The Life magazine article from January 1956 about the spearing martyrdom of Jim Elliot, Nate Saint, Roger Youderian, Peter Fleming and Edward McCully in the Amazon jungles of Ecuador. I had wanted to see this and finally came across it:
'Go Ye and Preach the Gospel' Five Do and Die
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 19, 2011
Merry Christmas from Hariet Brown!
http://harietbrown.bandcamp.com/
Merry Christmas, friends! Please enjoy our gift from us to you.
The creation of this was magic to me--I had never witnessed a bunch of sound and instruments become a legit song so rapidly. These guys are miracle-workers.
The creation of this was magic to me--I had never witnessed a bunch of sound and instruments become a legit song so rapidly. These guys are miracle-workers.
Dec 9, 2011
In the spirit of procrastination...and Christmas
I'm sitting in the main living room at Pi Phi, lounging on the couches, and two girls and I are all on our computers "studying." The next few moments will be spent in this spirit.
One just googled "When does Hayley's comet come next?" ...that's the sort of work we're getting done currently.
But we have good reason to celebrate, at least for a few minutes: yesterday was the last day of class! My last day of my penultimate semester of college! One semester to go! I am thrilled and almost frightened (mostly exhilarated). I haven't a clue as to what I'm doing next year, not a one. My current options:
a. teach English
i. in South America: a beautiful, rural life and I get to speak my beloved Spanish
ii. in South Korea: make the big bucks but be far away from anything; and I don't find that area of the world particularly intriguing but I do like exploring, so it could be cool..
b. teach Spanish in the US
i. at a classical school...blah
ii. somewhere where Spanish is spoken, preferably. but this is Amuurica
c. marry a rich man!
i. where are the flaws in that plan?...beside the small fact we could be incredibly poorly suited for each other.
d. get a job I don't hate somewhere for a couple years. This is the normal option. I suppose my life must, at some point, appear to be normal. I'll have to adjust.
e. none of the above. (Help, please.)
And eventually I have to take linguistics courses with SIL and of course the myriad options are overwhelming: North Dakota, Dallas, southern California, Canada etc.? For goodness' sake. There's a lot to think about! But it will all be okay. It all will always be okay.
As the other seniors and I ponder (and/or freak out about) our futures, we are simultaneously juggling papers, exam studying and a few brief moments of social lives like the rest of campus. I wonder, do other schools look like this at exam time? Tear-stained or pale faces around every corner. Three hours of sleep in an entire week. Multiple twenty-page papers. Half-hour presentations on less sleep.
..some of this misery is self-induced. Procrastination is deathly and contagious. But there's still reason to have compassion on our suffering friends.
I congratulate myself on not being prone to procrastination. And by that I mean, I thank God. Yes, I did save a 6-page Spanish paper until two days before, but I had been thinking about my topic and researching a bit...so it belongs only partially to the realm of procrastination.
My roommate told me this morning, "You are one in a million." Not that I'm so special, like the unique snowflakes they told us we were in third grade, I'm just not be stressed by school work. "I am at least one in 1,400" I replied. Other students and friends practically scoff at me for not freaking out about papers and exams and grades and what our professors will think of us and GPAs and..and..things like that. I just have school in a different perspective. It is important and I want to do it well--we ought to work hard--but worry doesn't help me. If I'm stressed, I don't study or do anything productive. It doesn't aid me at all, like some people say it does them. To each his own.
When all the studying and not stressing is done, precisely one week from now Lord willing, I will be driving north. I am so looking forward to spending long, cozy evenings with dear friends, curling up by the fire place at my dad's, reading a good book or maybe knitting, visiting with my mom and her parents and eating delicious baked creations from my grandma.
I will have little time, and less money, to get gifts. I hope to get real crafty and whip up some great ones. It's the thought that counts, right? Except in this case, the thoughts should have been all thought up beforehand, and gifts purchased before I was down to the wire. (Procrastination?)
Having written that on my extremely necessary to-do list, it's now back to school work. And you, after having read this and procrastinated, get back to the books! You're almost there. In one week you will definitely have survived hell week and exam week. It's just college.
God bless us, everyone.
One just googled "When does Hayley's comet come next?" ...that's the sort of work we're getting done currently.
