and the fear that one day another son or daughter of another family will be debased and massacred. You only know what you are ask us, that death, as is already happening today, becomes an affair of statistics and administration and which we should all get used to it.

Be well, and Happy Easter, if I don't "talk" with you before then.

2011-04-12T08:50:00.000-05:00

My March newsletter is now posted here.

2011-04-10T11:10:00.000-05:00

The boy smelled of salt,
and was silent.
Even when he talked,
he didn't make any noise at all.

He just looked at me
as if he suspected me
of something he hadn't yet learned
how to fear.

Earlier, I picked up a
black plastic comb
and put it in my back pocket.
All he owns is in a thin plastic bag at my feet.

I ask if he will try again, and
his honey eyes turn to dirty spoons.
He is young, but handsome.
The coffee tastes like it has whiskey in it.

Maybe he left a girlfriend at home.
Maybe she is walking with him,
breathing his prayers for luck and for water,
or she makes him wish he could turn back.

His nails are black,
caked under with dirt,
bitten ragged.
My eyes are full of desert sand.

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Something to aspire to.

2011-04-05T10:02:00.001-05:00

PROMPT: Is there a pattern or skill that you don’t yet feel ready to tackle but which you hope to (or think you can only dream of) tackling in the future, near or distant? Is there a skill or project that makes your mind boggle at the sheer time, dedication and mastery of the craft? Maybe the skill or pattern is one that you don’t even personally want to make but can stand back and admire those that do. Maybe it is something you think you will never be bothered to actually make bu can admire the result of those that have.

Oh, yeah. Intrelac, baby. I've been wanting to try this skill since I first saw the Danica Scarf.

Isn't she pretty?

I'm not sure why I'm so intimidated by this. According to ravelry, a lot of people have made this scarf, and so it can't possibly be as impossible as it looks. But I hate the idea of seams, and so a whole scarf based on the idea of picking up stitches from the sides of knit sections over and over and over and.... yikes.
Currently trying to stash bust, and I don't have anything appropriate for knitting it currently, but I've decided that as soon as I get back to the point when I am buying yarn, I intend to buy yarn for specific projects instead of on a whim, and this is the first thing I'm buying for. So yeah. Soon.

2KCBWDAY6

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Your knitting and crochet time

2011-04-04T10:03:00.001-05:00

PROMPT: Write about your typical crafting time.

I am an easily distracted crafter. I only rarely sit quietly and knit without any other kind of entertainment. I listen to music and podcasts, watch tv and movies, sometimes I even read, if I'm knitting pure stockinette or garter stitch. My current favorites are these:

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

Snap Judgement

Community

and whatever's on Universal Channel, so I don't have to think about what's going on in a foreign language.

2KCBWDAY5

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Where Are They Now?

2011-04-03T11:00:00.001-05:00

Whatever happened to your __________? Write about the fate of a past knitting project. Whether it be something that you crocheted or knitted for yourself or to give to another person. An item that lives with you or something which you sent off to charity.

These are the first socks I ever knit, back when they were first finished, and the only hand-knit socks I brought with me to Mexico. The yarn I bought when I was living in Eisleben, and it looked fantastic in the skein, but I kind of didn't like it once it was knitted up, to be honest. All the same, they're warm, and I packed them in an attempt to capitalize the twofer value as both warm footware and a comfort item. I don't so much need them for their warmth anymore, but even up to last week their coziness has continued to make them a good choice on the list of 100.
These socks also mark the passage of my time in Mexico more than anything else. When I got here, they were a little worn, but still looked nice. The fit was never fantastic (does anyone do well in that department with their first pair of socks?), but they were passable. The tops were still as stretchy as they ever were (again--not the best they could've been). The fabric was in good shape.
Now, the heels have felted together and gotten really too tight to be comfortable when I walk. The big toe of the right foot is wearing out, and you can see part of my toenail poking through. The ribbing is completely stretched out, and the tops fall down and bunch around my ankles like they don't know this isn't the early-90s anymore. They're unfortunate-looking and embarrassing, and no, you can't see a photo, because I don't even wear them out into the living room anymore. They have been quarantined to my bedroom, and the internet is a much larger, more public space than that.

I love those socks.

2KCBWDAY4

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Tidy Mind, Tidy Stitches

2011-04-02T08:14:00.003-06:00

PROMPT: How do you keep your yarn wrangling organised?

My knitting organization style is different right now than it normally is, since I've only got part of my stash here with me in Mexico. However, I think I've grown to love this system more than my old one, and I think I'm going to keep it up when I go home. I've got a couple different systems working in glorious harmony with each other, but I'll just talk here about the big one.

The Stash

The hardest thing for me to organize is my stash. The idea is that I put yarn in zipper bags and store it in a box that fits on the shelf of my desk. But I ran out of zipper bags before I ran out of yarn, and so I had to put more than one kind of yarn in each bag. It was hard to decide how to organize that. Right now, my physical stash is organized by yarn weight, mostly for the convenience of having similarly sized skeins packaged together (I tend to buy several colorways of the same brand of yarn at the same time. Right now I'm trying to work through my Artyarns Ultramerino 4 stash.). But sometimes that doesn't make sense to me.
Because I change my mind about every week about what categorizations make the most sense, I'm really glad I have ravelry's stash page to help me out. I first put pictures with [most of] my yarns thinking that I would need something to reference when I asked my parents to mail me more yarn during the course of this year (no way I can ever carry enough yarn with me to last that long!). But it's helpful now, as I think more carefully about the exact specifications of a yarn I'm trying to match with a project. I like being able to quickly change sorting by color, by weight, by yardage, without actually having to dump my whole stash out on the bed and start over.

2KCBWDAY3

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Skill +1UP

2011-04-01T08:14:00.003-06:00

PROMPT: Look back over your last year of projects and compare where you are in terms of skill and knowledge of your craft to this time last year. Have you learned any new skills or forms of knitting/crochet?

I'd have to honestly say that I've grown in confidence more than skill. But if I have learned anything new in the last year, it's lace.

The first lace chart I tackled was at Christmas 2009, when I knit this Ulmus shawl for Granna. I really struggled to understand what was going on, and had to restart this scarf about five times before I figured it out. I probably knit more from the sample photos and trial and error than I did by being able to read the chart.

Fast forward to last month, when I knit this Moonlight Sonata shawlette for my mom. I think it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. And I'm particularly proud of how quickly I memorized the chart. I know that's not something I can exactly point to and say "SEE?! I did it!" so you'll just have to believe me, I guess. ;)
For me, the process of learning lace was more about experimentation than skill development. As time goes on, I've learned a little bit about which way certain types of increases and decreases lean (not that I don't constantly get them mixed up), where holes will actually end up in the grand scheme of things, even though they look out of place when the yarn over first gets mentioned, and how to best control tension so that blocking isn't quite such a chore (Does anyone else have this problem? It doesn't seem to make sense to me that my tension is different when I knit lace than when I'm working in st st...). It's a little like a science experiment. It's a lot like fun.

2KCBWDAY2

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: A Tale of Two Yarns

2011-03-31T16:16:00.003-06:00

SHOOT! I had these posts all set up and ready to go, but for some reason they were stuck in "draft" mode, and didn't publish this week... Well... Better late than never, right?

PROMPT: Part of any fibre enthusiast’s hobby is an appreciation of yarn. Choose two yarns that you have either used, are in your stash or which you yearn after and capture what it is you love or loathe about them.

Yarn 1: Indiecita Baby Alpaca

First I should say that I don't believe there's such a thing as a bad yarn. Except acrylic yarns. Blegh. So, when I say that I really hated working with this baby alpaca, it's mostly because I got it when I was really still learning how to knit. I pretty much only worked in stockinette and simple ribs. I didn't know jack about drape. But this yarn was pretty much hell for a beginning knitter. It split on my needles. It didn't frog well at all. and when I finally got a finished project out of it, it was far too droopy. Now, I hope I know better than to try to make a 3x1 rib cowl out of fingering weight alpaca. But still. I struggled to get anything off the needles with this yarn.

Yarn 2: Cherry Tree Hill Supersock Merino

I think I really love this merino for similar reasons. To be fair, I've worked with it a lot, and so I know its properties like the back of my hand. Merino is one of the most forgiving fibers I've ever worked with, and it's not so hard on the fingers (like cotton--ouch!). The project of these mitts was the first time I felt really, truly competent as a knitter. The floated stitches were a knew skill, but I managed them without much trouble. The yarn's variegations worked out pretty much exactly as I expected and hoped. My stitches were even and controlled. I felt good working with this yarn. There are plenty of other factors that contributed to that, to be sure, but still. Good memories. I love this yarn. It also comes in some amazing colors, and I can't stop myself from buying it whenever I see it.

I'm going to cheat and add a third yarn.

Yarn 3: handspun

I've never knit with a handspun. I'm really dying to. The colors are so incredible, especially in plied yarns. I want to play with them all and see how they work themselves out. Okay. I'm going to stop drooling now.

2KCBWDAY1

Ceviche de Soya

2011-03-26T12:54:00.000-06:00

Welcome to lent: No-Meat Meals! I'm really excited about this, since I'm kind of tired of explaining that no, I'm not a vegetarian, and no, my church doesn't teach us not to eat meat, and no, I'm not allergic. I just don't like meat.
Regardless of your lenten habits or culinary preferences, I hope you'll enjoy this recipe. I personally don't like the fish version because the texture bothers me, but it's the more popular version, and is served in Mexico year round. Also, I'm feeling lazy about conversions, so good luck with that?

Soy Ceviche
serves 30
Ingredients:

1 kilo dried soy meat subsitute
8 laurel leaves
2 onions
1 kilo tomato
1 Tbsp dried oregano
2 bunches fresh cilantro
1/4 kilo limes
1 kilo ketchup
700mL orange juice
1/2 L orange soda
4 medium avocados
1/2 cup salsa Valentina OR diced green chiles to taste
salt

Directions:

Place soy in with 1 slice onion, laurel leaves, and 2 Tbsp salt; cover with water and heat to rehydrate
Dice tomatoes, cilantro, and remaining onion
Juice limes and strain to remove seeds and pulp
Place tomatoes, cilantro, onion, oregano, lime juice, and 3Tbsp salt in pot and mix well
Drain the water from soy, remove laurel leaves; add to tomato mixture
Add ketchup, orange juice, orange soda, and salsa/chiles
Add avocados last, just before serving
Serve cold

To make the fish version:

Substitute fish (like cod or talapia) for soy
Increase lime juice to 1L
Dice raw fish filets, and let sit in lime juice for 30-45 minutes before adding to tomato mixture as above

Coming Soon: Knitting & Crochet Blog Week

2011-03-24T11:13:00.000-06:00

I have been spending more and more time doing crafts. Usually, my crafts of choice are yarn-related, but thanks to my work with two manualidades groups, my horizons are being broadened every day. I've realized recently, however, that that part of my life isn't something I tend to share here on this blog. I think I'd like to do more of that. SO! I've decided to participate in the 2nd annual Knitting and Crochet Blog Week. Every day for the week of 28 March-3 April I'll be responding to prompts up on this website.
Why am I telling you this now? Well, mostly to help promote Knitting and Crochet Blog Week. I know some of you reading this are knitters and crocheters as well, and I want to invite you to participate. Maybe you don't have a blog yet, and you think this could be a good time to start. Maybe you'd like to spend some time reflecting on the things you've been doing for your own sake, even without posting them anywhere. Maybe you're not interested in blogging yourself, but you'd like to read more about crafting. Whatever the case may be, resources are available for you over at Eskimimi's site.

Secondly, I was hoping the knowledge that this is coming might strike a different cord of interest with you, dear readers. I've noticed that the feedback I've been getting on my blog posts and emails is lower than it was at the start of my YAGM year, but that my soup recipe was quite popular. This blog is partially a public journal to record my experiences as a volunteer in Mexico, but I mostly write for you. I want to invite you into conversation about what you'd like to hear more of, and what you don't. Please know that I always--always--welcome your comments, suggestions, or reactions. So tell me, what do you want to know more about? What should I leave off? What are your questions about Mexico that aren't getting answered?

Sustainable Systems, pt. 3

2011-03-20T11:00:00.085-06:00

"The way we eat determines, to a large extent, the way the world is used." -Wendell Berry-

Food in the States is cheap. That's partly due to those subsidies I talked about, but it's also because an estimated 80% of the agricultural workers are undocumented. They're underpaid and overworked at difficult and dangerous jobs. They're doing jobs that most of us don't want to do. If you balk at that claim, maybe you haven't heard about the United Farm Workers campaign to put good, hard-working Americans in those jobs instead of undocumented migrants. They have an easy sign-up form for you to become a farm worker on their website, TakeOurJobs.org, but very few people have taken the challenge.
I'm not saying that undocumented entry to the States is excusable. I am saying that if we want to change the systems that push people to cross the border without papers, we need to look deeper at our own national economic policies. We need to look at the people who do make the decision to cross, and see them as human beings whose lives extend beyond the five minutes it took them to climb the border fence or the two weeks they wandered in the desert. We need to look closer at our household purchases, too. Sounds overwhelming, doesn't it? I promise, it's not so bad. The first two of these issues warrant further conversation, but here are a few suggestions for what you can do at home:

Cook fresh food instead of packaged. Processed food has a lot of preservatives, extra salt, and fillers that just aren't healthy. Prepare your own meals and make sure you like everything you're eating.
Think of buying well, not cheap. One of the simplest ways we can vote on a daily basis is by changing our buying habits. We might not be able to vote Dole out of business, but we can certainly tell them that we'd rather have cleaner, safer food, and better working conditions for the people who grow it. Buying locally and organically is an investment in your health and global economic justice.
Do you know where your food comes from? One of the non-migration effects of big-business agriculture is the breakdown of personal connections with our food. To me, it makes me wonder what I'm really eating. Local Harvest has a great tool for finding farmers markets and CSAs near you.
Organic farms don't use chemicals. Even when you wash your produce, some of the chemicals used in food production are actually inside the cells of the food. Some of those chemicals are perfectly safe, some of them not, and some of them... well, we just don't know yet. I don't know about you, but I'd rather spend 20cents more on green beans that are just plain ole green beans. Even if you don't have access to a farmer's market, fresh, canned, and frozen produce are increasingly available at your everyday grocery store.
Grow your own food! Not all of us have the space for a full garden, or the energy to manage one, but tomatoes can be grown on your front porch without much fuss. Herbs on your window sill. Lettuces need a little more space, but they're also really easy.
Sign the AgJobs Pledge, indicating your support of a bipartisan piece of legislation to improve working conditions for farm workers.

Additional reading, in case you're interested:
Food Politics Blog
Civil Eats
ObamaFoodORama

Thanks to Susana at BorderLinks for these statistics and action steps, and for the work she does with the Sustainable Foods project there.

Sustainable Systems, pt. 2

2011-03-19T11:40:00.001-06:00

Meanwhile, in Mexico, a significant portion of the population is still growing corn. Did you know that Mexico has the world's largest genetic diversity of corn? Yep--not all corn is white and yellow, and a good deal of it is native to Mexico. Farms here continue to be small, where people do their best to keep their families fed, and hope to sell or trade the little extra they can produce to cover the rest. In fact, in some parts of Mexico, tortilla--not even all corn products, but just tortillas--continue to make up 70% of people's daily nutritional intake in 2011.

In the late 1980s, the States looked south to poor struggling Mexico, and thought, Let's give these guys a hand. So in 1992, NAFTA was signed into effect. The idea was that if we remove a few of the major barriers to trade, everyone will be better able to thrive economically. But what was really in that agreement? First of all, those pesky corn quotas that had been protecting the Mexican market from foreign supply had to be done away with. The original plan was to phase them out over 15 years; they were gone in 30 months. Secondly, Mexico was required to eliminate all of their corn subsidies, even though the States increased theirs.
Very suddenly, Mexico was flooded with cheap yellow corn from the States, and instead of helping farmers transition to other crops (which would have been easier over 15 years than 30 months), it invested in maquiladoras, or foreign-owned factories. Since 1994, 5 million Mexican farmers have lost their jobs because there is simply no way for them to compete with the low price of American corn (remember, we can sell at 20% below production!). Besides that, the Mexican population depends much more heavily on corn products (especially masa, a very simple cornmeal dough), and the Mexican government has very little control over the market price of an imported product.

But what do you do, when all you've ever known is farming, and suddenly that opportunity is taken away from you? If you are one of those 5 million who was still farming in 1994, you probably live in an area where a college isn't immediately available to you, even if you could leave your family long enough to better your future in that way. Even if you were lucky enough to have studied past elementary school as a child. You're unlikely to learn to use a computer or speak English, two skills that are required for many jobs here. You would probably need to move to a city, just to have a chance at finding work.
If you've made it this long as a farmer, you might look at struggling for a few years through a transition to another crop. 30% of the land that is still arable in Mexico is being used to grow drug plants. Growing marijuana might be a little risky, but certainly profitable; coca a little more of each. But it must be profitable enough to be able to buy everything you need, since your family can't eat a little bit of the marijuana you grow and sell what's left over.

What if you heard that there is a place where there was an abundance of work for people who know how to farm, and that wages there are high? Could you look at your children or your mother or your spouse and tell them no, you wouldn't go? But remember, you are poor, and your chances of getting a visa to enter the United States of America are pretty slim. Could you risk not taking a chance anyway?
There's the idea of corn in Mexico. Tomorrow we'll get to the main idea of it all, and the small changes you can make in your household to make a big difference.

Many thanks to Susanna at BorderLinks for the statistics listed here, and for her work with the Sustainable Foods project there.
Thanks also to Ross Gandy, professor at the National University in Mexico City for the statistics on drug production.

Sustainable Systems, pt. 1

2011-03-18T11:09:00.003-06:00

I want to talk a little bit about corn. Corn, as an example, illustrates pretty perfectly the economic relationship between the United States of America and Mexico. It's kind of a long story, though, so I'm going to breaking this up over the next few days. Here we go.

Let's start at home. Way back in the early 1900s, the federal government in the States figured out that it wasn't good for business when either one of two things happened: boom crops or bust crops. Booms mean it's a good year for growing, and the supply is huge, but prices drop and farmers end up not so happy when they can't pay their bills. Busts mean that very little gets produced, meaning demand overwhelms supply, prices soar, and consumers get pretty whiny. The Government had a pretty good solution, they figured. They started paying farmers not to grow corn. That's right. Not to grow it. Since corn stores really well, the excess product from a boom year can be stored for a bust year instead of flooding the market; the price of corn stays stable from year to year. In order to thank the farmers for their cooperation, they get paid to sit on their duffs (kind of) at the times when there's lots of extra corn sitting around. Everyone wins, right? Farmers keep farming, earning a steady living, and our tortillas stay the same price--oops! We don't eat tortillas. I meant our... corn bread?
Then came World War II, and chemical companies were having a grand old time of producing explosives to use against the bad guys. But when the War was over, they had to find another way to make money. That's when somebody figured out that nitrogen (something these chemical companies had a lot of lying around) increases the output of things like corn and tomatoes, and we got what we refer to as the Green Revolution, and is nothing at all like the explosion of "green" products on the market today. The Green Revolution of the 1940s-70s boils down to this: unbelievably high production of agricultural products with very low labor costs. Some people started being a little less happy at this point, because fewer farm workers were necessary, and a couple small farmers had to find something else to do. But those are little people with little voices, so... shhh...
Next in our time line is the 1970s, and a nasty word that starts with an "r." Yep. Recession. As a part of that recession, food prices increased drastically as farmers struggled to pay off their loans. The Government Big Guys had another good idea, encouraged farmers to grow "fencerow to fencerow," and started handing out subsidies to help increase production. Only problem was, you only get subsidies if you're producing on a very large scale. So small farms keep going out of business, or consolidating into one big farm, and agriculture becomes a big-business thing instead of a neighborhood thing. By this point, 42% of the world's corn was already being produced in the States. The exported corn can be sold at 20% less than the actual production cost, thanks to our huge subsidies.
Well, that's the main thrust of the history of corn in the States. Tomorrow I'll be talking about Mexican corn. Yum!

Many thanks to Susanna at BorderLinks for the statistics listed here, and for her work with the Sustainable Foods project there.

alles gute, meiner!

2011-03-17T07:00:00.000-06:00

Stop getting older already. Sheesh.

Happy Birthday, Smith!

Grace

2011-03-13T18:47:00.000-06:00

I don't remember where I learned my favorite prayer, but I associate it strongly with the Quaker community in Columbia, SC. The idea is this: What does grace mean to you today? Before this year, I mostly used this prayer as a pre-meal blessing. Lately, I like to use it as a way to reflect on my experiences. It's interesting to me what unexpected answers I have to this simple question.
One of my more frequent answers lately has been a name: Vero.
When I first arrived at my work site in 10 de Abril, I offered to "help" her in the kitchen to fill in the gap left by an employee on maternity leave. I'm not much help, I'm afraid. I frequently spill things. I dice things I'm supposed to cut into strips. I put potatoes instead of peas in the rice. I'm a mess. I surprise myself every day with the new ways I invent to wreck breakfast.
Vero's response is invariably, "Esta bien." No problem. Don't worry. Even when the mistake can't be corrected, Vero doesn't seem to be bothered. She moves through the small, hot kitchen with grace, quickly finding solutions and moving on with the morning. She is consistently the human embodiment of the forgiveness that I need, but don't know how to ask for. She is my grace.

The Things They Carried

2011-03-07T20:30:00.000-06:00

One of the most powerful experiences of our border immersion trip for me was the afternoon we spent walking in the desert with the guys from CREEDA. CREEDA is a residential drug and alcohol rehabilitation center in Agua Prieta, Sonora based on the model of Alcoholics Anonymous. A major part of their program is doing community service, in order to help build self-esteem of addicts, and get them reconnected with the community in a productive way.
One of the ways in which CREEDA clients serve is by trucking water to tanks along the Mexican side of the border in areas where there have been high numbers of deaths due to dehydration. The city of Agua Prieta pays for the water, and ranchers with border lots grant permission for the tanks to be placed on their land. We were advised not to drink the water from the tank. At first I thought the concern was that if all 11 of the people in our group drank just a half liter of water, there would be little left for those who really need it. Then it was explained that the water is not filtered, and it would likely make us sick. The water isn't "clean," but it is wet, and it can mean the difference between life and death for many migrants.


Rising from the center of this tree, barely visible, is a faded and tattered flag indicating the presence of a water tank.

The men who walked with us through the desert confessed that they had crossed mojado. Wet. In a place of so little water, they walked from one country to another and they came out wet. Many of them not only crossed the border themselves but for a time worked as polleros, coyotes, smugglers. They knew the most common paths, the best hiding places, the greatest dangers. They pointed out discarded tuna cans and extinguished fires, and some of them knew how long it had been since someone had passed.
As we walked, even our inexperienced eyes noticed things on the ground. Discarded objects. Dropped objects. Unnecessary things. Sometimes it was clear what made their owner leave them there on the ground--a tin can emptied of food, a bottle drained of water. Sometimes it wasn't even clear what made someone bring them there in the first place--a pot of hair gel, a metal spoon. Each object told a story in a language of hopelessness I will probably never learn to speak, or to hear. I cannot tell you their stories. I barely begin to tell you my own. I can only hope they might speak themselves.

2011-03-07T09:05:00.000-06:00

My February newsletter is now available here.

Cream of Carrot Soup

2011-02-20T21:00:00.000-06:00

It's good to be home. It was good to be back on the border, and we had a fantastic retreat--I have many things I want to share with you in the weeks to come--but I also couldn't help feeling a sense of great relief when I stumbled through the door at 3 in the morning, Licha lying half-asleep on the couch, Ruti and Hervey snoring gently in their room, and my nephews each muttering different stories to each other in their sleep on Licha's spare bed. There is a certain kind of stillness in this noisy household that I missed more than I had realized.
Saturday I decided to enjoy that stillness by ignoring my computer, my cell phone, my camera--anything with a battery or a plug. I knit and read all day long. Except for the half hour I spent in the kitchen, learning to make my favorite soup. I wanted to share the recipe with you, although it's a little out of season for most of you, I think.

Licha's Cream of Carrot Soup
Serves 6
Ingredients:

6 carrots
1 can evaporated milk
2 cloves garlic
1cm slice of onion
1Tbsp consommé powder
water
butter

Directions:

wash carrots, cut in 1/2inch slices
boil carrots in water with a pad of butter until soft, but not mushy; drain
blend carrots, garlic, and onion until smooth
add evaporated milk; blend again to mix
melt a large pad of butter in a pot; add carrot mixture and a can of water
add consommé powder and heat to serve
top with sour cream


You're a fool if you think I took the time to take a picture of my soup. I am mostly in the business of eating, and not of making things look pretty. This one belongs here.

Isn't that the easiest thing you've ever heard of? And it has the added bonus of being delicious and mostly nutritious.

ProTips:

You can substitute any kind of milk you have on hand, but I'd advise using more milk instead of adding water for the sake of the texture.
You can also cut out the butter in the carrot-cooking step for less fat content, but the butter added to the soup helps the carrot not burn.
I have no tips for reducing sodium content, but maybe there's low-sodium consommé in the States?
I can't get my hands on any here, but I have a suspicion that plain yogurt would be amazing instead of sour cream.

aaaaaaaaand We're off!

2011-02-12T20:37:00.000-06:00

Just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry, but I won't be writing a post this week. I've been busy all this past week getting read for our border retreat (I'm still trying to do do laundry in preparation--whoops), and we leave tomorrow morning SUPER early.
Speaking of, did you know that there's a special word in Spanish for the part of the morning when no one in their right mind is awake? Anything between 1 (or later, depending on how late the speaker tends to go to bed) and 5 am isn't la mañana, but las madrugadas. I think that's pretty nifty.
Please continue to hold all of us YAGM-Mexico folk in the light during our week of travel, as well as our communities in Cuernavaca and the people we'll be visiting. I know this will be an exciting and difficult week for all of us, full of opportunities to learn and grow. I'm excited to be "going home" to that troubled and beautiful region known as la frontera.

happy birthday to you!

2011-02-10T18:04:00.002-06:00

Another year older, pops. Good work. Keep it up.

2011-02-05T08:28:00.004-06:00

My December/January newsletter is now posted here.

Links to YAGM Blogs

2011-02-03T10:39:00.001-06:00

I've been trying to focus in the new year on keeping in touch better with people. It can be hard to fully live in the moment here while I'm constantly thinking about things back home, and missing things is not exactly my favorite game. Honestly, sometimes trying to reach out just makes me want to hole up in my house and forget the whole thing.
I'm still not good at calling people on their birthdays. I haven't written any more letters to people in the States. I continue to waste too much time on facebook snooping on people's pages I haven't talked to in six years. But I'm taking baby steps. A couple emails here. An impromptu skype call there.
We've now hit mid-year in YAGM. My time in Mexico is half over. Of all of the things I wanted to do in the last six months and didn't, I only have that much time again to try and fit them in. And there are new holidays to experience, new people to meet. I can't do it all. It's overwhelming. Add to that the anxiety of knowing that as quickly as all this started, it will be over twice as fast. What will my life look like when I get off that plane on July 15th (yep, it's official--I'm coming "home" on July 15th)? Where will I be living? Will I have a job? But mostly, I wonder who will be ready to help me carry the weight of what I have experienced here? With whom will I share the stories I could never write down?
One of the things I've found remarkably helpful is reading the blogs of my fellow YAGMs in other countries. Although we are worlds apart from one another, it's good to know that what I'm feeling isn't completely insane. Good to know that there are people who can understand what this year means to me. Good to know that I am not going to have these experiences at the expense of ever being able to feel at home in the States again. I know that I find these posts interesting for different reasons than you might, but I wanted to share a couple of them anyway.
I'll share Christine's post first, because I think it wonderfully sums up my mid-year transition feelings. Christine serves in South Africa.
Liz is in Slovakia. I loved her recent reflections on names. As a frequent name-changer myself, I know exactly what you mean.
Kate shares some really helpful information on marianismo, which I didn't even know was a thing, and the good (gasp!) parts of machismo, which I spend more time than I should feeling aggravated about.

Guest Post from Mom

2011-01-23T10:09:00.002-06:00

I asked my family members if they might be willing to write down some of their reflections about my time here in Mexico as they see it, especially after having visited me over the New Year holiday. Here's the first post in that series, written by my mom.

My family likes to give me grief for wanting to go shopping on vacation. Actually, I hate to shop in the American sense--wandering aimlessly in a mall, or flying through the grocery store to collect items on a list. But I do love visiting the places where artisans work and sell their wares, where people labor to sell what they have cultivated to provide for their families.

While tenaciously refusing the family’s accusation that I am shopper, I admit that I best experience a new location or culture by seeing what the local people are making and selling. I try to avoid the shops geared for tourists and seek out the vendors selling handmade items. So when we were told the members of an artist’s cooperative were going to be visiting where we were staying, I was ecstatic. We first gathered for introductions, hearing each artisan’s name and a description of their craft, an explanation of how the co-op works to find fair trade buyers. Then we visited each artisan’s table, heard more details of their creative process, and found ourselves buying something from each artist--both because their goods were amazing, and because we simply found the artists endearing. We heard stories about absent family members who had made woven wool rugs and palm baskets, about children as young as 6 learning the family’s embroidery trade, and about a couple who travel to Guatemala several times a year to bring the extended family’s textile art to this co-op--where the selling price of their clothing, bags, scarves and belts provided something closer to a living wage--and sending the money back to Guatemala.

I know that in Cuernavaca, most people are just trying to scrape by, with varying degrees of success. But as one who has always wanted to make a living as an artist or crafter, I have experienced the thrill of a customer falling in love with something I have made, and the agony of a person examining my creation, and with a an unimpressed shrug, walking away empty handed. So I found these artisans to be not only creative, but courageous. Laying out one’s handmade work is a bit like bearing one’s true self, not knowing if others will embrace or reject us. These brave artists unveil their goods, knowing that the uninformed will think they can get a better deal elsewhere, although a mass-produced imitation is often made with far less quality and skill. The artists bring their work to market, and ask a still-modest price that not only reflects the value of the item itself, but the skill and time taken to make it. And in displaying their life’s work, in bearing their soul, they know that what others see cannot be hidden again. How brave to say, "This is what I create, and who I am. Take it or leave it."

Kat also led us on what is known as the “Cuernavaca Quest”, including two shopping experiences--one at the “Mega” (equivalent to a Mexican Wal-Mart), and the other at the Mercado, the market. We had a list of items to price by quantity, including rice, beans, cooking oil, toilet paper, chicken, a backpack, and women’s jeans. At the Mega, the parking lot was full, items were easy to find in the well lit, clean, organized store with shopping carts, wide aisles, and well dressed customers buying an assortment of necessities and luxuries. Buying in kilos with pesos, we weren’t sure that the prices were desirable, but one could certainly buy almost anything there.

At the Mercado, we were shoved into a dark, cramped maze of stalls with an assortment of goods, some we couldn’t identify. The food items were laid out in the open on tables without Mega’s sterile cellophane packaging. Shoppers carried their own baskets and were limited to what they could carry home on the bus and store in their small homes. If a family lacks the ability to safely store perishable goods, shopping must be done on a daily basis. I saw baskets with a few pieces of meat, a pair of sandals, beans, corn, a mango, and one roll of toilet paper. Since I grew up in Atlanta, I was unprepared for some of the produce we saw: whole pig heads, sides of beef, pigs’ feet, entire chickens hanging with only the feathers removed, and organ meats of every variety. Kat’s father was raised on a farm, so these were familiar sights and pleasant memories for him. For those we passed, the experience seemed to be a social event as they greeted neighbors and friends while they shopped. We were able to locate the same items on the list that we carried through the Mega, often in smaller quantities, but prices per-pound were higher.

In Cuernavaca, as it is in the US, it seems that the well-off have easy access to the more desirable goods, in greater quantity, at better prices. For the people we observed, their ability to acquire “stuff” is directly related to the homes and neighborhoods in which they live--those with an already comfortable life have a pleasant shopping experience, while those living under the weight of limited income have the added burdens of transportation difficulties, fewer choices, smaller quantities, and higher prices, each an additional stone laid upon the already crushing load of poverty. And so it was with a mixture of emotions we purchased treasures to take home. We bought art, jewelry, clothing, and crafts for a fraction of what they are worth--but we were supporting the artisans, weren’t we? We filled extra suitcases with luxuries for ourselves and friends that the makers themselves couldn’t afford--but we were helping them improve their quality of life, right? Isn’t that right?

my last la estación post

2011-01-15T19:38:00.000-06:00

Part of me is really glad that the change in my work site came at Christmas break time. It meant that things felt like they had a closing, an end, that wasn't forced or awkward.

Miguel and me--the convivio more or less raging in the background

The Sunday after my birthday was the Christmas convivio at the community center. This is an event we had been busy planning since October. Mostly it's an opportunity for the community to get together in a more festive way than usual and share a meal, but the children who are sponsored by CFCA donors also get a gift and a bag of candy.

It was a very different experience to be in la estación on a weekend. Everyone seemed much more relaxed, and it was nice to have my friends seated at the table instead of running in and out, eating standing, and hurriedly rushing their kids off to school--although the ladies serving up tacos barely had a moment to breathe, I'm sure. I got to spend longer periods of time in casual conversation with my students. I received lots of hugs. I was especially glad that three of my friends, including two fellow YAGMs, Kate and Sam, got to spend this time with me and my community. One of my biggest fears about leaving my work site mid-year was the feeling that there wouldn't be anything to show for what I had done there. This is especially true because of the nature of my responsibilities; my main job in Mexico is to just be. I feel so blessed to have been a part of this community, and even more so to have Kate holding my hand as I walked away that evening, to have witnesses to the love and joy I experienced there.

Kate and Carlos kept everyone entertained.
Sam and I took pictures.

I can't say that working in la estación has been stress-free. I won't say that I don't feel a little relieved, even. Although I always felt safe and cared for, it wears on your confidence to be constantly told you're risking your life just by going to work (one of the more common coping mechanisms I have encountered in the face of rising drug violence is to repeat a mantra of distance: "this violence is something that happens to 'them' and not 'us'"). It has been difficult to know how much closer my loved ones are to kidnappings and murders, to wonder whose cousin or mother will be next.

My father has been good to remind me that my blessing is my curse, that what most equips me to serve here is also what makes the service so exhausting. I feel acutely the impacts of poverty. I follow the line of reason between inadequate schooling and drug-addicted 12-year-olds, and the path fills me with frustration. I absorb the fear and the sorrow that accompanies the deaths of people I do not know. I recognize and am ashamed of my own complicity in all of it. I am tired of feeling so much. But I also know that I cannot--I will not--forget these people who have met me on the street corner to share taquitos and gossip, who have repeated with determination the few phrases of English I was able to share in four short months, who have laughed with me, and cried with me, and reminded me that they are my own brothers and sisters.

new work placement

2011-01-14T17:31:00.003-06:00

Unfortunately, I can't offer boatloads of information. But here's what I've got. I'll still be working at Casa Tatic in the afternoons Monday-Friday. I know I haven't talked much about the roots of that organization, so here's a little. Casa Tatic is a project of VAMOS!, a non-profit in Cuernavaca. By design, Casa Tatic is primarily a resource to indigenous families who have recently immigrated to the city, and frequently lack access to water, food, and bathrooms. The manualidades (handicrafts) group that I work with was started as a second layer of support to these same people. Frequently, indigenous people in the cities of Mexico make their meager living by selling handicrafts and folk art. Our group not only provides these women with a hot meal, time to achieve a finished project, and much-needed educational childcare, but also strives to help develop the skills required of these artisans.

On Monday/Wednesday/Friday mornings, I'll be working in another VAMOS! project. This center is located in a municipality of southern Cuernavaca, called Temixco. They also host a school much like Casa Tatic in the afternoons, but three mornings a week, when I'll be there, it's a center for personas de tercer edad (senior citizens). They offer manualidades (although I think in this context they'll look a little more camp-craft and a little less home-ec), dance, yoga, and various other activities. Although I continue to feel sad about leaving La Estación, I'm super excited about this opportunity. While many YAGMs around the world are struggling to feel useful while they sit on their duffs, my favorite parts of this experience have been the moments I just drank a coffee with someone and listened to the story of their day. I'm having a blast learning to embroider table cloths and bead toilet seat covers. Not only was this organization one of the places I originally hoped to be placed, but I think it will be a fantastic fit for me as I continue this year of service.

oh. umm. hello.

2011-01-13T19:26:00.000-06:00

Although I generally try to avoid the "sorry I haven't posted" messages, I do apologize for my extremely extended absence. There's been a lot going on, not all of which I could post about yet, and it made me feel unable to post anything at all. Because, as I said, there's a lot of new stories and info, I'm going to break the news up over multiple posts this weekend. Stick with me and I think you'll see what I mean.

Firstly, back in December, I had the single best birthday I can remember. Sounds strange, right? Even weirder is how that came about. I really don't like my birthday. It's too close to Christmas, too much stuck in the middle of the time when everyone's too busy and feeling the pressure of too much obligation. Most of my life I have tried desperately--and failed horribly--to make it something people are excited about. In the last couple years, I've just wanted to spend a couple hours with close friends. This year, I wanted to ignore it. I thought it would make me too sad to try to celebrate with people who've known me for three months--at best.

It didn't help that a week before my birthday, Andrea and I told my supervisor in La Estación that I wouldn't be returning in the new year. The violence that I've been writing about hasn't essentially changed since arrival, but Andrea and I both felt that the tone had changed, and we decided that for the sake of the program it would be better to find a different arrangement. It wasn't an easy conversation. A lot of the people I was working closely with took the news very personally, and it was emotional for me as well; in such a short time, I already feel like I have walked through fire with these families. So, on December 17th, the last Friday of work before holidays, my birthday/going away party was scheduled. Total downer, right? I figured I would be there to eat some cake, answer the community's questions about exactly why I had to leave mid-year, and hope to get out without a major scene. I gave up all hope of having a high-energy, festive birthday. I could only imagine how much it was going to stink.

Some of my closest friends from the projecto, including Sylvia, Lulu, Maestra Fresvinda, and Guille.

On the morning of, more than 20 people showed up with various sorts of foods to share, a huge cake, and balloons. It was anything but a "going away party." It was a birthday party, full of hugs, friends, and laughter. My changing work situation was only addressed as people said their goodbyes: I hope you have a wonderful birthday, that you have a Merry Christmas, a Happy New Year, a good visit with your family, and that you love your new job. We'll miss you so much. It was everything I could've hoped for.

More tomorrow on my new work placement.
Saturday I'll post more end-of-service reflections about La Estación.
Look for a post about Christmas and my parents' visit on Sunday.

Try to Remember Some Details

2010-12-18T14:16:00.001-06:00

by Yehuda Amichai

try to remember some details. remember the clothing
of the one you love
so that on the day of loss you’ll be able to say: last seen
wearing such-and-such, brown jacket, white hat.
try to remember some details. for they have no face
and their soul is hidden and their crying
is the same as their laughter,
and their silence and their shouting rise to one height
and their body temperature is between 98 and 104 degrees
and they have no life outside this narrow space
and they have no graven image, no likeness, no memory
and they have paper cups on the day of their rejoicing
and paper cups that are used once only.

try to remember some details. for the world
is filled with people who were torn from their sleep
with no one to mend the tear,
and unlike wild beasts they live
each in his lonely hiding place and they die
together on battlefields
and in hospitals.
and the earth will swallow all of them,
good and evil together, like the followers of korah,
all of them in their rebellion against death,
their mouths open till the last moment,
praising and cursing in a single
howl. try, try
to remember some details.

(poem discovered via invisible stories)

I like this poem. At first it made me feel sad. It certainly has a certain doom-and-gloom-iness about it. But I also find comfort and strength in the idea that we are all tied together in our fate, that we are all a part of the same dual-natured creature. It reminds me that there are no absolutes.
the earth will swallow all of them, / good and evil together... / all of them in their rebellion against death, / their mouths open till the last moment, / praising and cursing in a single / howl.

It also helps me remember that I am a big-picture person. I like trying to organize small details, but really my brain works better in broad strokes. I tend to jump to conclusions, make over-arching generalizations, and hold it all as the truest truth.
Yet, here in Mexico I find myself frequently overwhelmed by the enormity of the big-picture. Teaching English isn't as simple as colors and shapes, verbs and nouns. There's a mountain of disadvantages and difficulties standing in front of each student, preventing them from ever effectively learning a foreign language, despite the fact that it's a required subject at a much younger age than in the US. Women's rights aren't just about rape and machismo. They're tied to education costs, wage laws, the availability of clean water, and much more. Some days it's hard to feel like I'm doing anything more than treading water.
On those days, I practice being a details person. I try to inhale deeply the smell of chicharrones being fried across the street, define exactly the color of the bougainvillea blooms growing on the fence next to the bus stop, remember the pitch of a child's laughter.

Wow

2010-12-14T17:29:00.000-06:00

It never ceases to amaze me that my experiences here can be so different from my fellow YAGM--even from those also serving in Mexico. I wish I were doing a better job of following other people's blogs, but time is limited, and I frequently feel frustrated when I spend all afternoon on my computer instead of spending time enjoying Mexico.
I am also consistently impressed by Anneli's writing, the complete clarity of thought she shares on her blog. I especially want to direct your attention to this stunning post, in which she writes, "How grateful I am to have shoes that fit, shoes that don't cause me pain, shoes at all. The man at the busy intersection I pass every day has shoes too. I haven't asked him if they fit or not. Perhaps I should." [read more]

Advent

2010-12-12T09:59:00.000-06:00

Last week at work, I learned to make buñuelos. Unfortunately, I can't prove it--it happened on the one day of the week I didn't carry my camera with me!


	image via google image search

If you're not familiar with buñuelos, the best way I have of describing them is as Mexico's response to the elephant ear. They're much thinner, though, and crispy. They're topped exclusively with sugar and ground cinnamon. One of the women who was helping to teach me told me that she only makes them for the Christmas season.
I remember growing up my pastor parents tried to impress upon us the meaning of advent. I spent most of the season worrying about what gifts I was going to get. Perhaps it's the fact that gift-giving isn't so essential to the Christmas tradition in Mexico as it is in the states. Perhaps it's my personal commitment to live simply this year, and my attempt to resist the urge to get a bunch of new toys. Perhaps it's the fact that the weather in Cuernavaca still isn't cold enough for football season to be over, let alone nearing Christmas. But somehow, I find myself patiently waiting for Christmas to start. I enjoyed saying the rosary for the Virgin with my neighbors last week. I'm excited about the posadas that will start next week. I'm stuffing myself with buñuelos.