But we have good reason to celebrate, at least for a few minutes: yesterday was the last day of class! My last day of my penultimate semester of college! One semester to go! I am thrilled and almost frightened (mostly exhilarated). I haven't a clue as to what I'm doing next year, not a one. My current options:
a. teach English
i. in South America: a beautiful, rural life and I get to speak my beloved Spanish
ii. in South Korea: make the big bucks but be far away from anything; and I don't find that area of the world particularly intriguing but I do like exploring, so it could be cool..
b. teach Spanish in the US
i. at a classical school...blah
ii. somewhere where Spanish is spoken, preferably. but this is Amuurica
c. marry a rich man!
i. where are the flaws in that plan?...beside the small fact we could be incredibly poorly suited for each other.
d. get a job I don't hate somewhere for a couple years. This is the normal option. I suppose my life must, at some point, appear to be normal. I'll have to adjust.
e. none of the above. (Help, please.)
And eventually I have to take linguistics courses with SIL and of course the myriad options are overwhelming: North Dakota, Dallas, southern California, Canada etc.? For goodness' sake. There's a lot to think about! But it will all be okay. It all will always be okay.
As the other seniors and I ponder (and/or freak out about) our futures, we are simultaneously juggling papers, exam studying and a few brief moments of social lives like the rest of campus. I wonder, do other schools look like this at exam time? Tear-stained or pale faces around every corner. Three hours of sleep in an entire week. Multiple twenty-page papers. Half-hour presentations on less sleep.
..some of this misery is self-induced. Procrastination is deathly and contagious. But there's still reason to have compassion on our suffering friends.
I congratulate myself on not being prone to procrastination. And by that I mean, I thank God. Yes, I did save a 6-page Spanish paper until two days before, but I had been thinking about my topic and researching a bit...so it belongs only partially to the realm of procrastination.
My roommate told me this morning, "You are one in a million." Not that I'm so special, like the unique snowflakes they told us we were in third grade, I'm just not be stressed by school work. "I am at least one in 1,400" I replied. Other students and friends practically scoff at me for not freaking out about papers and exams and grades and what our professors will think of us and GPAs and..and..things like that. I just have school in a different perspective. It is important and I want to do it well--we ought to work hard--but worry doesn't help me. If I'm stressed, I don't study or do anything productive. It doesn't aid me at all, like some people say it does them. To each his own.
When all the studying and not stressing is done, precisely one week from now Lord willing, I will be driving north. I am so looking forward to spending long, cozy evenings with dear friends, curling up by the fire place at my dad's, reading a good book or maybe knitting, visiting with my mom and her parents and eating delicious baked creations from my grandma.
I will have little time, and less money, to get gifts. I hope to get real crafty and whip up some great ones. It's the thought that counts, right? Except in this case, the thoughts should have been all thought up beforehand, and gifts purchased before I was down to the wire. (Procrastination?)
Having written that on my extremely necessary to-do list, it's now back to school work. And you, after having read this and procrastinated, get back to the books! You're almost there. In one week you will definitely have survived hell week and exam week. It's just college.
God bless us, everyone.
Nov 21, 2011
Thankful for my niece and nephew
and many other things, like swift travel by air plane and extended Thanksgiving breaks.
Though morning comes quite early by the light-hearted stomping of soft little feet and the tiny mouse cry of a voice just nine days old; I'm happy to be an aunt. Here at my sister's the gentle morning house sounds are a lovely alarm.
Though morning comes quite early by the light-hearted stomping of soft little feet and the tiny mouse cry of a voice just nine days old; I'm happy to be an aunt. Here at my sister's the gentle morning house sounds are a lovely alarm.
Nov 11, 2011
My Norwegian sweater, snow & senioritis
I'm wearing this red and black, gold-clasped wool sweater boldly in honor of last night's snowfall. I haven't seen snow since January, since I escaped to Spain shortly after the new year. I'm ready to enjoy this white stuff yet again, though. My snow run yesterday was incredible: my only complaint being the pelting of hard flakes in my eyes. And at eight this morning, I tromped about the Arb, exploring the white paths, occasionally slipping on the layer of leaves hidden below. Happily sporting a great thrift store find--enormous, hand-knit wool socks--my feet stayed toasty warm.
A mere week of school stands between me and Thanksgiving break! I'm lengthening my vacation by missing two days of class. Hooray! My niece and due-any-day-now nephew will be entirely worth it. With a brand new baby, a darling toddler, my sisters, my mother and my brother-in-law, and a delicious turkey, I'm expecting a delightful Thanksgiving.