2010-12-07T20:17:00.000-06:00

My November newsletter can now be downloaded here.

The Guest House

2010-12-04T16:37:00.001-06:00

by Jelaluddin Rumi
translation by Coleman Barks

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

I want to say thanks to Gita for e-mailing me this poem! It's been one of the texts I go to lately when I feel stressed out or tired.

Thanksgiving

2010-11-28T21:13:00.001-06:00

I love Thanksgiving. It's easily surpassed Halloween as my favorite holiday in recent years. My friend Anneli described the feeling of the holiday as being pure. Christmas gets all mixed up in worry about shopping and wrapping presents and making things equal, but Thanksgiving is only about food and family and being present at the table. So, last week was a little hard for me.
I knew we would have our dinner here in Cuernavaca on Saturday (which quickly became known, thanks to yours truly and my overabundance of enthusiasm, as THANKSFRIGGINGIVIN), but I still woke up sad on Thanksgiving Day. I couldn't help but think about who was up already, pre-heating the oven for the turkey. Who would be making the sweet potatoes? What would be forgotten until the last-minute scramble? The half hour I allotted to making a few phone calls home didn't help as much as I thought they would, since the holidays in both parts of my families were pretty drastically different from tradition this year. It was hard to think the holiday might go on without me. It was harder to realize that my family's holidays are changing, and that the Thanksgivings of my childhood might be gone for good.
All of us YAGM-Mexico volunteers are, I think, getting over our honeymoon with Mexico. I recently described the feeling to a friend as "Things are getting real." My enthusiastic "These fresh tortillas are delicious!" has changed to an aggravated "Why can't I just have some dense whole-wheat bread for once?!" We've had three months to get used to the major cultural differences, and now we're working on more nuanced expectations. It's a difficult time, even without the holidays. But I am trying to remember to be thankful for this experience, even through my sadness at being so far away from home. I am trying to remember that the most influential experiences I've had in my life were also difficult at times. But mostly, I am trying to remember the prayer we sing every day before eating dinner at Casa Tatic:
Demos Gracias al Señor,                                   We give thanks to the Lord,
Demos Gracias.                               We give thanks.
Demos Gracias al Señor.                                   We give thanks to the Lord.
En la mañana, que se levanta                        In the morning, the rooster sings
El gallo canta,                  just because he's awake,
y yo canto al Señor.                                            and I also sing to the Lord.

Our THANKSFRIGGINGIVIN dinner, by the way, was amazing.

Quilts

2010-11-24T19:31:00.000-06:00

My mom is a quilter. There's quilts everywhere in my parents house, and we never use half of them, honestly. Me? I've always thought of myself as more of a comforter person--at least until I discovered the wonder of the german duvet. There's something about curling up with big, fluffy bedding that I really, really like, and I have usually resisted the quilt, thinking it wasn't as cozy.

The first quilt Mom made for me.

Although it's known as the City of Eternal Spring, global climate change and the arrival of big box stores like Walmart and Costco have changed Cuernavaca's climate noticably over the last five years or so. It's just starting to get cold, and very few buildings (mostly just Walmarts, ironically enough) have heating or cooling. I love my house and my family here, but I also miss my mom's handiwork. This winter, I'm craving the dense, dead weight of a thickly batted quilt.

Respect

2010-11-12T20:00:00.000-06:00

I mentioned in my newsletter that I asked a student "That's not respectful, is it?" This has become my personal teaching mantra. Respect is an idea that seems to be understood at a much earlier age here than in the US, and yet something that is so rarely enacted. Talking about respect has proven my single greatest tool in behavior management both in and outside the classroom.
A five-year-old snatches a crayon that doesn't belong to him away from another child. "That's not respectful, is it?" "No, maestra."
An eight-year-old is talking loudly in class instead of paying attention. "That's not respectful, is it?" "No, maestra."
A pre-teen throws a ball at a toddler to watch them topple. "That's not respectful, is it?" "No, maestra."

There is a four-year-old in the la estación kinder who introduces himself as "Luisito." His enthusiasm for chatting up his classmates is sometimes a source of frustration for us, since his work rarely gets completed, and he's behind his classmates in terms of motor skills, color and letter recognition. But he has one of the best memories I've ever seen; it reminds me of Caleb's movie-quoting. If you say something directly to Luisito, he will remember it. The other day when we were eating our lunches outside, a teenager (who didn't seem to have a connection to any of the kids in the kinder) threw an empty potato chip bag in the middle of the road when he was done eating it. This isn't uncommon in Mexico, and especially not in la estación, but nevertheless, Luisito tore off after him, screaming "¡Éso no es respeto, hombre!" The teen was so surprised by this public outcry that he picked up his trash and put it in a nearby bin. Luisito has a masterful strut for a four-year-old.

Buon Compleanno, mamma!

2010-11-06T07:07:00.002-06:00

A very happy birthday to my moms today!

2010-11-05T19:00:00.000-06:00

My October newsletter is now uploaded here.

Pan de Muertos

2010-11-03T19:00:00.000-06:00

This weekend, I got the chance to go make pan de muertos with Anneli and her host family. It was so much fun, both because we got to play with bread dough, and because Anneli's host family reminds me so much of my extended family in North Carolina. It felt surprisingly like home.

Delphilia, trying to show me the right way to shape my hand
so as to make the balls of dough smooth and even.

Anneli wrote a really beautiful post that I hope you'll read about the process and experience. I especially love the final paragraph:

We take home three large cardboard boxes full of bread. Golden brown and colorful, some of it will adorn our Día de los Muertos altar and be an offering to the dead. The rest of it we will share with neighbors and the rest of the extended family, and all will enjoy eating it for the next several weeks. For today, this tradition in honor of the dead has invited us to treasure life and remember those who have died. It has brought together three generations of the living and people and traditions from the north of the United States to the south of Mexico. As far as I can tell, that's what the Day of the Dead is about.

Día de los Muertos

2010-11-02T21:51:00.000-06:00

Today, 2 November, was Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead. Sam was here visiting after our monthly community gathering (which I was surprised to learn I'm alone in calling "community day," a throwback, I'm sure, to my BSC days), and we visited Ocutupec, a pueblo just north of Cuernavaca that is known for its celebrations on this holiday. Any household that has experienced a death within the last year opens its doors to visitors, who pass by an ofrenda to the deceased, heavy with flowers, littered with candles, and stacked with piles of sweets, breads, favorite foods, soda, and alcohol. Visitors bring a gift of candles or marigolds, the traditional flower of Día de los Muertos, to offer the family. In return, the family offers a snack, most commonly pan de muertos and ponche, a seasonal punch that tastes not unlike cider.
Visiting these ofrendas was such an exciting cultural experience, but also one that made me feel more like a tourist than I usually do. It was sometimes hard to get a feel for what was expected of visitors. Is it okay to take pictures? Should I clap when the mariachi band finishes a song? Is this a party, or a wake? I quickly found that the expectations, and the experience, varied from house to house. Some seemed happy to have so many visitors, honored to be able to offer hospitality, and glad to be celebrating life. Some were obviously still mourning their loss in such a personal way that I felt like an intruder into a very private space. I think it will be a long time before I have fully processed the evening.

Licha, my "mexomom," went to the cemetery yesterday to drop off some flowers, and again this morning, but she invited me to return with her after lunch today. She said the whole family would be there, hanging out for most of the afternoon and evening. I was a little unsure as to whether I would be intruding on an important family event, but I was curious to see a Mexican cemetery, so I agreed.
When we got there, I was surprised that they handed me two small chairs to carry in so we had a place to sit. There were people on the street selling more marigolds and candles. The graves were spaced close together, some at odd angles so as to fit another casket in between existing ones. It was impossible to walk between the graves, but it didn't seem to bother anyone at all to walk right on top of them, as long as they didn't disturb any of the decorations in the process.
Along the way, Licha pointed out her brother, mother, in-laws, cousins, family of her brother-in-law, and a son who died in infancy. She said we were going to sit near her husband's family, because there was more space. All of the graves of "our" family had already been decorated, but I noticed families all around us arranging silk flowers, weeding the top of the graves, and watering the potted marigolds. We greeted aunts and cousins and then sat for a while in contented silence; I remembered visiting my Mawmaw and Pawpaw's graves just before leaving for language school. I felt it should be a somber occasion for reflection and remembering, but the air felt so light, so full of life. Everywhere people were chatting or laughing or singing songs or saying prayers, but no one was crying. No one was kneeling by a grave whispering into the dirt. We were there, in the presence of those who have passed, but our attentions were turned to the living.

Yo soy maestra.

2010-10-29T14:06:00.002-05:00

As my role of maestra (teacher) is further solidified here, more and more people have started talking to me about the educational system in Mexico. Everyone knows that their children need to go to school, that it's the most important thing they can do to help their kids have a better life. But they also know that their kids hate school, and they're not really learning anything.
I want to start off with a disclaimer and say that I'm working with some of the most under-privileged people of Cuernavaca. I don't know a thing about the schools in other places, or what it's like for wealthier children to attend school. I also know that there have to be good teachers somewhere, because their are highly educated people, but I spend most of my time tutoring kids, not observing teaching methods. That said, these are some of my reflections on what I've seen.
From what I've seen, the developmental milestones which were so helpful to me in my work in Las Cruces, that describe what most children are able to do and understand at different ages, aren't in place as guidelines here. Three-year-olds in the US are encouraged to scribble on blank paper, hopefully in semi-vertical lines. Three-year-olds in Mexico are expected to color neatly within the lines. Most six-year-olds in the US are still learning to write their names. Four-year-olds in Mexico are asked to write theirs without help.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing to me, though, is that pre-school isn't mandatory in Mexico, but the level of knowledge first graders are expected to posses before entering is not only beyond their developmental reach in my opinion, but also impossible to obtain unless they attended pre-school for at least two years. In the US, I think it's hard to deny that children who attend pre-school are ahead of the game. But I also think we try hard not to teach anything essential until the point at which ALL children are attending--early childhood curriculum, while encouraging skills that will enable future learning of reading, science, and math, really tend to lean on motor skills and social development.
I'm thinking, especially, of reading; if, in Mexico, your child doesn't learn to read when they're four, in pre-school, very little is done within the standard school system to make sure they learn how. If your child can't read, your child can't do their homework in any subject, and this line is drawn from the word go. And if your child can't do their work, gets consistently bad grades, and you have little to no time or energy to help them (if you can even read), how will your child feel about school? They're not likely to like it. They're not likely to want to go. They're likely to feel frustration and embarrassment and shame.
I am fully aware that I went to public school in a state with notoriously bad public schools. But I am so grateful for the talented and patient teachers I had (although I also had my share of bad teachers, I think), and that I never had to doubt whether I would have the opportunity to go to school. I ask you to remember that, although I write about Mexico, there are also people in the US who don't have the same opportunities for education that you and I often take for granted. Please, please, support the DREAM Act, which would give undocumented minors who have been in the US for an extended amount of time a chance to go to college. It's not difficult to write a quick letter or email to your representatives, and it makes a huge difference in the outcome of legislation. I definitely don't think that the DREAM Act is perfect, but it's a step in what I consider to be the right direction; it's a step toward realizing the ideals of freedom, liberty, and justice for all.

Harry Potter "review" SPOILERS

2010-10-25T21:20:00.000-05:00

Some of you know my long-standing avoidance of the Harry Potter series, but I'll briefly explain it here for those who don't know.
I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when it first came out, like essentially everyone of my generation, but I wasn't grabbed by it. I only vaguely noticed what a cult phenomenon it was becoming while I was in high school. But when I was studying literature in college, I became increasingly annoyed by the people in my upper level courses, trying to tie every concept to Harry Potter. I'm sorry, but no. Harry Potter is adolescent literature. It's really good adolescent literature, but it still isn't a substitute for Marquez or O'Connor or Camus or Tolstoy. Read a book. This I maintain.
At the same time, I made best friends with a real Harry Potter fan, and I went to see the movies with him. Despite his arguments, I still refused to read the books, but I was intrigued most by his claim that the themes and conflicts get increasingly complex as the characters grow.
So what broke me? During my BSC year, I was really struggling with how awful the world seemed, and I felt like I couldn't read any of the "serious" books I owned. So I borrowed... Twilight. I know. I know. But it was available, and mindless, and I was bored. At the same time, excitement was building for the movie of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. We went to the premiere. Despite complaints about the movie's accuracy, I was definitely intrigued by how dark this movie was, by the honestly compelling emotional trauma of characters good and bad. So, I decided that if I could get through Twilight, Harry Potter couldn't be that bad.

Before the spoiler-hiding-cut, I have to say that
Neville is clearly the man!
Also, have you seen a recent picture of Matthew Lewis?
Yowza! Who'dathunkit that he'd ever grow into those teeth!
photo here.

So, now that I'm done, here are some of my thoughts.

**SPOILERS FOLLOW** If you don't want to know some things about the ending, don't read any more! Or don't be mad at me if you ruin it for yourself!
on Harry: generally, I think he's a whiny, untalented brat. But I have to say that I was really glad to see him act and think on his own in this last book, instead of depending so much on his friends (::ahem:: Hermione). Even though this has been my biggest complaint about the character the whole series, I found myself really mad at You-Know-Who in the last chapters for calling Harry a coward. I was glad that Rowling found magical explanations for most of the "luck" he's found in the last six years.

on Ron: I'm really impressed with Ron's depth in the books, and I'm sorry that hasn't been expressed in the movies. I was really scared when he left, and really excited when he reappeared. I'm sorry that the deluminator stopped being important after he hooked back up with H&H, though. I like that thing.

on Hermione: I really want to like Hermione, since she's the "female lead," but I kind of thought she's annoying. I'm glad her tone changed a lot in this last book, that there were things she didn't know, and that she was more patient with people who didn't know/hadn't read everything she had. Also, even though we haven't really seen them the entire series, I want to know what happened to her parents after the war.

on the other Weasleys: Ms. Weasley said "bitch."

on Snape: I almost couldn't be happier with how his character turned out to be. To me, while certainly not the most likeable, Snape has always been the most intriguing character. The entire time I was reading the series, I was torn between wanting to know whether he was good or bad and loving the mystery surrounding him. I'm glad, in the end, that he turned out to be tortured and morally grey. However, I'm a little disappointed that the thing that tortured him was Lily's death, and not the fact that he loved a mudblood. I think Rowling missed a good chance to talk about the complexities of core belief vs. actual feelings.

the Malfoys & Bellatrix: I was also glad to see a little humanity injected into this family. Even though I don't see him being my favorite character under any circumstances, I really fell in love with Draco in book 6. I do wish there had been a little more concession to the characters who turned out to be in the grey area morally, instead of such a black-and-white for-us-or-against-us dogma, but I also understand that You-Know-Who's presence doesn't really allow that kind of thing. I wish Rowling would give the whole mother's-love-conquers-all shtick a rest, but it suited Narcissa somehow, especially as she contrasted with her sister. Also, I'm glad Bellatrix didn't go out roaring with laughter.

on Dumbledore: I thought Dumbledore was seriously amusing the entire series, but Dead Dumbledore was kind of obnoxious. In the end, I understand a lot of why he did what he did, and why he left some things unexplained, but the thought that he was so cryptic because Harry needed to prove himself was possibly the most nauseating thing I could've imagined. Don't screw around with kids' lives, Dumby. This ain't summer camp.

on Dumbledore's Army: the unsung heroes of the entire series? Anyone? Scraggly, beaten-up, snake-killing Neville is my favorite thing in the world. Luna proves herself to have some serious brains. All of them (not just the Gryffindors) show they've got some serious balls.

on Hagrid: Dude, WHERE WAS HE this whole book? It was seriously lacking in Hagrid. Really, the only things I can clearly remember him doing is getting Hedwig killed and carrying the supposedly dead Harry. And his tears weren't as touching this time as when Dumbledore died (which slayed me).

on Dobby & Kreacher: I'll admit it. Dobby's death was the only one that made me cry. Am I cold-hearted? Maybe. But poor Dobby! I also loved Kreacher's transformation, Ron's changing opinion about house elf rights, and the image of all the elves stabbing Death Eater shins. A missed opportunity on Rowling's part, I think, was to explain the role of other magical creatures after the war was over. Do elves have more freedoms? Can goblins get along with wizards any better? Are the centaurs still pissed? Where are the giants? Speaking of, where was Madame Maxime during the war?

19 years later: a little cheesy for my taste. I'm glad Snape got a nod in the baby-naming, but what was with Ron and Hermione's choices? More missed opportunities, imho.

Harry Potter, knitting, and my feud with UPS (a rare light-hearted post)

2010-10-24T13:12:00.000-05:00

I got mail this week! WAHOO! and what an ordeal it was!

The details are boring. The thrust is this: if you're planning to mail me anything other than a letter (which can be sent through the normal mail fairly safely), use DHL, and make sure it wasn't made in China (I'll have to pay a lot of money to get it) or it isn't food (I may or may not get it, and I may or may not have to pay for it). Also, you should know that my mom is awesome. AND, that's the world's most expensive candy corn and it took me at least 10 pieces to get them stuck on my teeth right. I feel richer and more wasteful than I have since getting here.
I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in under 30 hours of receiving it, and that included two full work days. I... I have too much to say.
I've also been excitedly knitting, since about four skeins of sock weight yarn got through customs. I'm having fun making this pattern for someone, although I have to confess I'm less pleased with the color combination now that I'm mid-project than I was when I picked the yarn out. I think, mostly, because it's one I've used before, and I usually try to be a little more original than that. Oh well. You'll get over it, mystery-gift-recipient ;).

Update on La Estación

2010-10-23T13:50:00.002-05:00

Firstly, I wanted to thank all of you for the many messages of support and concern I got since I last wrote. It means more than words can say to know that you are all thinking of me and my community of service.
I wanted to share that the young woman I wrote about in my last post has been found, dead, in a different part of town. While it's horrible that she was taken from this community, the general feeling is of relief that at least now her body can be at peace, and we can rest in the knowledge of knowing where she is. There have been additional deaths, but Andrea, Fresvinda, and I are agreed that while we're not ready to change my work schedule back, there's still no reason to think I need to be removed from the place entirely.
I had a good conversation with Andrea yesterday in which I was finally able to voice my confusion, indeed my frustration, about my work placement (stick with me here--this is good news). I had hoped I wouldn't have to teach English this year. I had hoped I would be able to work more hands-on in women's issues. I had hoped.... for so much. It's impossible not to romanticize something that doesn't exist yet. I think it's only natural that upon arrival for a year of who-knows-what, we start to think "What am I DOING here?!"

Andrew, serving in YAGM South Africa, wrote this fantastic reflection on family and culture shock. I can't help but laugh as I think about my la estación family. Were it my choice, would this be the place I would have come? Would this be the work I would have sought? To be honest, probably not; I would have been too afraid, too unsure of myself, too self-righteous (more on my campaign to change the culture of language learning in a post soon to come).
We don't choose our families. When I thought such things were possible just by wishing, I would wish I had a big brother instead of two younger ones. I wanted cousins who came to visit me more frequently. I wanted more permissive grandparents. I wanted a mother who wasn't ill. But if I had had that family, would I still be me? Would I be here, now, in this far-away living room that smells of bike chain grease, frijoles and chiles rellenos? Would I have the blessings of knowing how to care for people, and posses immeasurable personal strength at the same time? Would I have discovered how beautifully and painfully fiction can express truth? I can't imagine my life without the family I had, and I am so grateful to them for supporting me, for shaping me into who I am. I love you.
Likewise, the ways in which I have been able to connect with the community of la estción under these circumstances has only reinforced my conviction that despite the difficulties and frustrations, I couldn't have come anywhere else. There is something very important for me to be doing, learning, seeing here. I am practicing letting this familia shape me into who I will be.

La Estación - a prayer request

2010-10-17T20:08:00.000-05:00

I wrote a lot in my last newsletter about the neighborhood where I spend most of my working hours, la estación. I feel it's important to share a news update, but I first want to stress that I am fine, that there's no reason to think I'm in any more danger now than I was when I first agreed to come to Mexico, and that there are lots of people spending a lot of time thinking about my safety.

image via google search, which took me here

The thrust is this: please be praying, in whatever way you can, for the people of this community. For their safety, for their peace, for their restored ability to trust one another, for the opportunity and the challenge we now face: to join one another in the small steps that can better our world.
Two weeks ago, four people were kidnapped, ostensibly by narcos, or drug traffickers (I say ostensibly, since there hasn't been an official press release about this, but the overwhelming evidence is that this is the case, and there's no real reason to doubt it). This isn't exactly a new thing for la estación--as I mentioned before, the neighborhood has a history of involvement with a variety of illicit and illegal behaviors. One man's body was found a day later. Two men came home badly beaten within the week. The woman they took has yet to reappear, either dead or alive.

The man who was killed is the cousin of one of the women who helps with the breakfast program, and she told me they knew he was selling drugs. I want to stress this point, because Cuernavaca is not like Ciudad Juárez. The thing that scared us most during my BSC year, the thing that continues to scare anyone who's paying attention to the news, is the random nature of the violence in Juárez, best described as narco terrorism. The narcos there want everyone to be afraid, to be mistrusting. In Cuernavaca, it's true that the violence has increased in the last year. However, the people who are kidnapped or killed in Cuernavaca have so far been people with connections to drug traffic. It isn't at all random, and it isn't at all sloppy.

It is true, however, that the people of la estación are more worried by this disappearance than those of the past. Normally, people go missing at night. These four were taken in the late afternoon, before dark. I am told, "5pm." How this information could have been shared unless someone actually witnessed the event, I'm not sure, but no one seems to want to say that they were there, and with good reason. This, I am sure, is exactly the point the kidnappers wanted to make: we're not afraid of you, but you sure as hell better be afraid of us.

People are definitely shaken; the message was received loud and clear, and continues to be received with every hour that that young woman isn't found. I am definitely shaken; if I am perfectly honest, the initial shock over my circumstances had pretty much worn off, and I had started getting cocky. In retrospect, I wonder if I had been paying enough attention to my surroundings at all times.

I do not think there is a "bright side" to all of this. It is horrible, no matter who it happens to. It discourages me that anyone ought to live in a place where exists a possibility of their mother, their sister, their daughter, going missing indefinitely. Of their father, their brother, their son, being murdered. What I do count as a blessing, is that I am experiencing this pain from the vantage point of the support the projecto offers. I honestly can't tell you what is going on outside of that small concrete building, but I have watched as these families "mother hen" everyone around them, regardless of whose nest they belong in. Where people I didn't know used to greet my arrival at work with puzzled looks and "You're here early," the past week was filled with pre-occupied smiles and "Oh good. You're here.... Serve that aguita for me?" More and more, they offer their names without being asked, they remind me which children are theirs (since most of my connections are via the kids, who only infrequently come and go with their parents or adults of any kind, this is actually immensely helpful). When people arrive and depart there are more hugs, more kisses, more "Promise me you'll take care of yourself." Were it la carolina (the colonia where I live) experiencing this trauma, I would have so many people to turn to. I wouldn't know who to ask my questions of. I wouldn't know that someone was always ready to walk to the bus stop with me if I asked. But this community, at least in the projecto, is different.

Which brings me to the decision that my work schedule is changing, at least temporarily. Usually, when I am present in the afternoons, there isn't anyone there to "care for" me. There has been concern about this from the start, but not enough to really do anything about it, since when I arrived la estación was calm. Now, after a meeting of my site supervisor, my YAGM country coordinator, and a trusted friend, it has been decided that I will leave in the early afternoons at the same time or before my site supervisor does. I will be working more--every afternoon--at my second work site. "If/when the situation improves" is a vague phrase, I know, but essentially we'll continue to keep our ear to the ground. Depending on whether more violence occurs, and when, my schedule may change again. Please, as I said, keep all of us in your prayers.

Te guardará el Señor en los peligros y cuidará tu vida; protegerá tus ires y venires, ahora y para siempre. -Psalm 120
Escúchanos, Padre.

I think we should come home covered in confetti more often.

2010-10-10T20:45:00.000-05:00

My friend and fellow YAGM Anneli was kind enough to come to a 5 year old's birthday party with me this weekend. I thought this picture was fantastic and I wanted to share it with you this week. We got covered in confetti, which was annoying at first, but then it suddenly became unbearably funny (mostly because of how much ended up falling down my back and into my pants, I think) and we were scraping it off the table to throw more at each other.

I haven't been taking a bunch of pictures, since I'm still trying to get know people, and I think whipping out my camera separates me from the action of life, but there are a few new things posted on my flickr, mostly of birthday parties.

I've promised myself I won't feel bad anymore for the times that I don't post, since living my experiences here in Mexico is a higher priority than telling the internet about it. But I'm still sorry I haven't been posting much lately. I've been sick pretty much constantly since the second half of language school, honestly, and the energy drain of a two-month-long low-grade infection is starting to wear on me. Hopefully I'll be back to normal soon, and I can find more time to talk about my experiences.
I wrote a lot in my most recent newsletter about the neighborhood of my main work placement, la estación. It's a fairly closed community, so I'm still trying to navigate the ins and outs of being present in that place. But things are finally starting to come together after this week--I'm getting more coordination with my volunteer English teachers, I recruited a children's art teacher (can you tell I was feeling the need for a little bit of delegation? Planning for and executing 8 different kinds of classes was a little too stressful), and I finally got some information about my responsibilities outside of the English classes, which feels good.
In other good-news news, my stomach seems to have finally settled into the routine of eating Mexican food every day (and I'm also learning which foods I just need to avoid) and so now I just need to kick the sinus infection that's been brewing for the last few weeks. Additionally, I found a fantastic (and thankfully affordable) Zumba class right near downtown and the teacher and her husband have been super friendly and helpful as we try to get to know our new home.
Okay. More news soon.

2010-10-07T21:03:00.000-05:00

The newest newsletter is now posted here.

¡feliz cumpleaños, hermanito!

2010-10-07T13:00:00.005-05:00

My little brother's getting all grown up. It's this little guy's 21st today!

I hope you had a good one, Buttface.

A comment on special occasions

2010-09-19T17:03:00.005-05:00

I've really only been in Mexico a short time, but already I'm feeling like I've been gone for years. Okay, maybe not years, but definitely a long time. Mainly, I'm sure, this is because I kind of missed an entire season already. Admittedly, summer is not at all my favorite season, and I happily spent all but two days of August out of the state of South Carolina--the time when, I'm pretty sure, the Devil himself goes on summer vacation to Richland County, and brings the oppressive, unbearbly-hot, overly-humid climate with him straight from hell. Ask any meteorologist. I'm sure they'll agree.

One of the things I really enjoy about traveling for extended periods of time is the opportunity to spend special occasions outside of my own culture. It's kind of refreshing, and definitely humbling, to realize how little the rest of the world cares about the things that are huge events for us. "Big deal," the world seems to say, "we've got holidays all the time!" Although, I have to confess that the two times I spent Independence Day in Germany were quite different than this year, when I was in Guatemala. In Germany, people are familiar enough with world history to recognize that the day had significance for me, but in Guatemala there was no mention of it whatsoever.

Perhaps more pointedly, I must confess that even I probably wouldn't have noticed the anniversary of 9/11 if it hadn't been from an email I got from ELCA-Global Missions about the proposed Q'uran burning in Florida. I don't mean to say that the day was unimportant. I just mean that I got up that morning and I went to work like everyone else. I'm living in a country, that although it has a love/hate relationship with the country of my birth, it is a primarily Catholic country, a country that's got bigger fish to fry than whether or not the "War on Terror" is justified, a country that honestly cares very little if a radical pastor in Florida decides to set flame to a bunch of books, or if a community center is built in Manhattan.

The events of September 11, 2001 have become a major milestone for many people in the United States of America, especially those of my generation. In many ways, we, US Citizens, tend mark the passage of time, change in national and international policy, and the cost of travel, among other things, using a pre-9/11 vs. post-9/11 dichotomy. So far away from home, I have to wonder... Is this an accurate portrayal of our modern history? Is it fair to use our own, somewhat personal, tragedy to define every event of the past nine years? Do we allow ourselves to dwell on this--unarguably horrible--event to the point that we ignore the tragedies of the rest of the world? Are we, by tying our emotional reactions so tightly to our political opinions, creating further divisions between ourselves and others?

I am reminded of the mission of accompaniment that we, as YAGM volunteers, are striving to live out. The words I wrote way back in June were these:

Accompaniment... says that it is only when we understand that God is in all of us and all of us are of God can our experience of the Holy be complete.... There are not two separate relationships we're seeking to maintain, but rather three balanced parts of one relationship: you, me, and God.

Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla reminded us that we are not shepherds. It is not our responsibility to seek out the lost lamb. We are the 99 sheep who are actively listening for the voice of the Shepherd and trying to follow him. We are less than whole when our brothers and sisters aren't walking in partnership with us and God.

I am sorry for those who lost friends and family on September 11, 2001. I, too, remember the horror I felt while watching those buildings fall to the ground. But as I hold those memories in my heart, I remember also all those who have died since then, using big words like God and Terrorism and Pride as justification. I remember all those who have left this earth, regardless of the date or the circumstances of their deaths, with fear in their hearts, rather than peace and comfort and love I hope will one day soon envelop our world. "For he himself is our peace, who has made the two one and has destroyed the barrier, the dividing wall of hostility" (Ephesians 2:14, NIV).

Some more introductions

2010-09-17T11:07:00.002-05:00

Sam made these awesome videos for us to share with our friends and family back home, since we thought y'all might like to meet our fellow YAGM-Mexico volunteers. So here they are, my lovely co-YAGMS!
Amy
Anneli
Catherine
Kate
Sam
Polina

I'd like to introduce Reuben.

2010-09-11T18:30:00.002-05:00

[click to visit my flickr]

We met Reuben when we were visiting Mexico City, and I think he's the coolest. He's a therapist, and some time recently decided to start a public therapy project. Three days a week, he stands on a busy street corner with a dove-shaped sign that says "SMILE--BE HAPPY--HUGS" on one side and "Love and Peace for EVERYONE" on the other and grins at people who walk by. We thought it was such a cool thing to be doing that we went up and talked to him (which was when we got his name and whatnot). He says that a lot of people see his sign or his smile and kind of scowl at him, that so many people--especially in busy places like the Mexico City Zocolo--are in such a rush that they don't take the time to let the therapy work for them. They think he is crazy; I think he is a genius.

I'm off to make a public therapy sign. See you later.

2010-09-11T15:24:00.004-05:00

Shortest post ever, probably. I just wanted to let you know that you can read my July/August newsletter over at the LCM-C website. Sorry it's a little late. We're still working on the system for distribution.

2010-08-23T10:54:00.002-05:00

I’m sorry for the lack of posts in the last two weeks. This has been my time for a brief return to the US before departing for Mexico, and I have been doing what I can to live into the moment, be present with my friends and family, and focus myself on the year to come.

As of now, I am at YAGM Orientation in Chicago, and it has been unbelievably cool to reconnect with all the people I met at the DIP (interview) event back in April, and to form new relationships with some of the people that I didn’t get a chance to spend time with back then, too. It has been an affirming and loving three days, and I am continually overwhelmed by the excitement that I could not be serving with a more incredible group of people.

Of particular importance to me has been our morning workshops, a series called Packing Your Soul’s Backpack, which relates to some “new” spiritual practices we might want to take with us on our year of service and beyond. The first tool we picked up was Centering Prayer, which I think was difficult for many of my fellow YAGM, but for me finally felt like a worship space I could enter into without hesitation. During the process of applications, interviews, placements, preparations, and now orientation, I have sometimes had to remind myself that our spiritual communities aren’t always what we might first choose for ourselves, and that more important (to me) than sharing creeds or worship practices is forming those communities and living fully in them. But through speaking with Pastor Goinia, our Backpacks presenter, and sharing what has been called “The Quaker Connection” with my fellow YAGM, I’ve slowly been realizing that while I might not be ready to start attending a Lutheran Church again, many of the tools I use to worship can be welcomed resources in Lutheran circles.

My fellow YAGM and the Alum Teams have been asking me thoughtful and thought-provoking questions about my beliefs throughout the week. Yesterday eight (!) YAGM decided to use their last opportunity for Sunday morning worship to attend Quaker Meeting with me in Hyde Park. So cool.

Okay. Back to orientation sessions. I'll try to write again before I depart, but the next time you hear from me I may be in Mexico!!

and I will call him.... Manuel.

2010-08-08T14:25:00.003-05:00

Sick again. This one’s been a bit more of an ordeal.

I will say again that I don’t recommend getting sick in a foreign country as a new hobby for anyone, but I’ve gotten sick in several different countries, and I have to say that Guatemala is not at all the worst. In fact, despite the draw-back that you’re more likely to get repeatedly sick here than in Germany, I’ve really been more satisfied with the kind of good-natured, gentle care I’ve received here, in contrast to the gruff, matter-of-fact professionals of modern Europe. Plus, antibiotics are super cheap here, and even something simple like ibuprofen is expensive enough to justify taking out a second mortgage on your home in Germany.

Let me apologize, as well, for allowing this blog to morph into something that primarily has to do with my illnesses. I don't know exactly what makes me think this is the best thing to write about. Maybe it's just because if I didn't write about being sick, all I'd have to tell you is that Spanish classes are going well. I started taking weaving classes this week, too, and I love that more than I could have imagined. I've also I've been watching TV to keep myself in bed (I’m out of books again), and the Simpsons are hard to understand. I went to the Chichicastenango market last weekend, and it was really crowded, but kind of a cool experience. been able to get to know the family of my weaving teacher, which has been interesting. One of her daughters is an English teacher, and I’m going to visit her class on Monday night. Less than a week remains of my time in Guatemala. I’m tired and ready to come home for orientation, but I’ll also miss this place in a way I don’t think even I understand yet.

These things don't seem like exciting things, to me. But if you don't want to read this nonsense, I understand. I'm doing much better now, and things, overall, and going great.

Since you already know the general process of going to the health department, I’ll save you the details of the ailment and the journey. I’ll just say that last Sunday, I got stuck out in what was undoubtedly the strongest downpour I’ve seen in a depressingly rainy five weeks, and at one point I was wading through the knee-high river that had taken over the street. I had my umbrella with me, but it did little to protect me from the rain splashing upward. Perhaps the only thing that kept me in a halfway-good mood in that situation was the guy that passed me, without an umbrella but just as dry, and shared the worst Forrest Gump impression I’ve ever heard: sometimes rain even seems to come straight up from underneath!

I didn’t think a lot about this adventure, but I guess the dampness that persisted through my dinner and the cold that set in that night after the storm was enough to knock me off balance. I have been in an American Gladiator style fight to the death with this nasty flu bug that has made three rounds at the school. So far, I was the clear champion. But oh, how I got double teamed by that little guy and the rain.

Monday during the day I felt a little congested, but didn’t put too much thought into it. But by Monday night, I couldn’t sleep for the insane, hallucination-producing fever that kept my whole body shaking and my teeth rattling despite the three wool blankets I hijacked from my host family’s beds. I don’t remember much, but I’m pretty sure at some point, I was using the tassels on my bedspread to say the rosary (I’ve been reading a book about a catholic family. Don’t judge.), and my umbrella was talking to me in Mary Poppins’ voice. Occasionally, the physical sensation of the fever would break, and I’d jump out of bed happily, convinced it was all a very bad dream, but then go running into the bathroom and remember that this was real. Very real. And the night was only halfway over.

Tuesday at breakfast, I wasn’t hungry and I clearly wasn’t in any condition to go to class. Rosa called the school and I went back to bed. By the afternoon, I had slept as much as I could, and I was fighting the boredom that was trying to convince me to go walking around town. “You’ll feel better!” it insisted. I wouldn’t. After a lunch of get-well-soup that Rosa so kindly cooked for me, but I still didn’t want to eat, she convinced me to go to the health department again. The doctor was nice enough (he even spoke a little English, and happily helped me look up the words I wasn’t understanding in my dictionary), but the news that I had a throat infection, a kidney infection, and an intestinal infection—this most likely due to some variety of irritating parasite—was not welcome.

Pause. Do you remember when I got stung by the bee in Germany and my foot swelled up until I couldn’t wear shoes or walk? Steffi took me to the doctor after three days then, worried that the swelling wasn’t going down, despite our treatments (cold water and onions). But my German wasn’t perfect at that point, and when the doctor said, “Well, thankfully, it doesn’t look like you have an infection…” I only heard “infection,” and I freaked out. So, when this doctor said the word parásito, I checked my fear, laughed, and double-checked: “But at least I DON’T have a parasite, right?”

“No. Sorry. I can’t be sure without sending samples to the lab, but most likely… well, we usually see this kind of thing in touristas who have contracted parasites.” In my mind, I can see myself wading through that water on Sunday night. I think about all the stray dogs, and the dismal state of sanitation in San Pedro. I think I’m going to puke. I’m not sure if it’s because of my train of thought, or my friend, who I have since named Manuel.

Yes. I named it. Yes. Manuel.

So, the doctor gave me a variety of antibiotics, decongestants, pain relievers, fever reducers, re-hydrators, and whatnot (yes, you read that right, he GAVE them to me. For free.), a complicated schedule of when to take them—some every four hours, some every six, some every eight, some every twelve—and sent me on my merry way, saying my prayers that he didn’t suspect dengue (there has been a recent outbreak in Guatemala, and a couple cases in the district. I was nervous.). Wednesday I went back to class because I was just too bored to stay in bed any longer. I also started taking weaving lessons. But all week, I’ve been going to bed around 8, or, honestly, earlier, and walking very slowly, taking breaks on the big hills I had just gotten used to climbing without getting out of breath.

And so, Manuel. As in:

“Hey, Kat, do you want to go get a beer after class?”

“Man! Well, I want to, but I can’t drink on these antibiotics.”

Or:

“Hey, Kat, are you going to salsa lessons tonight?”

“Aww maaaan. Well the thing is I’m just worn out and me and my parasite, Manuel, are going to bed early.”

I hope he goes away soon. I’m tired of him. I’m also tired of pedialyte, which tastes like warm milk here, and I don’t think is doing anything to make me feel better.

Honestly? It's kind of been a boring week.

2010-07-25T15:28:00.003-05:00

I'm sorry. I have very little in the way of adventures to write about today. The only thing I did other than go to class this week was go kayaking to San Marcos on Saturday morning, and that was pretty uneventful. I feel like I just talked about it in great detail, really, just telling you that there was a kayak and some water involved. I'm sunburned, despite my sunscreen.

What I do have to share, however, is some fantastically good news. I got my work placement for Cuernavaca! YAYYYYYYYYYYYY! I'll be working at La Estación Kinder and Community Center as well as Casa Tatic. Five mornings a week I'll be at La Estación, starting with the breakfast program at the Community Center. Three mornings a week, I'll work in the Kinder program, most likely teaching English in all the classes, but possibly also working on reading skills one-on-one. The other two mornings I'll remain in the Community Center with the mothers who work to keep the center running. The work in this part will vary greatly.

Each week I'll eat my lunches with a family involved in the La Estación programs. I'm especially excited about this part, since it will really provide me with time to get to know the people of the neighborhood. Two afternoons a week I will return to La Estactión and offer workshops. I have a lot of flexibility as far as this is concerned, including having the option to offer them myself or find presenters to come in to the center. During this time I might be working with kids or adults.

The remaining three afternoons each week will be at Casa Tatic. The details here are also fairly open, but Casa Tatic has a special focus on teaching computer skills to the children that are involved in their programs. I could also be working one-on-one reading skills here, or as a teaching assistant. One day a week I should be able to work with the mothers, who are provided with time and space to practice handicrafts they can sell to support their families.

Welp, that's pretty much all I've got. Hope you're having a great week.

Hey, if I'm gonna puke, which way do you think I should aim?

2010-07-19T13:08:00.004-05:00

This past weekend, I went on my first excursion with the language school. Kanopy. AKA Ziplines. It was... interesting.

I've seen pictures and heard stories about some of my friends doing this before when they visited places with really intense mountains and/or rainforests. It was one of those things that always kind of terrified me, but I also kind of always wanted to do--or at least be able to say that I had done. 150Q seemed like an entirely reasonable price for putting my life in danger, so I decided, what the heck. There's no time like the present.

We left the school Saturday morning at 7am. While I am usually up by 6:30am here (San Pedro, while it seems to be a sleepy little town, does not have much respect for people who actually sleep during the night), 7am is much earlier than I ever have to be anywhere. I was not super psyched about this part. But I made it, and my fellow students and I stood around comparing sleepiness for a little while before Mynor told us it was time to go get in the car.

Perhaps I should take a moment to talk about transportation in San Pedro. Cars and drivers licenses are very expensive here. Most Guatemaltecas I've talked to have never driven a car, and don't even really like riding in cars. Therefore, the people who do have/can drive cars are in a great position of power. Most people in San Pedro walk most of the places they need to go. If they happen to have a lot of stuff to carry or they're in a very big hurry, they have two options. The most commonly used is the tuk-tuk I wrote about in my last post. If you can imagine that a moped and a go-cart had a baby, you might have a good idea of what these look like: one front wheel, centrally positioned driver, cramped backseat with a low ceiling, and generally covered in whatever stickers and decals the driver/owner could get his hands on. The second, less common but more durable option is the pick-up. It's a very complicated Spanish word that roughly translates to pick-up in English. That's right. Pick-up trucks with a metal frame around the bed and flashing blue lights cruise around and take people in between towns, up and down the mountain, to the campo, etc. It was this second option that was our "car" to the zipline.

So all 11 of us pile in to the bed of this pick-up and hang on for dear life since we immediately start driving up one of the biggest hills in San Pedro. We rode up the mountain in the back of this thing for about an hour and a half, excepting the 15 minutes when we had to get out and walk up an especially steep hill because there were too many of us for the truck (which seemed to be surprisingly low on horsepower considering its vocation) to handle carrying. By the time we got to the zipline, I was feeling pretty ill.

We get out, admire the view of the lake for a little bit--which, I must confess, was really incredible--and then head up to the office. We get on our gear and start hiking. It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the first line. Essentially, they hook you up to this wheeling contraption that glides over a cable and you step off the face of the rock. The first line was really awesome. My feet almost touched the tops of the trees the whole way across, and I felt like I was flying... for about 25 seconds. After a terrifying stop by a guy with tire rubber wrapped around the cable, I laughed like a maniac for about three whole minutes. Luckily, everyone seemed to have the same reaction.