While the snow was falling late in the afternoon yesterday, some friends and I were gathered in the library, warming up and drying off, admiring the huge snowflakes swirling and floating through the air. Snow is so romantic! Thus sparking a long discussion of proposals, engagements and the growing number of rings (still well before spring) seen on campus.
With Der Besuch der Alte Dame (the book I'm reading for German) in my hand, I could almost pretend to be studying though in actuality conversing with friends and dreaming of 'the real world' and all the snowy, romantic moments to be had. But I was not studying, and my longing for some 'real world'-- whatever that may be--is just as false. Today is real, even though I find myself shuffling from class to class among myriad 20-somethings and even though I don't make my own food and rarely have to wash my own dishes and I don't even get to sweep (the latter two being quite enjoyable activities in my opinion...seriously). College life is chock-full of opportunities to love people, to mature, to learn more about yourself, the world and its Creator, and to procrastinate...or not.
My brightly colored German book is staring up at me, demanding to be read. Okay, enough procrastination for now. Just as long as senioritis entails motivation to study hard my final year as well as the occasional abandonment of boring activities for fun times with friends, I'll live with this disease until May 2012.
A mere week of school stands between me and Thanksgiving break! I'm lengthening my vacation by missing two days of class. Hooray! My niece and due-any-day-now nephew will be entirely worth it. With a brand new baby, a darling toddler, my sisters, my mother and my brother-in-law, and a delicious turkey, I'm expecting a delightful Thanksgiving.
While the snow was falling late in the afternoon yesterday, some friends and I were gathered in the library, warming up and drying off, admiring the huge snowflakes swirling and floating through the air. Snow is so romantic! Thus sparking a long discussion of proposals, engagements and the growing number of rings (still well before spring) seen on campus.
With Der Besuch der Alte Dame (the book I'm reading for German) in my hand, I could almost pretend to be studying though in actuality conversing with friends and dreaming of 'the real world' and all the snowy, romantic moments to be had. But I was not studying, and my longing for some 'real world'-- whatever that may be--is just as false. Today is real, even though I find myself shuffling from class to class among myriad 20-somethings and even though I don't make my own food and rarely have to wash my own dishes and I don't even get to sweep (the latter two being quite enjoyable activities in my opinion...seriously). College life is chock-full of opportunities to love people, to mature, to learn more about yourself, the world and its Creator, and to procrastinate...or not.
My brightly colored German book is staring up at me, demanding to be read. Okay, enough procrastination for now. Just as long as senioritis entails motivation to study hard my final year as well as the occasional abandonment of boring activities for fun times with friends, I'll live with this disease until May 2012.
Oct 26, 2011
Revisions and plans
I recently submitted my poem, Sevilla to Hilldale's The Towerlight, a student publication featuring student poetry, photography and other various forms of art. I edited my original version, thankful for some good suggestions, and came up with this:
The evenings here are fragrant, warm and black.
The fan's monotony on the stillness
A dull lullaby that stirs, a dry breath.
In my mind, mil pensamientos
and the struggle to quiet them all.
Silent tears evaporate and cool,
bringing a meager relief.
Outside the thick heat blankets,
hushing the leaves.
The quiet is broken, an instant--now
A soft thud the sole rebellious sound
The tell-tale fragrance drifts through the window
An orange has fallen down to the ground.
Its sweet, strong odor escaping the rind
Filling moments that pass, marking the time.
I had trouble breaking down the sonnet form I had created. Dr. John Freeh, my undoubtedly favorite professor of all time, told us that to become poets, we must first write well within the bounds of meter and rhyme. Essentially, a good poet can write a good sonnet: then he's free to experiment. I keep that in mind and challenge myself to write sonnets. But, mine needed a change or two and this was the result.
The line about crying also annoyed me. Why do I include that? They liked it at The Towerlight. I thought they would. But I am not quite satisfied. It seems too dramatic and unfounded. It is true to the situation though, so perhaps I can justify it to myself that way. (Why I'm justifying it to myself, I don't know. The general fear of being laughed at, or even the skeptical raise of the eyebrow can do me in sometimes.)
I want to challenge myself to write a post once a week. Now that I'm practically concocting my own linguistics major here--with Spanish, German and Ancient Greek--I don't get the opportunity to write in English anymore and this at least provides an outlet for my thoughts, legible for the average American reader (or more specifically and accurately, this is for my aunt who kindly reads my blog).