Another hike, since the second line is higher up, takes about 25 minutes (at least for me, because 3,000meters is really high elevation for an east coast girl who's badly out of shape). I'm severly nervous about this next line, because I can tell just by the hill we walked up that we have to be much much further from the other end of the cable. I elect to be the last to go. I get hooked up and I think the operator had to tell me three times to step down onto the platform before I actually did it because I was thinking don'tletmediedon'tletmediedon'tletmedie so loudly in my own head that I didn't know he was talking to me. The second line, I am told, takes just under a minute to cross. It seemed like much longer. The platform is well in the trees, although you can see that the trees eventually drop off, but when you reach the .7second point and the trees around you actually do suddenly go away, it's quite unexpected. For the next 55 seconds, there is nothing between you and the tree tops but hundreds and hundreds of feet of air. I will confess that it was really exciting, and a beautiful view. But it was also terrifying.

I'm barely unhooked from the line, and still shaking like a leaf when the guide from the other platform comes zipping across himself, casually breaking and gliding to a stop like it's no big deal at all to fly across a valley. We take an insanely quick group picture. Hike back over to the lodge. Return our gear. Get in the truck. Head back down.

If I thought I was feeling ill on the way up the mountain, I was mistaken. Maybe I had waited too long before eating the breakfast my host mom so kindly packed for me. Maybe the adrenaline did gross things to my stomach. Maybe standing in the back of a pickup truck flying down a mountain in neutral is a dangerous and barf-producing way to travel. But I barely made it back to San Pedro without losing it all over myself and my friends in the back of a pickup truck. I went back to bed.

well... that was exciting...

2010-07-12T13:16:00.003-05:00

I haven't talked to my parents about this yet. Hopefully they won't be too mad to read it before they hear my voice and know I'm okay. I AM OKAY. I tried to call you guys, but you didn't pick up. Totally not my fault.

I got sick.

I'm not sure how.

I spent most of Saturday afternoon walking around with Teagan and Oli, enjoying the nice weather that had been avoiding us for so long. We ate out lunch, but it was a restaurant I had been to before, and I ate all the same things as before. Saturday night I had planned to meet Teags and Oli, as well as some friends from the language school at the pub.

I noticed that I was a little itchy when I lay down for a nap, but there are a lot of bugs around, so I didn't think about it. After about five minutes, I couldn't sit still anymore. I itched. Everywhere. I had broken out in hives like never ever before. Even my eyelids were swolen and itchy. I figured I got bit by something a little more irritating, ditched my plan to go out, took a benadryl and went to bed. Around 1am, I woke up, itchy again, and unable to use my hands. They were so swolen I couldn't touch any of my fingers to my thumb. I could feel that my eyes were more swolen than before, as well, and my lips felt like they were going to pop right open. Somehow I managed to take another benadryl and went back to sleep.

When I get up in the morning (around 8am), the swelling had spread to my feet as well. I freakout, but luckily Dan, the guy who was living in the room next to mine, comes over to say hey. He gets Doña Rosa for me. She asks me what I ate or did the day before to cause this and I tell her I didn't know. I think she is just going to shrug and walk away, because Sunday is the day they're all supposed to have off, both in the school and in the host families. Dan tries to tell me that everybody gets sick when they travel and this isn't a big deal. He says he'll go get breakfast if I want, or go with to the doctor. After a while, Doña Rosa comes back to my room and says she couldn't get anyone from the school on the phone, but to get ready to go to the doctor. She, Dan, & I pile in a tuk-tuk, the tiny tricycle-style taxis that zip around the city. The doctor at the health department confirms that I am having an alergic reaction, and not, as I feared, a recurrence of rheumatic fever, but since we don't know the cause she would just get me a shot to take care of everything, and hopefully it won't happen again. At least the visit is free.

So, Doña Rosa, Dan, & I pile back into a tuk-tuk and go to the pharmacia, where a guy not wearing gloves tries to give me a shot from across the counter until Doña Rosa insists that I be allowed to sit down. Back in the tuk-tuk again, and I go straight to bed as soon as we get home. After about an hour, Doña Rosa comes to my door with soup (even though she isn't supposed to cook for me on Sunday) saying I need to get better. When I wake up four hours later, I don't itch anymore, but my hands and feet are still swolen. I'm sick of being in bed. I spend less than an hour sitting on my front stoop, in which time pretty much every member of Doña Rosa's family comes by to check on me. They all ask if I went swimming, or drank water from the tap, or bought drugs in the street. I think this illness has solidified my position in the family.

A few more hours pass, and Dan takes me back up to the pharmacia for the second shot, even though he moved out of the house and has no obligation to help me. He translates, haggles a cheaper price for the tuk-tuk we decide to take because of the rain, confirms for the millionth time that the needle, at least, is a new and clean one, gets me a receipt for the sketchiest medical care I've ever received, jokes with the pharmacist, and is just generally the nicest person I think I've ever met. I thank him, but not enough times.

This morning, the visible swelling is gone, but I can still feel the stiffness when I try to make a fist or walk. I thank Doña Rosa again (and again not enough) for going to the doctor with me, and for the soup. She asks (for the fifth time) if I ate all the soup. She says, gesturing between herself and Domingo, that while I am living here, they are my parents, and most important to her is that her children are healthy and happy. She asks if I want more coffee.

First week in San Pedro la Laguna

2010-07-10T12:21:00.002-05:00

I made it to Guatemala! I had a little bit of a hassle with delayed and cancelled flights, but I arrived in San Pedro la Laguna in one piece, if a little tired.

I am taking 6 hours of Spanish courses a day. My teacher uses a very conversational style of instruction, which I really like because it gives me a lot of practice. Vocabulary is coming slowly, but my grammar has improved vastly already. I look forward to the next five weeks. The grounds of the school are absolutely incredible. We have a great view of the lake from the office area, and instruction takes place in little thatch roofed huts in the garden. I'm surrounded by flowers and cacti and coffee trees.

I'm living with a family in San Pedro. Rosa is the mother, who spends all day cooking and cleaning and generally caring for us and her children. She and Domingo have three sons living at home, ranging in age from 16 to 22. Their two daughters don't live at home right now. One is studying nursing in Xela, and the other lives in San Pedro with her husband and 1 year old daughter. My room opens up on to the garden, which is full of avocado trees; we eat fresh guacamole almost every day. Beyond the street in front is an awesome view of the mountains to the east. When I walk out into the street, the hill slopes down to the lake. It's beautiful. I'm in heaven. That is, I would be if it would stop raining. The mornings are usually somewhat cloudy--sunny but cold if we're lucky--but in the afternoons it rains without exception.

I would love to write a more in-depth entry today, but I don't have the time. Teagan, one of my roommates from Border Servant Corps, is in town, and I have lunch plans with her and her boyfriend. Maybe I will make it back down tomorrow, but if not, until next week know that I am safe and having fun and learning MUCHO!

100 thing challenge, pt. 3

2010-06-29T16:32:00.004-05:00

Ready for the packing list?

I should go on and say, I haven't put things in suitcases yet. I'm having trouble--a lot of trouble--looking at eight pairs of shoes and thinking they'll be enough. But I'm getting closer. This list is what I have decided I will need. It's possible that my suitcase will have slightly different contents, but hopefully not to the point of having more... things.
I also want to note that this is the packing list for the year in Mexico. In Guatemala, I'm a lot less concerned with looking like a tourist and/or a bum. I will most definitely be taking more casual clothes (and less of them!) and hardly any accessories.

socks
undies
casual skirt
casual skirt
dressy dress
dressy dress
1 pair shorts
jeans
jeans
jeans
1 pair khakis
1 pair capris
1 nice pant/skirt
1 nice top
tank top
tank top
long sleeve tee
long sleeve tee
1 sweatshirt
1 sweater
nice tee
nice tee
nice tee
nice tee
light jacket
light jacket
1 pair sweatpants
1 lounge pant
pj shirt
pj shirt
workout top
workout top
workout pant
workout pant
bummin around shirt
rain jacket
bathing suit
1 backpack
1 nice purse
casual purse (small)
casual purse (large)
1 tote bag
1 light scarf
1 medium scarf
1 warm scarf
1 belt
wallet
watch
umbrella
mascara (1)
eyeliner (1)
concealer
lipstick
lipstick
chap stick (1)
eyeshadow (1)
hand salve
sunscreen
lotion
brush
comb
hair elastics
bobby pins
shampoo
face wash
deodorant
tweezers
hiking boots
running shoes
casual shoes
casual shoes
nice sandals
casual sandals
dress shoes
house shoes
iPod
stationery (1 set)
photos of home
jewelry (1 box)
sunglasses
füller
pen
pencil
sharpie
knitting needles
crochet hooks
yarn (1 small tote)
camera
computer
external hard drive
journal
cell phone (to be purchased in Mexico)
books (2 for fun, Span/Eng dictionary, Mexico guidebook, Bible)
sleeping bag
pocket knife
alarm clock
dvds (1 zip up case - 12 disks)
day planner
measuring cups
reusable water bottle

The Essentials & Incidentals List:

toothbrush & toothpaste
contact lenses, case, & solution
glasses
prescriptions
soap
hand sanitizer
small first aid kit (anti-histamine, motion sickness prevention, & ibuprofen)
suitcase
ticket & passport

100 thing challenge, pt. 2

2010-06-27T20:00:00.000-05:00

So, here's the list of "rules" I've developed for myself so far. A lot of this, honestly, looks just like Guy Named Dave's. What can I say? The man knew what he was doing. Final packing list comes on Wednesday at the latest.

Philosophical Goal: to reduce my need to keep impractical items, and my impulse to acquire new things.
Tangible Goal: to live with only 100 personal items for a year. "Personal items" are things that are entirely or mostly mine and cannot be defined as "absolute essentials."
• I will be honest with myself about what "absolute essentials" are. This list will be small, and fixed. It includes my toothbrush, contact lenses and glasses, and soap. "Absolute essentials" is not synonymous with "personal hygiene items." In short, "absolute essentials" are those items which would impair my bodily well-being if I didn't have access to them on any given day. For example, this category does not include a razor, makeup, or any clothing, although the general category of "clothing" is, in my opinion, essential; if I could go three days without it, it's not essential. It does not include anything that has emotional value.
• I will count some things as groups. In order to be eligible for grouping, the members of that group must be interchangeable. For example, underwear and socks are okay, but not shirts that need to be matched. 
My library counts as one item out of necessity (it would be out of control to count them all), but I will sort through the books I've been hanging on to and get rid of those I have actually read all the way through, but haven't re-read. I will allow myself access to the books I already own (my parents have agreed to ship me books throughout the year), but I can only have access to five at a time, while the others should be given away or put back in storage.  
Jewelry will also be included in this category initially, but I will try to be honest with myself about why it is I am still keeping the jewelry I have--because I actually wear it, because it has sentimental value, or just because--and gradually weed that collection out.
• I will not acquire new things, except as replacements for something old or broken. I will think carefully about purchases before I make them. If I get new things, I have to throw something away before I can have/use it.

BUT THERE'S MORE! The real danger I face every time I move somewhere is not even the things I take with me. Worse still are all the things I've left in storage for years and years. So, I'm working on leaving fewer things here. Helping with that is that my parents are redecorating the room I usually leave my things in. So here are the plans for what I'll leave behind:
• I can keep one bin of clothes that still fit, but I won't be taking to Mexico.
• I can keep one bin of clothes that don't fit. If these clothes don't fit when I return in August, I will give them away. If I don't wear them by six months from then, I will give them away.
• I cannot keep any toiletries or cosmetics in storage. If I don't need it for a year, I don't want it ever.
• I can keep one bin of books. Yes: This is going to be hard. Yes: It will be a big bin.
• I can keep one bin of items with emotional value.
• I can keep three bins of craft supplies.
~~• I can keep two bins of housewares (dishes, bedding, towels, etc).~~
~~• I can keep one bin of miscellaneous items/kitsch/decroations.~~

Okay, so these were awesome goals, until I realized that there was a black hole in my parents' closet where my stuff was stored. The rules above do apply to the things that are in my apartment currently, but if I don't have time to sort everything that is already in storage bins, it's okay. Or rather, I would prefer to put it in storage and spend my time with the people I love instead of looking at things that I'll probably end up throwing out, so I'm not going to be as strict with myself as I might've hoped to be.
I have already done a marvelous job, imho, of putting things in the "get rid of it" pile, however. It's possible that I won't have a lot more than this, even if I'm not trashing the things that were at my parents' house. The biggest thing is the box of junk I kept from high school, and I have a sneaking suspicion I'm not emotionally ready to sort through that box anyway.

100 thing challenge

2010-06-23T15:00:00.001-05:00

I think I may have posted about the 100 Thing Challenge on here before, but I hope you'll forgive me for repeating myself. If you haven't heard about it, here's a summary from the Guy Named Dave website:

The goal of the 100 Thing Challenge is to break free from the confining habits of American-style consumerism. A lot people around the world feel "stuck in stuff." They feel like their closets and garages are too full of things that don't really make their lives much better. But how to get unstuck?
Reduce (get rid of some of your stuff)
Refuse (to get more new stuff)
Rejigger (your priorities)
I totally believe that living without abundance of personal possessions for an extended period of time is the first step we ought to take in order to realize that we don't need ever-more stuff. If you do this -- if you will give up your stuff for a while -- I am sure you'll never go back. You'll spend the rest of your life creating a more valuable life, instead of wasting your money and time on stuff. You will be glad. And best of all, the people around you will be blessed by your efforts to prioritize more meaningful pursuits.
Goal: I will live with only 100 personal things for one full year.
Rules: Remember, this is my 100 Thing Challenge. I get to set the rules and decide when a rule can be stretched or outright broken. Basically I'm going by the spirit of the challenge not the letter of the challenge.

My preoccupation with keeping things has become somewhat of a joke among my family members--although one look at my grandmother's house or my mother's "sewing room" proves I come by it honestly. And while I do struggle every day to throw even the least important things away (movie tickets from first dates of ill-fated relationships, receipts from groceries long ago consumed, class notes from courses dropped mid-semester, and the list goes on), I also realize how much having these things hinders my ability to live my life the way I'd like to.

I move a lot. I usually end up moving back to Clemson. And every time I come back to Clemson, I pull all of my things out of the closet and out of the boxes and I look at all those things that I haven't looked at in a long time. I can't throw them away. I usually either put them back in a different box, or they sit on the shelf and I still don't use them. It's pointless. So, I'm going to use this year to force myself to change. This move isn't like moving to Las Cruces. I've got to fly internationally and I've got to move in with a complete family I don't know. So, I'm going to pare down.

I just got my recommended packing list from GM this morning. I'm taking today to continue packing things I know I won't be taking to Mexico. In the remainder of the week I'm going to compare their packing list with the "1ooTC" list I had developed for myself, and figure out what parts of my rules are realistic and where I need to give a little. This weekend I'm going to actually put things into suitcases to see how they fit, and at that point I will be posting another post with my rules and my list, if you're interested.

Hot Dogs!

2010-06-18T05:30:00.000-05:00

Just wanted to remind everyone who lives in/near Clemson that there will be hot dogs available at University Lutheran Church after both services this Sunday. Heather and I will both have little booths set up with information about our placements and it'll be a great time to visit with everyone.
I know it's also Father's Day. While you're more than welcome to take a seat in the fellowship hall and eat your lunch with your family, to-go orders will also be available for those who'd like to go on home. Either way, we hope you'll stop by for a little bit, even if only to say hello.

YAGM in the News

2010-06-06T05:05:00.000-05:00

"I have always felt a deep inclination to serve others," said Doidge, a member of St. James Lutheran Church, Portland. "I want to do something more hands-on, engage in a more fulfilling task. I feel that it's time. Going abroad with YAGM focuses on leading a life of purpose, finding a place in the world.
"Living in a city like Portland I've encountered homelessness, mental illness and other social problems. I'm interested in experiencing how the church works to combat social problems," said Doidge. "There are people who have basic needs to be fulfilled, like finding shelter. That is starting to become more important in my mind than identifying a new paint color," she said. "I want to work with people and hear their stories."

Here's a link to a story from ELCA News about YAGM, including some comments from my co-missionaries, if you're interested.

Unpacking My Job Title

2010-06-03T17:05:00.010-05:00

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the... Church.

I had a couple interesting conversations at work last night, and I figure the topic warrants a blog post. I should probably say, for those that aren't aware, that although South Carolina law says there's no such thing as a bar in our state, I work in a bar. Lucky for me, it's a beer bar--which means, thanks to prohibitive cost & a limited availability of things that taste suspiciously like water, we don't get a lot of undergrads--but we're frequented by professors and undergrads, and not a lot of church goers.

I'd also like to preface this post by saying that these reflections are representative of my personal experiences and feelings, and they're not intended to offend in any way. I welcome your comments and feedback as long as they're presented respectfully. Please remember that we can have different and yet equally valid viewpoints.

I'm not unlike a lot of PKs (Pastor's Kids) in that I have tried my darnedest to run, not walk, away from the Church. Admittedly, not all of my dissatisfaction was because of my parents' careers, but that's a subject for another time. The point is, I don't think I've told anyone "I'm a Christian" since I was in high school. I'm someone who is comfortable talking about things I don't understand, as long as they're related to facts. I'm not comfortable with talking about things like faith, or prayer, or, especially, calling. I'm really not comfortable talking about salvation. Most of the relationships I've formed as a young adult are reflective of this aversion. I know a lot of scientists, a lot of activists, and very few tithers. So, when I signed up to be a missionary, I had to think about how to tell people that.

Back to the bar. We had a fundraiser last week, and it was incredibly well attended, but there's no telling if people wanted to support my year in Mexico or if they just wanted to drink some beer. Last night, a couple of our regulars who know me fairly well were asking whether I had any new news. Another guy (who I can call by name, but I know essentially nothing else about him) was standing near by, and asked, "Wait, what're you going to do in Mexico?"
Because I was in the middle of a sentence, I just said, "I'm going to be a Missionary."
He gave me a really surprised look. An anxious look. I said, "Not the converting-the-heathens kind. The providing-social-service kind."
Later, he asked me again, "You're sure you won't go running around proselytizing?" Only after many promises did he hand me a donation.

A lot of things happened at the YAGM discernment event to help me feel more comfortable with calling myself a "missionary" for a year. Not least of which was the discussion we had on accompaniment, the model for mission currently in use by the ELCA. In brief, I remember Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla using the parable of the lost sheep as an illustration. The traditional model for mission (think of The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver or The Mission starring Robert DeNiro and Jeremy Irons) essentially says, "God is on my side, and you are the lost sheep. You are the one crying for help, and God has sent me here to bring you back to the flock." Accompaniment, in contrast, says that it is only when we understand that God is in all of us and all of us are of God can our experience of the Holy be complete (this, by the way, is very similar to the Quaker principle of the Light Within). There are not two separate relationships we're seeking to maintain, but rather three balanced parts of one relationship: you, me, and God.

Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla reminded us that we are not shepherds. It is not our responsibility to seek out the lost lamb. We are the 99 sheep who are actively listening for the voice of the Shepherd and trying to follow him. We are less than whole when our brothers and sisters aren't walking in partnership with us and God.

On the one hand, I don't blame the guy from the bar. I wouldn't give someone money if I thought it was going to be used so they could stand on street corners and scream the truth of the Lord Almighty when their message flies in the face of people's real experience. But I also don't understand why we, who are believers of one sort or another, have such little patience with different expressions of belief. I mean, I really don't think throwing Bibles in people's faces or embarrassing them is the best way to share faith, but I don't believe the world would be better if we were all faithless. I am still struggling with being labeled "missionary." I still worry about what assumptions people will make if I call myself a "Christian." But for now, all I can do is walk in the hopes that someone will walk up beside me and hold my hand.

news from the tasting

2010-05-27T08:43:00.002-05:00

Thanks so much to everyone who came out to the beer tasting on Tuesday night! It was a success, in my opinion, and I think--I hope--everyone had fun.
Anyway, I just wanted to share two recipes from the evening. I'm glad that the black bean hummus I made was a hit, and Kenny's "Cracked out Crackers" are probably the best thing ever, and they're both super easy recipes. So here ya go.

Kat's Black Bean Hummus

1 15oz can each chickpeas & black beans
3 cloves garlic
1 Tbsp olive oil
2 Tbsp lemon juice
2 tsp cumin
1 Tbsp dried parsley
1 Tbsp fresh cilantro

Process spices, garlic, olive oil, & lemon juice as finely as possible. Then add beans a little at a time. Don't rinse the beans, or your hummus will be too dry. In fact, I'd save some of the water in the cans in case it's too dry anyway. That way, you can make it the exact texture you like.

Kenny's "Cracked out Crackers"

1 1/3 c canola oil
1 pkg dry ranch (1 oz)
2 tsp crushed red pepper
2 tsp cayenne pepper
4 sleeves saltine crackers

Put all ingredients except crackers into a 2 gallon ziplock bag and shake until fully mixed. Then add all four sleeves crackers to the bag and shake gently until fully coated. Let sit in the bag for two hours or so. When you take the crackers out of the bag, they should be pretty much dry. Just throw them in whatever serving tray you'd like.
Yep. I know. No baking. It's crazy. But it's true.

A little more info & a beer tasting invitiation!!

2010-05-24T13:07:00.003-05:00

A couple people pointed out that I forgot to tell you where to send money on the last post. To receive a receipt for your tax-deductible donation make your check payable to Lutheran Campus Ministry at Clemson, PO Box 1337 Clemson, SC 29633. Please remember to put "Kat - YAGM" in the memo line.

I also wanted to let you know that the tavern where I work is hosting a beer tasting for me tomorrow night. It's going to be a total blast. I hope, if you're any where near Clemson (or if you feel like a weekday road trip), you might come by.

Oh the Places Beer Tasting
Tuesday, 25 May, from 5:30-8:30 P.M.
@ Nick's Tavern & Deli
107-2 Sloan Street, Clemson

FEATURING:
Romulan Ale, Guatemala
Tusker Premium Lager, Africa
Negra Modelo Amber Lager, Mexico
Xingu Black Lager, Brazil
Mönchshof Schwarzbier, Germany
Coast HopArt IPA, South Carolina
Fuller's London Porter, Great Britain
Bell’s Kalamazoo Stout , Michigan
Rogue Hazelnut Brown Nectar, Oregon
Highland Seven Sisters Abbey Style Ale, North Carolina
Dogfish Head Midas Touch Ancient Ale, Delaware

Prices include finger foods, a tasting glass from Foothills Brewing and 3 oz. tasters
$25 for all eleven beers ~ $15 for any six beers

"Why these places?" you may ask. The beers we've chosen for this tasting represent some of the countries and states where I have lived, plus a couple of my favorite beers. The profits from this Beer Tasting will help raise funds for my stipend and in support of the Young Adults in Global Mission program.

a letter & an invitation

2010-05-18T17:55:00.005-05:00

I’m excited to have accepted a year-long missions position with Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM) in Mexico. YAGM is a project of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) for young adults aged 19-30 to participate in a year of service around the world. This August, I will depart to the city of Cuernavaca, which is about an hour south of Mexico City. Nicknamed the “City of Eternal Spring,” Cuernavaca is best known as a vacation spot for the most affluent of Mexicans & many famous Americans as well. However, in order to support tourism and resort living, there are many who flock to the city in hopes of opportunity, only to find themselves in desperate need of the most basic human services. I will be joining a team of six Young Adults who will be carrying out the Church’s mission with these children of God.

I have agreed to give a year of my life to work with this project. I am asking you to help the Church fund the work we will be doing. The total cost of a YAGM year is $10,000—only $30 per day. Over $6,000 of this cost is provided by the ELCA, while my commitment is to raise $4,000 toward supporting the program before I leave in August. Please consider sponsoring a day on your birthday, anniversary, or perhaps a day in the life of someone else you know who shares my passion for caring for others.

I will be entering the community of Cuernavaca in order to explore with the people there how my gifts might best be put to use there. This year’s YAGM will be involved with a variety of issues, including domestic violence, drug rehabilitation, financial empowerment, wheelchair accessibility, and education. More information about the Young Adults in Global Mission Program can be found at the Global Missions website.

Two events will be taking place in Clemson in order to gather together prior to my departure. Tuesday, May 25^ththere will be a special beer tasting at Nick’s Tavern & Deli from 5:30-8:30pm. On June 20^th, University Lutheran will host a hot dog lunch after the 11am worship service. Donations received prior to this date will be eligible for a 1-to-1 matching grant from Thrivent Financial for Lutherans. I hope you will be able to join me on one or both of these occasions.

Please continue to keep my family, my host community, and me in your thoughts and prayers, as I’m sure this experience will contain ups and downs for us all. You can continue to contact me by email now and during my time in Cuernavaca. You can also keep up with me via this blog, or by signing up for my newsletter mailing list. If you have questions about any of these, please leave a comment below including your contact information.

I recently had the opportunity to meet the wonderful collection of 43 gifted and passionate young adults who will likewise be leaving their homes in August. I am honored to be included in this impressive Global Missions team. I hope you will also join in the partnership with us by offering your prayers, posting comments on our blogs, and offering whatever financial gifts you are able. Thank you.

so, last weekend...

2010-04-24T09:19:00.003-05:00

Something kinda crazy happened to me. I knew it was going to happen, but I still found myself surprised by it. I've spent all week trying to get in touch with my loved ones, to tell them about it, to explain what has happened, and what will happen...

Last weekend I found out that I'm moving to Mexico.

Last weekend was the DIP event for Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM is the acronym I'll be using for the program. Confusingly, YAGMs is the acronym I'll be using for myself & my fellow young adult missionaries. Sorry.). I went to Lake Geneva, WI with 50-ish other young adults & a bunch of Global Missions Staff to figure out where we ought to spend next year. It was pretty intense. I've rehashed the weekend so many times that I'm losing the energy to tell every detail any more (which is probably for the best, but if you really wanna know more, just email me and I'll be happy to oblige. You know how I love to talk). Essentially, it was a really difficult, emotional four days filled with inexplicable tears and gushing personal details at strangers. It was a very affirming four days, in which people I had just met made it a point to discover & appreciate my gifts, to prayerfully consider how & where those gifts might best be put to use. I have never been with so many of my peers that I felt truly honored to be spending time with. Everyone that was at the DIP event was so genuinely awesome, & I'm both excited to now know these people who will be going to do awesome things in Slovakia, Hungary, the West Bank, South Africa, Malaysia, the UK, Argentina, & Uruguay... places I might never see. I'm excited to see how their journey is different from mine, and how it will be similar. I'm also a little sad that some of them will be so far away, when I would have liked to get to know them better.

I interviewed for the YAGM program in Slovakia/Hungary as well as Mexico. I know my friends in Germany were, largely, excited about the possibility that I'd be nearer to them in Central Europe; I was excited, too. But I think Mexico is the much better fit for me right now, I'm feeling both a little nervous & insanely excited, both totally ready & completely unprepared. So here's the scoop on Mexico:

I leave in mid-August for a week orientation in Chicago, & then off to Mexico.
I don't speak Spanish... YET! So they're sending me to language school in Guatemala for a month this summer (I know. Summer in Antigua. Total bummer, right?! haha...)
I'll be living in Cuernavaca, the City of Eternal Spring! It's just a little bit south of Mexico City in the state of Morelos. It looks gorgeous, & the weather... pinch me.
I'll have home-stays in Guatemala & Mexico, which I'm SUPER excited about. Being in someone's home is such awesome way to really learn language & culture. Also, cooking. So pumped.
All the YAGMs will be in or near Cuernavaca, too, & our country director lives there with her husband. This is probably the piece I'm most excited about. I went into the DIP process thinking that it would be awesome to be living completely isolated from other Americans, to really immerse myself in a new culture. But I realized pretty quickly, as I assessed the things that I missed & didn't miss about the last 3 years, that I feel like the intentional community time I experienced in Border Servant Corps, although it had its own special kind of stress, is something that I really feel is missing from my life now. The Mexico YAGMs get together at least once a month for community time, and if I really need some time with them, everyone will be within a few hours on public transit!

So, I'm super excited. I'm super nervous. I'm still waiting for a lot of the critical information to find its way to me. But this blog will once again be my main communication point for all the people I love who are much too far away from me. YAGM requires us to publish monthly newsletters, & I plan on doing a printable paper format as well as online, so I'll be putting up information about how to get your hands on those for those who are interested. My personal goal is to write on this blog once a week both during the preparation phase & my service year. I know my track record for keeping up with those goals isn't the best, but I think I'll work harder at it this time, since smaller, more frequent updates will make monthly newsletters a much smaller task. Anyway, you'll be hearing information as soon as I do. For now, please keep me & my fellow 2010-11 YAGMs in your prayers however you see fit during this tense time of waiting before we get details about our placements.

fisticuffs & lent

2010-02-18T13:45:00.005-06:00

i wanted to write a quick note about lent. my family has had a weird relationship with the practice of lenten disciplines, sometimes emphasizing them and sometimes letting them slide. but in the past few years my dad has gotten a little clearer about his feelings towards them. this week he wrote this to his morning devotions email group:

A Lenten discipline is not about self-improvement, it is about improving our relationship with God. We are not trying to make ourselves more acceptable to God; we are trying to open ourselves up to the entrance of God into our lives.
In My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers writes: “The emphasis of holiness movements is apt to be that God is producing specimens of holiness to put in His museum. If you go off on this idea of personal holiness, the dead-set of your life will not be for God, but for what you call the manifestation of God in your life.”
A Lenten discipline is not a second take at a New Year’s resolution. It is not about self-improvement. While any discipline will serve to make us more aware of our desire to serve God, not all disciplines have God at the center. A discipline may have may side benefits, but no side benefit should outweigh the central aim. It is not our individual holiness which God seeks; it is a life lived as Christ would have us live.

some of you may have seen that i'm "giving up" facebook this year. i wanted to be a little clearer about that than their format allowed me to... as someone who believes that our relationship to god is displayed most beautifully in our relationships with other people, i've become more and more concerned with the way technology gets in the way of our relationships. don't get me wrong. i love the internet. i love my computer. i even love my ipod and cell phones, despite my frequent rantings. what i don't love is that even i, who loves books and letters, who remembers a time when people called their friends on their land line (the only kind of line) and just waited for a call back instead of trying their work phone, their cell phone, their email, their twitter, their house phone again (if said friend even has one), their myspace and facebook, and finally a frantic text message, who thinks facebook gives me way too much information most days, yes, even i find it difficult to have an actual face-to-face conversation. i'm more comfortable behind my monitor. that makes me sad. it makes me worried. because if i feel that way, what of the people who are growing up with these technologies, this impatience, this unwillingness to be still and know (psalm 46:10)?
so, instead of spending time on facebook, i'm going to try to rekindle real relationships. i'll be writing one piece of snail mail a day--probably mostly postcards, honestly, since i'll be preparing for and then going on my trip to germany throughout the season. some of them will be a continuation of ongoing pen-pal letter swaps (i'm lookin' at you, weinberger!), and some of them will be to people i haven't spoken with in a while (yep. got my list all made up!). i hope to also have time to write a little bit here about how the practice is going, but we'll see.

blah blah blah

2009-05-10T13:19:00.005-05:00

i've been quiet for a while about what's going on out here on the border, in the bsc house, etc. i was trying to figure out what i'm going to do next year. i had the opportunity to do a second year of volunteer service w/ bsc, and to be honest, it was a really great placement--i would've been working at an organization in the same complex of services for homeless people where the daycare i work at now is, working with clients to get them ready to share their stories of becoming and being homeless with the community and then finding places to go talk to the community at large, to do public awareness stuff. and the executive director over there at community of hope is really amazing. she really gets the big picture of homelessness in a way i haven't seen for a long time, and even as an e.d., she sees their clients as people, as individuals. i would've really loved to work with her, but i decided i just wasn't ready to spend another year here in this program.

i had also applied for a year-long internship with the friends committee on national legislation (a quaker lobby organization in washington, dc), and i hadn't heard from them yet. i knew that taking the bsc placement meant i would have to turn down fcnl if i got it, and even though i didn't know yet, i wasn't prepared to turn them down if they decided they wanted me. in the end, i was right, two months ago, when i said there was no way i was qualified for that internship--they were "unable to offer me a position."

so, you ask, what will you be doing come august? good question. i've got no idea. several of my current bsc community members will still be out here, but not in the program, so i suppose that's a possibility for me as well. i figure rent is just as cheap in las cruces as in clemson, and the job market might actually be a little bit better here, if my friends' accounts are accurate. but i really miss the southeast, sweet tea, and especially our soft little mountains, which are so different from the sudden shock of steep mountain you find out here. right now, i'm just taking in the moment, and trying not to stress out too much about the future. there's not a lot i can do. it's too late to apply for grad school or any programs like teach for america or a different americorps program, but it's too early to start applying for normal jobs at a book store or starbucks. i think i'm ready to start thinking about going back to school, but i don't know what i want to study, and although i'd really love to become a professional student and just get a bunch of degrees in things i'm interested in but might never use, i should probably start thinking about how i'm going to afford a car and an apartment and getting health insurance one day, and that includes wondering how i'm going to pay for those degrees. anyway, i figure i got at least another month of living in the moment before i need to start deciding. which is really perfect, since ma & daddy are coming to visit me at the end of august, and although i've been able to carefully avoid the topic over the phone (haha. love you!) i'm sure that during the week of face-to-face contact i won't be so lucky.

back to my old tricks again...

2009-03-20T17:36:00.002-06:00

i mean, really?

my new catchphrase seems to be, "sweet god, america... why?" with the occasional variation to speak to individual or groups of americans, "sweet god, americans... why?"

i think i'll say it again, since as i write this there's a girl standing in the parking lot across the street in nothing but her underpants, attempting to either make out with or beat up her apparent boyfriend. oh... it seems she's actually trying to do both. interesting.

let me know when you're sick of immigration.

let me know if you want to know more about people i can see from my window.

just kiddin'...

2009-01-25T12:45:00.002-06:00

i do have more news.
1. i'm training for a 5k and blogging about trying to be healthy with my friends virginia and becky over at http://vbkweightlossjourney.blogspot.com/
2. last night, we went bowling for mary meghan's birthday. i suck at bowling. however, we only had an hour and we kept having to wait like 6 years for the pins to get reset and we were getting frustrated b/c they were going to kick us out at the end of our hour, whether we had 8 frames left or only 2 bowls. the people in the other lane didn't take nearly as long to come up with wierd names to put in for themselves as we did, so they were done in time, but my lane was nervous we'd not get to see our final scores. luckily for me, just as the "1 minute" warning popped up, it was my turn. i stood and waited for the pins for approximiately 48 seconds. no lie. then, with everyone watching, i bowled the last possible time before some teenagers who can apparently spend $10 for one hour of bowling were going to take the place over, and i got a strike.

best. day. ever.

unfortunately, the computer had already kicked us off and it didn't count on my score. but whatever.

news...

2009-01-25T02:49:00.001-06:00

i am a bad blogger.

but in my defense, there has been a lot of stuff going on. and sometimes you need to just be present, and not always thinking about how to write about it on your blog later. that might be my biggest frustration with growing up in this generation. since when is it better to type words to someone halfway across the world than to talk to someone in front of you (not that i don't love those of you who are halfway across the world and wish i could talk to you more. just that sometimes, we should cherish what we have right in front of us first).

i last wrote here, essentially, just before the election. i won't pretend that posting links and short sentences counts as writing. now we have a new president. a new and awesome president. the only thing i guess i can say on a personal level on the topic is that we had an inauguration party in el paso and wore ridiculous dresses. here's alissa from the el paso house (left) and four of my roommates. love.

of course even though dad gave me a camera to use out here i'm still living like i don't have one, so i'll steal everyone's pictures soon and put them on flickr... hopefully for real this time.

i last wrote about my job and the program that i'm in september. yikes. in my defense, i didn't have a whole lot to say about work. i had a really hard time at habitat in the fall. the affiliate here is going through some major changes, and i got here just in time to be stuck in the middle of it. they really needed a lot more from me than i was able to commit to, considering the commitments i had made to my community and, well, honestly, when you're not really being paid all that much it's hard to feel excited about working more than 50 hours a week. and some weeks, i was working 50 hours and not getting everything done. it was making me really sad and frustrated all the time, and it had a really negative impact on my community life. i decided that for my own sanity, and for the sake of my community, and for the sake of the relationship between border servant corps and habitat, i needed to leave.
in january, i started work at jardin de los niños, a day care for homeless and near-homeless kids. i work primarily in the 2-year-old room, although i can "float" to other classrooms if i need to, and we don't have too many 2-year-olds (we have to keep teacher/student ratios at 1/4 in that age). i'm really enjoying the new job, but of course it's not without its drawbacks. these kids are exposed, at a very early age, to a lot of difficult situations--in many cases the least of which is their homelessness (not that the poverty their families experience doesn't play a major role in making those difficulties a part of their lives). in the end, the organization is structured well, my boss is understanding and supportive, and i go home every day thinking that i did something that was good, even if it was "just" giving a kid a hug.

hmm. what else has been going on?

have you ever heard of white sands national monument? it's amazing. it's one of my favorite places on earth.

as you can see, the first time i went there i was really excited.

we've been back a couple times since then. it's only a little more than half an hour drive from las cruces, and it's just a whole bunch of gypsum sand dunes. it's fun to go sledding, or build a sand man (kinda like a snow man, but built into the side of a sand dune), or do danger rolls...

they're dangerous.

again, more pictures on flickr soon...

in the same vein, we went to the city of rocks on friday for community day. it was pretty cool, but it mostly made me want to go back to chaco canyon. i was sad we didn't get to spend so much time there, but we had some delays with leaving las cruces in the morning, and then we didn't really prepare for cooking the black bean burgers we had brought for lunch, and we ended up eating them at about 4:30, hung out for a little bit, and then cleaned up quickly so we could go hike before the sun went down. we emptied out of the van just in time to run around and find a good perching spot for watching the sunset.hmm. i feel like that's the most exciting news i've got right now. hopefully it won't be another four months before i write again...

i'm a bit of a nail biter, i suppose.

2008-11-04T17:15:00.016-06:00

i have to confess: i'm nervous about tonight. it's no surprise to any of you who know me or have even so much as glanced at this blog which candidate i'm supporting, so i won't bother beating around the bush about it. i never thought i would witness this moment.when i was in first grade, i remember voting for clinton (let's be honest. elementary school students vote for whomever their parents are talking about most favorably. we're not that well informed. however, if i'd been 18 at the time, i totally would've voted for him in a real election, too.) in a mock election at school. the concept fascinated me: everyone should have a say in how things are run. i remember thinking, however briefly, that i would like to be the first woman president. i never thought i would see the day. even so young, i had the feeling we would always have rich white men running the country (thanks for making me a dirty hippie so young, mom and dad!)

i remember the first time i actually got to vote, and how isolated and betrayed i felt when watching two presidential "elections" go so horribly wrong (which i intend to be more of a statement on the process, not the outcome. while i detest the 43rd president of the united states, i fully support the basic right of the nation to choose its leader).i was in germany when the democratic candidate was selected, and i was convinced there was no way a black man could win the presidency. i was certain all was lost--without hillary, how could we avoid another republican candidate?

and yet...i'm hopeful. i hope we have moved past the 1950s. i hope we have moved past selfishness. i hope we have moved past apathy. it terrifies me that at the end of this day the country of my birth will be sending a major message to the world, and i'm not confident yet of what that message will be. will we refuse to continue to be paralyzed by fear and hate? or will we say, no, thank you, but we won't take more of what we've seen in the last eight years, we'd like something new? i wish i could say all of this in non-partisan language. i wish i didn't constantly feel like i'm toeing the party line. my dad jokes that he raised us to think for ourselves, as long as those thoughts ended in us voting a straight party ticket. but the more i see of this world, the more i simply can't support the kinds of government the republican party now stands for. i can't support big business at the expense of the majority of the american public. if we really ignore all the campaign promises and the attack ads and get down to the root of it, that's what they stand for. that's how they behave. i believe in standing up for what's right, not what stands to make me the most profit.

i want my president to recognize those who are disenfranchized,

those who are in need,

to forge ahead into uncharted territory,

and to frankly address our shortcomings while remembering our strengths.

i got this email today from a member of the quaker community in columbia. mostly i started this post with the desire to share these words:

This message is from Peter Storey, former Methodist Bishop of Johannesburg. He was also the chaplain at Robben Island Prison during the time Nelson Mandela was a prisoner. A good friend of mine’s father did a pulpit exchange with Peter years ago and they have remained friends. I met him many years ago when he came to South Carolina for a conference on race relations. Thought you would enjoy. --Julia

Subject: Our Prayers are with you all for tomorrow

Dear Friends in the United States,

Warmest greetings to you on this momentous evening. You have been much
in our minds and on our hearts over these past few months as we have
avidly followed the progress of your Presidential election campaign. As
we've said before, what happens in your election profoundly affects us
all.

And what a campaign! I recall a dinner table conversation in Atlanta way
back in May, 2007, in the home of good friends Jim and Fentress Waits.
Those around the table were talking with a deep sense of interest and
hope about an exciting young Senator named Barack Obama. Back then, the
possibility of Obama's even gaining the nomination of his own party
appeared so remote that it seemed more the stuff of dreams than reality.

Yet here you are, on the eve of an even more 'impossible' breakthrough
tomorrow! Think of it: the nation whose original sin was to to buy and
sell Africans like chattels, that legislated them less than human, could
well elect an African-American tomorrow to be its First Citizen! I
wonder if the people of the USA have fully realized what a liberating
moment this could be? For African Americans, who hold their breath, not
yet quite believing what might be possible tomorrow, this may be a step
beyond even what Martin Luther King Jr saw from the mountain-top, but it
is also more than that: it will be a day of liberation for all
Americans: whether deeply conscious, as so many thoughtful people are,
of this great burden of historic guilt, or defiantly denialist as too
many on the shrill right wing remain. All - the good, the bad and the
ugly - will take a giant step toward liberation from one of US
history's most burdensome shackles.

I say this because that is the experience we discovered the day Nelson
Mandela took the oath of office as the first black President of South
Africa. Millions of his exploited compatriots danced with obvious joy at
their new freedom, but less expected and perhaps more amazing was the
sense of liberation that came upon their erstwhile oppressors. White
South Africans testified in large numbers to a new lightness of being,
as if some invisible, dragging weight, was gone, and something new could
be born.

Now I know that the USA is not South Africa, and your story is not
identical with ours, but there are enough echoes for me to assure you
that if the voters of America break this barrier tomorrow, you will
experience what I'm talking about!

Of course, like so many of you, we are anxious as well as excited.
Having seen how deep are the currents of fear and prejudice that still
run across the length and breadth of the United States, we too hold our
breath. Be assured that the hopes of the vast majority of the people of
the wider world go with Senator Barack Obama. There is no question about
this. I doubt that even 5 percent of South Africans of any race group
have any desire to see anyone of George W Bush's party near the White
House. However, we have seen how easily US elections can be stolen and
we are praying, as so many of you are, that tomorrow, the American
people will march to the polls in greater numbers than ever before,
determined to expunge eight of the most shameful years in US history.
President Bush has brought America's reputation so low, that from our
point of view, another such blow from the US electorate would be almost
impossible to understand. Eight years of arrogance and ignorance hav
been done deep harm in the rest of the world and to the image of a great
nation. Surely they will be declared as enough by the people of the US?

But let us be hopeful! Just as tomorrow offers the opportunity for a
great sense of historic liberation in the US, so it also offers a chance
to radically alter the world's current perception of America, and to
open the door to new possibilities of healing and transformation for US
foreign relations. If Obama is announced as your President-elect, there
will be great rejoicing all around the globe. We will see new hope of
the might of the United States being bent to works of justice and
compassion and cooperation. We will see new possibilities for the poor
of the earth: for the first time, Americans will have elected someone
who knows what it is like to be on the outside as well as in the circle,
who has actually worked among the poor, who has lived , however briefly,
outside the American bubble, and who has the blood of the world's most
oppressed continent in his veins. Everyone of these factors speak of
change.

You will recall that the day following September 11, 2001, France's most
famous newspaper ran the headline: 'Today, we are all Americans!' Well,
please know that around the world there are so many people whose hopes
ride on what you will do tomorrow, that I guess we wish we were all
Americans! What a privilege it will be to vote in this election!

Our prayers are with you.

Warm regards,
Peter Storey

...yep.

2008-10-03T22:21:00.003-05:00

overcompensating.com

bleed, baby, bleed.

2008-09-28T17:50:00.005-05:00

thanks, heart. i knew you hadn't abandoned me.

friday was our first community day. if i haven't explained this before, what that means is that i get a day off work to hang out with my five roommates and the ladies that live in el paso, either just to chill and be together, but more likely to learn about something relating to our positions, or just being on the border. this month we decided to go to the national border patrol museum in el paso.

although the museum itself isn't funded by or related to the gov't at all, they seem to have a good relationship to this branch of homeland security. two officers gave us a presentation on what the border patrol does, what their goals are, and how to become a border patrol member (turns out, this is pretty rigorous. widely considered the toughest law enforcement/paramilitary station).

[for the record, i spent much of friday saying, "i just don't understand how you can think that!?!" which is unfair. i will attempt not to say that here, or anywhere else in the future. your opinions are your own. i struggle to reconcile many conservative policies with my own morals, but it is my struggle and not yours.]

at the start of the presentation, the officer asked, "who's here to pick a fight?"

becca pointed at me.

at first i was mad, but i guess i can't blame her. that's kind of been my role thusfar in the bsc. to get outraged. to rant. to cry over the women who can't get vawa visas b/c they haven't actually married their abusive partners.

and, i did want to pick a fight w/ him. i want to pick a fight with the world. not b/c he was a bad guy. to the contrary, he seemed really nice. he seemed like he cared about his job in a human way. he claimed he was more concerned about keeping people safe than "keeping the mexicans out" and i wanted to believe him, even if i wasn't completely sold. maybe he just needed a good job, and that one offered $60G a year and health benefits (no, that's not a typo). maybe he really believes this is what it will take to keep america safe.

i do want a safe america. for all my revolutionary tendencies and che-fangirl giggles, safety is very important to me. i wish i could travel and not wonder if it would be better to pretend to be canadian in this airport. i wish i could put a flag on my lapel in good consciousness. but when a man stands in front of me with an american flag on his shoulder and a gun at his hip and says he's being proactive about the things that threaten this country, i wonder if he ever thought about what happened before 9/11. it pains me to be a part of a country so proud and so certain that it doesn't pause to wonder why people might want to blow up a piece of us. we are a country so holier-than-thou that it takes 3,000 dead civilians for even some of the most open-minded and considerate pieces of the population to consider the way people worldwide might consider us.

i am trying, perhaps too hard, to be calm in this post. i am angry. i am terrified. i am indignant. but i cannot fix the world. and that makes me the saddest of all.

EDIT: ps. wtf, economy?

aww craps

2008-09-25T14:32:00.002-05:00

this morning for breakfast, i ate the last of the blueberries i picked this summer in aunt carolyn's yard. they were delicious, but now they are gone.

dearest david, and others who might happen to see this

2008-09-21T16:42:00.005-05:00

you might or might not have seen the lengthy comment david left on my last real post. in case you missed it, David said...

First off, did you always not capitalize things and I'm just now noticing it?

I feel like German encouraged rampant use of capital letters for me.

I am really curious how our experiences will overlap cause of being Americorps members. Did you have to read that incredibly long and ridiculous contract? We had it read to us by this guy in the office, who is almost as toneless as me. I'm half convinced it had nothing to do with the contract; it was just a test of our mental endurance.

Sidenote, semicolons? They're quickly becoming my favorite form of puncuation cause nobody gives them love. I mean I had to look them up to see exactly what they're used for, and I'm still not sure I'm doing it right.

I hope once you get into your job a little bit more that it becomes more fun and exciting. I definitely prefer the "working" world to college, and I put "working" in quotation marks not cause we don't work hard (I was in the office till 8:30 last night), but it's not really a work atmosphere. I mean I pulled my team aside yesterday to play Big Booty just cause everybody looked bored.

I am worried about you working/living with a bunch of girls. I know what it's like to be around mostly female coworkers from last year; there are definitely aspects I didn't enjoy, and you've always struck me as a guy's girl i.e. you're comfortable hanging out with guys, and they're comfortable with you.

i thought that some of this might be things other people would want to hear about (read: i didn't have a real post to make today but felt obligated to write something and this gives me an excuse) so i decided to share my comments out here, rather than in the comment section where few dare to tread.
note: there was also a comment about a molestache in there. i'll leave that one alone for the sake of clay's pride.

i tend not to capitalize things unless i feel like someone might be reading who would be offended by my laziness. maybe this is because i read too many e.e.cummings poems in high school. maybe it is because i grew up on instant messenger. maybe it is because i want my parents to cringe every time they think about paying for my english degree. you be the judge. long story short, i struggled with whether to use capital letters on this blog initially, but came to the decision that it's my blog. it's about me. and i don't really like capital letters. i don't think i'm going to use them.

i, too, love semicolons. so much so that i used them all the time in high school and made my a.p. teacher explode (again, i lovingly blame e.e.cummings). since then, i have invested a good deal of time in learning how to use them properly; i believe i understand it now. but i do so sparingly, for dramatic effect and whatnot.

if you don't know, david is a senior member of city year in columbia because i am an amazing friend and i changed his life by peer pressuring him into applying and he loved it. i don't really think that my experience "with americorps" will be the same, though, because although what we're doing here in new mexico is under the umbrella of americorps, our work placements are in outside organizations, and not within a structure set up by the americorps program. also, i don't have any co-workers who would be willing to play "big booty" with me. ever. no matter how bored we got. i work in a non-profit work atmosphere. there is a lot of time in front of a computer and answering telephones (which, by the way, i am so tempted to do by saying, "dunder-mifflin, this is pam.") and filing things. this will probably change some once we start building (in two weeks! eek!) but we'll see.

and finally, david weatherly, master of all insight, has struck upon my single greatest fear about this year: living with five other women. i don't really do girly things. if given a choice, i would rather not watch a romantic comedy. i hate nicholas sparks novels. i prefer belly laughs over giggles. generally, girls make me suspicious. i was raised with brothers--and even the girl cousins i had weren't exactly lady-like--and barbie-resistant parents, i spent all my free time with boys in high school (thanks drum-line!) and in college (thanks habit!), and it wasn't until jennifer brackett grover forced me to be friends with her that i had any real relationships with girls, ladies, or women. i relate to guys. i can talk to guys. i am petrified of this year. but so far, things are going well. maybe we're finally getting to the point in our lives when the petty girl things don't matter as much. maybe i'm starting to relate to people on the basis of being human, rather than sex. maybe i just don't know another living soul within 100 miles. no matter what the reason, and despite my not-so-miniscule hesitations, we're getting along as well as roommates can be expected to get along. sure, we argue or get stressed out every once in a while, but i mean, come on. there are six of us. working stressful jobs and not making any money at it. what do you want?

p.s. i am so glad to have friends that know me so well, who can anticipate the things that will make my life unpleasant before i'm fed up, that love me even though, historically, i could have gotten along better with a mountain lion than five girls. i guess what i'm trying to say is, at least my crystal gayle shirt hasn't been ruined. yet.

you can thank caleb for that allusion.

also, i found out this week, only 7 months behind the rest of the world, that the format broke up. i'm so sad.

2008-09-11T21:52:00.005-05:00

aww crap.
what do they say about good intentions?

alright. let's review, shall we?

got to new mexico on a wednesday. i figured for sure there would be people here already, and i was right in a way. i was the fifth person to show up, but two were in el paso, one was the returning volunteer in the las cruces house but was home for the time between the two terms, and one was staying with some other friends for a while. so, really, i was the first one to get to the house. i stayed there by myself for two days, and i was trying to get settled, used to the time change, etc... so i didn't explore much.
buuuut it wasn't long before everyone showed up and things went crazy!
becca (last year's habitat volunteer, now working at the church) showed up on friday, and we hung out, went to barnes and noble and whatnot. saturday we got up and went to the farmer's market, which was pretty awesome. i'm pretty sure we did something else all afternoon, but it was a while ago and i forgot... whoops.
most people came on saturday, which was becca's birthday, so we made calzones and went to high desert, the local brewery/bar, with all but one of the people in bsc.
sunday i went to the quaker meeting, which has an amazing worship space, but is a bit smaller than the meeting in columbia and doesn't seem to be quite as active in the community. overall, i like them, but i am thinking about going to the unitarian church to check things out.

monday training started, so i spent the whole week with all nine of the ladies and ryan, our director, talking about our tenents and rules of being an americorps member, visiting our worksites and all that... we visited juarez, which was really awesome but deserves its own post. i'll get to it... i hope. i think we learned a lot, about each other and what it is we are really striving for down here, but it was a little overwhleming to be with everyone non-stop for a whole week. saturday and sunday we were in silver city for a retreat, which couldn't have come at a better time because i was starting to get really upset about how flat las cruces is, and silver city is a little bit more hilly. it was a cute town, too, with little antique/thrift shops and a gelato cafe. yeah. i was pretty happy.
on the way back we drove through gila national forest, which was GORGEOUS.

i put in one week of work already, but i'm still not exactly sure what they expect/anticipate from me. this week they sent me up to albuquerque to this habitat for humanity international leadership training conference. on the one hand i'm glad to be here, to see what other affiliates are doing and to know that other people are facing the same kinds of challenges that i am, and to kind of re-focus my efforts. on the other hand, this training is put on by the corporate heads, and it's not the side of habitat i've been involved with in the past. it's not the grassroots effort to change the world. it's a pragmatic organization with rules and guidelines and pr.

i guess all i can say for now is that i'm doing fine. it's still weird to me to be here, away from everyone i know and love, with a (kind of) real job and no homework. it's a transition. i'm not sure i like it?

i'll put pictures up when i can, but my camera's broken right now, and i haven't convinced my roommates to let me steal theirs yet.

bah.

2008-08-25T23:00:00.003-05:00

this is getting out of hand, and i know it. i'm sorry. i promise that once things are settled here, i will be writing. and there are plenty of things to write about (finally!). but this week is orientation, and i'm trying to get to know my roommates, and locking yourself in your room w/ your laptop isn't exactly the best way to do that. please believe me when i say that this step is really really important to me--not that all of you reading aren't. but for this year to work out the way i want it to, i think i should invest all i've got in being a part of this community to the best of my ability.

like i said, though, getting settled at the moment, orientation... going to mexico [briefly]... work starts on tuesday. i hope to update on monday, since we technically have the day off.
xoxo

flickr game

2008-07-14T13:59:00.005-05:00

1. Cordial & Miriam, 2. Hot Hummus, 3. Throw Down, 4. a gaggle of olives, 5. Glen Hansard Polaroid, 6. Mojito?, 7. county galway, 8. Peach, Blueberry & Blackberry Cobbler, 9. Authors 1, 10. .endless stillness., 11. anachronistic.jpg, 12. Group in San Diego over New Years

Wanna play?
The concept:
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The Questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One Word to describe you.
12. Your flickr name.

discovered via elsie marley

alles gute, meiner!

2008-05-10T05:41:00.006-05:00

Conrad, one of the Quenzel's sons, turned thirty this week, so today is the big party. This is the moment the whole family has been waiting, for, apparently, b/c it's the debut of the renovations they've been doing in the "garden house." I'm realizing now that I've posted like no pictures of their house. Sorry.

Anyway, basically, their house is one of those that line the city walls, with big front doors to garages and bigger gardens. These were originally built for the city-dwelling peasant class, who needed to pull carriages off the streets, house horses, etc. So, we've got an awesome three-tier back yard - the main "Hof," a terrace, and the garden plot that sits right up next to the city wall and what is now the lowest part of the park. The Quenzels have lived here for a couple hundred years, and the house has taken on a couple different financial endeavors. The house in the garden was built during the time that Louisa had a brewery and bar here. When Christoph's grandfather became a doctor they cut out the brewing, but the house is still there, and has mostly been a workshop/storage space since Ruth and Christoph took over. Originally, they thought that when they got old and one of their children moved into the house they would move out to that second house, but it's fairly impractical since the ground floor doesn't have real living space, and they're worried about not being able to use stairs (although I know very few old Germans that can't tackle stairs), and are now planning on living in the first floor that is currently my apartment. So now, the garden house has become a party house. First Conrad's birthday, then Ruth's (next week), and Phillipp and Marion wanted to have their Polterabend (the party the night before their wedding) there, but have now changed their plans.

Well, I never saw the upstairs of the house before they started fixing it up, b/c it required climbing a scary looking ladder at least 15 feet and then doing a pull-up into the window, but it looks awesome now, and since the building was built just before the civil war, I'm thinkin' they had a lot to do. They built a new external staircase and porch on the back side, and it stays sunny up there until about 21:30 at this time of year, even though it's pretty shady in the garden by 20:00. We've been hanging out up there every evening this week, and tonight I think there's supposed to be 40 people or something coming to the party.

Been a while since I posted a recipe. I've basically been eating the same things over and over, or else I've been out of town and therefore not cooking for myself. SO.... The Quenzels asked me to bring a salad, which is not a big deal except that then they started saying how they're going to tell all the guests it's an American delicacy, and I felt pressured to make something quintessential. I thought about making homemade ranch dressing for a regular tossed salad, but I've never even thought about that before and it seemed like a daunting task. Then this salad was born. The Quenzels really like tex-mex, and I started off thinking about a bean salad because of that. The white limas (which, here at least, don't have that sweet taste the green ones do) take away from that a little, but I was trying to add color and size variation, and I think that although not typical tex-mex, I'm pleased with their addition.

Kat's "Ach, LEUTE!" Bean Salad
1 large can sweet corn
1 large can red kidney beans
1 small can jumbo white lima beans
2 small red onions
juice of 1 small lemon
1/2 head iceberg lettuce
cilantro, white pepper, sunflower oil to taste

Rinse beans and corn thoroughly with cold water. Combine beans, corn, onion, lemon juice, and spices beforehand to give the spice a chance to soak into the veggies (yes, I know beans are legumes but w/e). Let stand one hour. Chop lettuce in strips, wash, and add, with oil, just before serving.

I'll add pictures later, but I haven't made this look especially pretty yet, so I'll take pics of the final product. It's not ready yet b/c the party's not for a couple hours.

well crap.

2008-05-07T09:44:00.011-05:00

I really did mean to do this more often. But that last post, I have to admit, kind of wore me out. Well, here goes again anyway.

I spent a good deal of time recuperating from the Americans. You know, watching junk tv, knitting, vegging out, the whole deal. And then, suddenly, I realized time was almost up. So I took off. Spring finally came to Germany (in its own little European way), and I was in Berlin when I feel like it finally happened. One of the kids from the youth group here works for a popular German band, Tocotronic, and got me in free to their concert in Potsdam. It was pretty cool, but I'm admittedly not the hugest Tocotronic fan, and so it was also a little awkward. Most of the people there knew all the words, and apparently they're more alternative than I had gathered from their music, b/c although I showed up all cute in my bright yellow dress, everyone else had on black. Exclusively. With the minor exception of the lime green screen print on their just-purchased merch. Nice. Anyway, I was basically there by myself since Katha had to work, but I made friends with a couple guys while I was trying to just find the damn place, and so at least the waiting for the concert wasn't totally lonely (but once the music started, Martin went off to mosh and I stuck to the outsides). I've developed a little bit of claustrophobia, it would seem, and I can't do crowds the way I used to. Maybe it's something about not being certain of how to express panic, but I really need to feel like I always have two ways of walking out of a situation, and that is simply not possible at a concert once people get going.

WARNING: I feel like this post is semi-picture-heavy. But I had a ridiculously hard time deciding which pictures to put up. Please see my flickr page for more.

Anyway, I stayed with Uli (my first-ever host sister from Bavaria) that night, and spent the weekend with her and her roommates. Since I was not really excited about the Berlin I had experienced so far, we decided not to do anything touristy, but rather find something to make me feel like it was a pretty cool place. We ended up in the trendy hipster neighborhood (still can't figure out the name of it?) where everyone was gorgeous and I wanted to buy all the clothes they were selling but couldn't afford the air in those stores. So we ate ice cream and took off, with a quick stop at Sonnenallee, the famous street that ran straight into the Berlin Wall, but weren't sure exactly where the wall was, so didn't exactly get to that point... Oh well. Then we headed back and while Uli baked a cake, I cut Felix's hair with a rusty pair of scissors he found in the back of the kitchen drawer. Brave soul. But he was pleased with the outcome and I'm not too embarrassed to say that I am responsible for it. Saturday night we went to a party that was nothing remarkable.
Sunday I got up and went to the only Quaker Meeting in Germany, which was nice but made me miss my Friends (ha! get it?) in Columbia. Saturday afternoon, we sat up in the park in Uli's neighborhood, Kreuzberg, with a cheesecake, coffee, and no silverware and just... chilled. It was nice. I really liked Uli's roommates, and not just because I miss young people and not living alone. They were genuinely awesome. I was really sad that I had to come back to Eisleben that evening, but it was okay because...

First thing Tuesday I got on a train to Regensburg, and seven hours later I got there, and hung out with my old host parents and Uli's sister, Maria, who I don't think I ever met, honestly, before then. It was nice and Bavarian, but considerably colder than it had been in Berlin which was sad. We went and wandered around downtown Regensburg on Wednesday, and although I confirmed the fact that I do like the city, I don't know if I'd keep it on my top five favorite German cities list anymore. I think I was mostly excited about it that summer I was there because I was seventeen and had never been to Europe and it was big and exciting but not so crowded and touristy as Munich. What I mean is, it's cute, and I could live there probably, but I'd much rather hang out in Erfurt. Then again, maybe I just can't get over how much money they have in Bavaria and Phillipp has been getting to me with his East German propaganda.
[mom and dad, I'm sorry, but I didn't take a single picture of the Schäfers. However, they got these knew "garden gnomes" and I thought you would like them, ma.]

Uh-huh. Well, Thursday I went on a 13 hour train ride to Rome to visit Audra, who lived in Preston with me and is an awesome girl. Her exams started on Monday so it was another laid back weekend, but I did all the main things, some with her - Vatican, Trevi Fountain - and some while she was in class or studying - Coliseum, Palatine Hill, the Parthenon. My general feeling on Rome, however, was indifference. The phrase that kept coming to my mind was "TOO MUCH!" There was so much stuff to see, but Rome is infuriating with its lack of explanations. Even though almost everyone who works anywhere public in Rome speaks English, all the museums were exclusively in Italian, and there are few directional signs for the major events. Don't even get me started on the way everything is built like a maze that has no right or wrong directions, so that you can wander and wander and have no idea where you are until you think "I've been here before," but don't know which way you left so you don't know where to go this time. I liked Palatine Hill, mostly because it was largely an outdoor park and I have gotten to where I really like places where people lay around in the grass, but I apparently missed an archaeological dig site b/c it was Roman and confusing and I didn't know there was a way into that part. But the Coliseum is significantly more impressive from the outside (except, of course, for the idea that people stood there so long ago - but that's true of the whole damn city), the Vatican Museum looked like some grandma had shoved as many of her trinkets into one room as possible, even though they rarely made sense next to each other (and I was so frustrated that we waited 4 hours and paid 8euros for the damn thing with so few actual important pieces of art that were usually hidden behind some other, equally old but significantly less well-known), and the Sistine Chapel was over crowded and smelly and even though they obviously don't use the space for worship anymore - it's an empty room with an undressed altar - they kept trying to make people be quiet. What for? So everyone can hear themselves think, "That's it?" in their own heads instead of letting them say it out loud? Alright Vatican City, you got me on St. Peter's Basillica. I don't think I had my mouth closed the whole half hour we were in there. It's huge and ornate and oh so catholic, which is only a little sad because the Pieta gets lost because of its simplicity (it, too, was smaller than I imagined). But my all-time favorite thing there was what Audra and her friends had decided they weren't going to go see at all - the Mouth of Truth. Old movie fans will definitely know it from the Hepburn film Roman Holiday. It's basically an old stone tablet with a giant face on it, the mouth and eyes of which are holes. Legend has it that anyone who lies with their hand in the mouth will have it bitten off by the stone jaws, but either my skin is green or it's not true. So that was a cool thing to see, a little more off the beaten path, but then the exit takes you through the church, which has the relics of St. Valentine, and it's just a cute, smaller chapel that looks, unfortunately, like all the money got spent on the cathedrals. The frescoes around the tops of the walls were in disrepair, the ceiling was raw and didn't look like it was very well taken care of. But something about it was more real than the rest of the city. Then, of course, they went and proved me wrong by putting a souvenir shop in the damn corner. Whatevs. I had a good time being with Audra, reliving the good ole days of Preston gossip and politics and eating gelato (every day! shh...). But now I miss that place and those people more than ever.

I signed my contract for Border Servant Corps today, though, so hopefully that roommate situation will work out as a good substitute for being on campus. I'm starting to get really excited about being out there - I found a couple forums and such, and have been getting good tips on yarn shops, book stores, and farmer's markets. There's if not two at least one Quaker Meeting, and I simply cannot express my excitement about that, and three Jazzercise centers. I can't stand myself.

Well, I've got less than two weeks here now. The only place I haven't gotten to travel to that I thought would is Prague, but Franzi can't go, and I don't think I want to go alone. People keep telling me to just suck it up and go alone, but I don't want it to be a half-ass experience because I'm by myself. Also, maybe it'll be more incentive to come back if I don't make it there. I'm also quite simply worn out from spending the last two weeks on the road, and there are several parties going on here, so I think I'm just going to hang out in Eisleben until it's time to go home, unless I run to Köthen one more time. Because I thought I would see Franzi again, I didn't really feel like I said goodbye to them, and I didn't even see most of my other friends last time I was there because I decided so last minute and they were all out of town. hmm...

Anyway, I will probably post again early next week since this weekend should be exciting, but if not it'll most likely be when I get home...

buchenwald, die welle, and american schools.

2008-04-12T03:59:00.002-05:00

I apologize in advance if I assume you know a lot less than you do. As you see, a lot of the emotion going into this post is frustration, specifically directed at the American educational system. Knowing that people reading this didn't learn German [which is really the only reason I know any German history], didn't study history, or grew up during DDR-times when little information was coming out of this place, I may end up over-informing.

Everyone knows about the famous "Work will make you free" inscription that was over the front gate to many concentration camps (most famously at Auschwitz-Birkenau and Dachau). I was still shocked, however, to see this at the front gate of Buchenwald:A literal translation? "To each his own." Conversational meaning in German? "Everyone gets that which he deserves." This seems so much crueler, somehow, than that infamous promise of freedom. Remember that the prisoners at Buchenwald were not so literally marched to their deaths as was true at some of the more well-known camps. These were mostly political prisoners, sometimes given menial jobs, but mostly left to freeze, to starve, to rot in the middle of the woods near the single most important cultural capital of the German people. A simple google search of this phrase, and you'll also learn that this was the state motto of the Prussian empire. Although it was a part of the Holy Roman Empire*, Prussia was really the first attempt to unite the "German" people, and had (approximately) the current borders on the west side, but also included Denmark, and reached up along the Baltic Sea through most of current day Poland and. That is, that's how far it spread before Hitler started marching all over the place. So, then, what does this mean? Is it a political statement? Some kind of call to return to the past? Or is it really as backhanded as it seems - a command to shut the hell up? I'm not certain...

The whole time we were in Buchenwald, I kept thinking over and over: why didn't anyone stop this? I mean, even of people didn't want to see it themselves (and that I totally understand), doesn't there come a time when the desire to look away is overcome by the knowledge that another human being is suffering? Of course, there's a well-known poem (with many many variations) to this effect, from Martin Niemöller:

When the Nazis came for the Communists,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Communist.

When they locked up the Social Democrats,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Social Democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I didn't protest;
I wasn't a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I wasn't a Jew.

And when they came for me,
There was no one left to speak out.

Regardless of what people then did or didn't do, the monument that finally knocked some sense into me (which I couldn't get a good photo of, but Zach might've?) reads: "So that the generation to come might know, the children, yet to be born, that they too may rise and declare to their children" (Psalm 78:6).** It hit me that I was somehow lucky to be able to see this. Too many Americans will never be able to go there and to look at those spaces where people suffered and died. Too many kids don't hear about the Holocaust (let alone all the things the Soviets did at Buchenwald) save for one week in the year during history class - that if they're lucky, too. My overwhelming sense is that we want too badly to be the heroes of history. The version of WWII that's most popular seems to be Oh, yeah, they were doing some fighting over there in Europe, but we marched in and put an end to all that crap. God Bless America, right?! God forbid we discuss the massive numbers of Russians that died during that giant mess, so that we might look like heroes. And then what of Mussolini and Stalin? Why is Hitler the only example we're given, when he is not the only face of fascism? Why were the events at Abu Ghraib laughed off and then so easily forgotten? What isn't my government telling me about what happens at Gitmo, and why, exactly, are they so opposed to me traveling to Cuba (don't give me that crap about economic embargo. I'm not buyin' it.)?

Monument for women and girls: No one took their goodbye. No one erected a cross or a stone. But you shall live, as long as people keep your memory. [my translation]

And then, of course, German film... Oh, will you never tire of capturing all the scary, scary things that happen in America? [I hope not]

When I was in Köthen, Jan gave me a bunch of movies to watch. He said it was homework, that these were the things I needed to know about Germany. Admittedly, Jan had a very particular view of what was important about his culture, and a lot of his slant could be attributed to the fact that he worked/works for the German Army. So I watched a lot of movies about Nazis and Punks and being in prison and getting in knife fights. It was exciting. One, in particular, that struck me was Das Experiment. You might've seen it, actually, under the title The Experiment. It was subtitled and released on video, if not run through theaters. It was based on a Stanford U experiment about power, authority, and the sociology of prison interactions. 24 men were paid to take part in a mock-prison situation, randomly assigned as either prisoners or jail keepers, and given minimal supervision. Essentially, things got way out of hand, and the proposed 14-day experiment was called off after only 6 days. Hmm. Stanford University. That's a respectable place with intelligent people. And yet, they allowed men to humiliate and torture each other for six days. Had you heard of it? I hadn't. But every high schooler in Germany learns about the experiment, as well as many of the investigator's buddies' experiments, in their Social Studies classes. Even though it happened in AMERICA - not here.

Take two: Die Welle. Read about this one in the newspaper. It's a German movie with German actors that plays out in Germany, but it's baed on an American high school teacher (Ron Jones) in Palo Alto, California who put his history class to an experiment based on the premise that the Holocaust would never happen in America. People wouldn't go along with the Party, was the claim. And yet, the students created their own Party (the Third Wave), uniform, salute, icon, manner of behavior (including being drilled on entering the classroom quickly and silently), and followed their teacher like good little Hitlerjugend within three days. Heard of it? Nope, me either. There's a movie about it - made in America in 81 but apparently swept under the carpet - and a book, which most German high schoolers read, naturally. Fair enough, I'm sure German kids are sick and tired of hearing about all the awful things their grandparents allowed to happen more than 50 years ago. I get that. In fact, Die Welle did an excellent job of addressing that boredom; at the start of the conversation, which is prompted in the film by a project week on forms of government, one student says, "I'm sick of these damn Nazis. Autocracy. Fine. Can't we talk about the Bush Administration?" Hmm. The Bush Administration, you say. I dare you to find a cross-section of American high school students who would be able identify the ways in which the current government could be considered autocratic or fascist. Anyone think that has anything to do with the fact that we don't talk about autocracy or fascism, or even what real democracy might look like - psst. here's a hint: America's not one! I cannot believe our inability to be honest with ourselves. The first steps to recognizing and putting an end to unhealthy government policies is learning about past mistakes. Allowing a majority of citizens to be and remain disenfranchised, struggling, and hungry, on the other hand, sounds like a fast-track to fascism to me.

Well, this has gone on long enough. Sorry for the rant.

Hearing: Ben Harper.
Reading: Lessons for next week (practicing, really, more than reading...)
Making: Intrelac scarf from baby alpaca yarn.

*PC, remember when I said things in Weimar looked Prussian, and not German? What I couldn't figure out how to articulate then rests here. Prussia was essentially Roman, and not "purely German."
**Without being able to read the Hebrew version, the feeling of the German text on this monument had a different feel to me. Naturally, they used some translation of the bible that they felt was fitting and accurate to the original text, but it was the German that struck me. I would translate it like this: "So that the Generation to come, all the children yet to be born, they too will stand and tell this to their children."

PS. I know, Zach, I know... Just... save it.

photography

2008-04-10T08:56:00.004-05:00

I discovered two photographers today that I love: Albrecht Tübke and Diane Arbus. Both are "street photographers," meaning their subjects are just every day people, not models. Tübke's are also German, so of course they hold a special place in my heart. Some of my favorite examples: They have such awesome attitudes about them. I don't know if Tübke is just good at spotting attitude or if he poses them (I really hope not but I suspect so, since many have similar postures) but they all look like they think they're the shit.
Of course, this woman actually is:I want to model my entire wardrobe after this photo.

I'm no expert on photography, so all I can do is go with the stuff I read, which cites Arbus as a predecessor of this style. However, Arbus became best known for photographing "outsiders" in the middle of the 1900s:

Her unrelentingly direct photographs of people who live on the edge of societal acceptance, as well as those photographs depicting supposedly "normal" people in a way that sharply outlines the cracks in their public masks, were controversial at the time of their creation and remain so today....
Arbus's pictures are almost invariably confrontational: the subjects look directly at the camera and are sharply rendered, lit by direct flash or other frontal lighting. Her subjects appear to be perfectly willing, if not eager, to reveal themselves and their flaws to her lens.
She said of her pictures, "What I'm trying to describe is that it's impossible to get out of your skin into somebody else's.... That somebody else's tragedy is not the same as your own." And of her subjects who were physically unusual, she said, "Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. [These people] were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats." artphotogallery.org

Alright, make that three. Shortly after I started writing this entry, I checked facebook, and one of the things on my news feed was that Tamera had posted a link to the Wellcome Collection, a series of photos taken of people shortly before and then just after their deaths. Quite different, but also striking.

Tübke photos via http://www.tuebke.info/
Arbus photos via http://www.artphotogallery.org/02/artphotogallery/photographers/diane_arbus_01.html
[discovery via bits and bobbins.]

oh yeah.

2008-04-02T03:11:00.005-06:00

I actually did cook a tiny bit while the groups were here... One recipe doesn't have a picture, though, and the other one came out gritty and grey. Sorry.

Mexican Tortellini
1 portion tortellini
1 can black beans
1 can sweet corn
1 small tomato
2 tsp cilantro

Cook pasta, drain. Warm beans, tomato, and cilantro over medium heat. Add corn but do not heat. Serve with sour cream, cheddar cheese, and salsa.
***

Indian Tuna Casserole
1 1/2 cups cooked pasta, any kind
1 can tuna in water
1 small can sweet corn, drained
1/2 small can sliced mushrooms, drained
2 cups light sour cream
2 slices Gouda cheese
curry powder, to taste

Cook pasta, drain. Fluff tuna with fork and add to pasta. (I decided to mix up the tuna and pasta before adding anything with liquid that would make the tuna sticky and clumpy again. If you like big ole chunks of tuna, skip this step.) Add vegetables and sour cream and stir over low heat. Add curry powder until sauce is just slightly yellow. Place cheese on top and bake for 25 minutes at 100*C.

Whatever. Not like you're gunna cook it anyway.

phew.

2008-04-02T01:59:00.003-06:00

Well, that was exciting.

All the groups are home (more or less without incident), I'm back in Eisleben for a quiet little week of recuperation, and spring has come! [knock on wood]. Yep, that's right, although it snowed less than two weeks ago, I've been running around in shirt sleeves and skirts for the last three days. Well, running around may be an exaggeration. I've been wearing them. I haven't been running anywhere, and really haven't left my apartment much except to fraternize with my host family in the garden. I can't tell you how excited I am. I'm a little mad at myself for not sending more of my bulky warm clothes home with my parents, but whatever. It's like, 12*C!! Good times.

Hokay... Catch up.

Erfurt is pretty much my favorite place on earth right now. Alright, that's an exaggeration, but it was the only place I got to breathe for the last month, and so I have a little bit of an attachment. It's also just a cool place - big enough that stuff is going on, but very laid-back at the same time. Additionally, it has the best street art/graffiti I've ever seen. I actually "collected" it, it was so cool. Dang, I need to get that up on flickr.

With the UniLu group I got to go to Weimar, a place that everyone in this region raves about. It's been a center of German culture, art, and intellectual thought for a long long time, and in many ways is considered the "heart" of Germany. Buchenwald, a Nazi and later Soviet work camp, is just outside the city walls, which means less to us, maybe, than it does to Germans. It was a shock to many people, after the war, that such a thing was happening so close to an important city. In reality, much of that shock was probably about being forced to look at the things they had been ignoring for such a long time, and its proximity to Weimar was just the salt in the wound. Buchenwald was not a death camp in the way that Auschwitz was, and housed more political prisoners and dissidents (including Ernst Thälman and Dietrich Bonhoeffer; Elie Wiesel was also here, but not because of politics) and than Jews. I feel I need to write much, much more about the experience of going there, but it may be better suited for another post.

I finally got to spend an afternoon in Berlin, again with UniLu, but I still haven't gotten to see the things I wanted to go back for. Mostly, right now, I want to go to the Käthe Kollwitz Museum. But of course I still have time.

Travel plans: Prague/Dresden and Italy are pretty much certain, but I need to talk to Franzi and Jon about when. I could go to Sweeden with some people from the JG and Scott, but I don't really have any particular interest in going, and I think I'd rather spend my money seeing something I'm dying to see. Will invited me to Spain, but that'll be a matter of when he could host me. I'm currently toying with the idea of going to Barcelona and Paris, then to Ireland, and flying back. Dang I wanna go to Ireland so bad. Problem is that I don't know anyone there, and I really don't want to go by myself.

The job with BSC is definite. I'll be getting my contract in the mail soon, and then I suppose it'll be time to look for a plane ticket? Man, that's weird. I may have mentioned before that I have a Rosetta Stone program for Latin American Spanish, or maybe not. Either way, I do have one, and I've been feverishly trying to learn enough phrases to not sound like an ass when I show up on the border. It's coming along, only very very slowly.

Anyway, I've decided to stay home for the summer, unless something pretty serious changes. It's just too expensive to fly back here for two more months of wasting my time. If I'm in the states, I don't have to pay rent, I could maybe earn some money, and at the very least, I'm blessed with friends who enjoy having fun for free, something that doesn't work out real well here. Best case scenario, I can split my time between the mountains and the beach and I won't get sunburned too bad. Also, re-acclimating to heat is sounding pretty pretty good right now. The prospect of leaving 18*C for a desert is not so great if you ask me.

2008-03-11T08:54:00.003-06:00

Not a whole lot to say. I'm settling into the groove of these tours, having to think and worry less and less as things go along. So, that's exciting.

It's also finally getting warmer. It's possible of course, that it's just the Orkan we've got going on up in the north sea, but all the same, the last few days have been warmer, and I'm excited.

Just wanted you to know I hadn't forgotten about you. I just haven't had a lot of time for thought or reflection on anything, which makes for much less interesting posts. I also haven't cooked a thing in three weeks, so no recipes. I'll post soon w/ some of my craft projects, though...

call me butterrrr.

2008-02-20T10:59:00.004-06:00

I'm on a roll.

Yeah, okay, the brussel sprouts were a bit undercooked, but it was the first time in my life I have ever even eaten fresh brussel sprouts, I think (and even frozen ones I might've had five times ever), and I had to google for half an hour before I felt confident even pretending to cook them. I was pretty happy with this stuff.

Confession: I cheated. So, I'm not going to post a real recipe. That pork was delicious, but it was pre-cooked and pre-seasoned. All I did was set it in the oven for five minutes so it was a little above room temperature. And that rice? Uncle Ben's Minute rice. I heated it up and put it in a pot. The brussel sprouts, however, I boiled with a cup and a half of water, a spoonful of butter, and one garlic clove, sliced ultra thin. Added salt and pepper. Not bad, if I do say so myself. And it sure as hell looks tasty, even if I didn't cook most of it.

Busy, busy getting ready for the American invasion of Sachsen-Anhalt. Realized last night, after working for at least ten hours on the very very detailed itinerary that we couldn't take half the trains I had planned on, so I was up till 5am fixing it (thanks, OCD!). Pretty tired, and releasing my frustrations in vanilla-hazelnut pudding (also amazing) and paprika potato chips. But as for now, I'm going to eat dinner with one of my youth and her family in ten minutes. Write more later, maybe?

edit: Check out these shoes! They're not real comfortable, but how awesome are they? Possible for Jenn's wedding, maybe? Gotta decide in the next two days if I wanna return them, though.

fish stick eater

2008-02-16T18:36:00.003-06:00

I might've mentioned at some point that it wasn't as cold as I had expected.

I take it back. It's freezing.

When I say "it's freezing," what I mean is, it is between -10 and -2C. That's, technically, a good bit below freezing. I have a cold, and it's not fun. It's difficult to make myself go outside, b/c it really is physically painful, but it's easy to get depressed around here if you don't take advantage of the sunlight when it's there. Man, tonight, for example, I had on my thermal top and pants, leg warmers (thanks, Amanda's mom!), jeans, a turtle neck, one of dad's ultra thick sweaters from MI, a scarf, hat, and my pea coat. I still wanted to cut my face off so it would stop hurting. There's simply no relief.

I'm excited that Furman gets here in like a week. I can't wait to see Mason, to get my camera back, and to have something to do all day. Granted, it will be stressful to have people here constantly for the next month, and I won't get a break at all, but you know... small blessings.

On an entirely unrelated note, I don't think I've ever in my life eaten fish sticks. I know mom never bought them for us, and I think I successfully avoided them in the school cafeteria. However, I have become a fish stick eater. They're not that bad, really, if you get the breading cooked real crunchy and put a little ketchup on them. Anyway, I just bring that up because I ate them today with my lunch, which, outside of this little foray into the trashy, I was really proud of.

Kat's tomato tomato tortellini
1 cup dry cheese tortellini
1/4 cup sliced sun dried tomatoes
1 small fresh tomato
basalmic vinegar, olive oil
black pepper, to taste

Boil tortellini in salted water with a bit of olive oil (to keep it from being sticky) for 10 minutes. Depending on volume, cook time may vary. Pasta should be just barely undercooked. Drain.

Heat a skillet and coat with olive oil. Place tortellini in skillet and fry, stirring constantly, until crunchy. Add tomatoes (both kinds) and a tiny splash of vinegar. Cook until sun dried tomatoes are rehydrated and soft. Lightly pepper.

Serve with fish or chicken.

Serves: 1.

parted curtains

I will remain restless, tense, and dissatisfied

Adventure in Three Movements: Third Movement

Adventure in Three Movements: Second Movement

Adventure in Three Movements: First Movement

Returning from Service

The Cost

10 Suggestions for Helping your YAGM Return Home

Identity

Newsletter

A La Marcha

Christ is Risen

Headed South

Newsletter

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Something to aspire to.

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Your knitting and crochet time

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Where Are They Now?

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Tidy Mind, Tidy Stitches

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: Skill +1UP

Knitting & Crochet Blog Week: A Tale of Two Yarns

Ceviche de Soya

Coming Soon: Knitting & Crochet Blog Week

Sustainable Systems, pt. 3

Sustainable Systems, pt. 2

Sustainable Systems, pt. 1

alles gute, meiner!

Grace

The Things They Carried

Newsletter

Cream of Carrot Soup

aaaaaaaaand We're off!

happy birthday to you!

Newsletter

Links to YAGM Blogs

Guest Post from Mom

my last la estación post

new work placement

oh. umm. hello.

Try to Remember Some Details

Wow

Advent

Newsletter

The Guest House

Thanksgiving

Quilts

Respect

Buon Compleanno, mamma!

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Pan de Muertos

Día de los Muertos

Yo soy maestra.

Harry Potter "review" **SPOILERS**

Harry Potter, knitting, and my feud with UPS (a rare light-hearted post)

Update on La Estación

La Estación - a prayer request

I think we should come home covered in confetti more often.

Newsletter

¡feliz cumpleaños, hermanito!

A comment on special occasions

Some more introductions

I'd like to introduce Reuben.

Newsletter

and I will call him.... Manuel.

Honestly? It's kind of been a boring week.

Hey, if I'm gonna puke, which way do you think I should aim?

well... that was exciting...

First week in San Pedro la Laguna

100 thing challenge, pt. 3

100 thing challenge, pt. 2

100 thing challenge

Hot Dogs!

YAGM in the News

Unpacking My Job Title

news from the tasting

A little more info & a beer tasting invitiation!!

a letter & an invitation

so, last weekend...

fisticuffs & lent

blah blah blah

back to my old tricks again...

Harry Potter "review" SPOILERS