I believe my current living situation will provide much food for thought and the stuff of blog posts. I live in a sorority house. It's wonderful, noisy, chocolate-y, rambunctious and sometimes obnoxious. At quarter to midnight here at the house, I'm preparing to sleep, others are working out, some are passed out and my roommate is telling me how desperate she is to shower. I'm going to our huge upstairs bathroom to brush my teeth and have an evening chat through spats of toothpaste.
The evenings here are fragrant, warm and black.
The fan's monotony on the stillness
A dull lullaby that stirs, a dry breath.
In my mind, mil pensamientos
and the struggle to quiet them all.
Silent tears evaporate and cool,
Outside the thick heat blankets,
hushing the leaves.
The quiet is broken, an instant--now
A soft thud the sole rebellious sound
The tell-tale fragrance drifts through the window
An orange has fallen down to the ground.
Its sweet, strong odor escaping the rind
Filling moments that pass, marking the time.
I had trouble breaking down the sonnet form I had created. Dr. John Freeh, my undoubtedly favorite professor of all time, told us that to become poets, we must first write well within the bounds of meter and rhyme. Essentially, a good poet can write a good sonnet: then he's free to experiment. I keep that in mind and challenge myself to write sonnets. But, mine needed a change or two and this was the result.
The line about crying also annoyed me. Why do I include that? They liked it at The Towerlight. I thought they would. But I am not quite satisfied. It seems too dramatic and unfounded. It is true to the situation though, so perhaps I can justify it to myself that way. (Why I'm justifying it to myself, I don't know. The general fear of being laughed at, or even the skeptical raise of the eyebrow can do me in sometimes.)
I want to challenge myself to write a post once a week. Now that I'm practically concocting my own linguistics major here--with Spanish, German and Ancient Greek--I don't get the opportunity to write in English anymore and this at least provides an outlet for my thoughts, legible for the average American reader (or more specifically and accurately, this is for my aunt who kindly reads my blog).
I believe my current living situation will provide much food for thought and the stuff of blog posts. I live in a sorority house. It's wonderful, noisy, chocolate-y, rambunctious and sometimes obnoxious. At quarter to midnight here at the house, I'm preparing to sleep, others are working out, some are passed out and my roommate is telling me how desperate she is to shower. I'm going to our huge upstairs bathroom to brush my teeth and have an evening chat through spats of toothpaste.
Sep 7, 2011
Where is the siesta?
My roommate can attest to the fact that I'm having trouble surviving without a siesta. After lunch, you'll find me lying on my bed, relaxing, without a care in the world--until about twenty minutes later when the thought of looming homework and impending failure in class if said homework is not completed jolts me conscious enough to at least roll over and glance at the cover of a book. Then, the guilty feelings take over, impel me to sit up, change out of the comfy sweats I most likely donned in order to rest, and to finally get down to business.
This semester I μελέτη ελληνικά und Deutsch y español. And it's getting mildly confusing! Greek hasn't yet become familiar enough to invade the modern languages I speak, but I ramble on in Germpanish all the time. My made-up name for that language is about as ugly as what it sounds like when I unconsciously combine the two in one sentence.
And since my dear, kindly German professor absolutely refuses to sign my drop card (I expressed serious concern about my future in the class and he preemptively said he wouldn't sign it), I suppose I shall be stuck struggling along for the next few months. My professor, the epitome of a European gentleman, has this stubborn belief in my intelligence and German capabilities. Maybe one day his optimism and faith will manifest themselves in my fluency...I can only hope. I did discover the secret to calm my heart so that it doesn't palpitate in such a dangerously rapid manner each time I enter the classroom: I told him that I had a) forgotten all of my German and b) was nervous! It's funny how simply telling someone you're uncomfortable practically alleviates all discomfort. Anyway, I now boldly speak like a German toddler.
I generally understand what he's saying, but six months in Spain will really clear your mind of any remaining German vocabulary you once had, so speaking requires slightly more effort.
I've been back at Hillsdale for almost exactly one week, and the happiness of this sweet reunion has yet to fade! Despite the fact that as a senior at a mere week into classes I am somewhat behind in the work--but really, who isn't--I am glad to be here! I am surrounded by precious friendships, new acquaintances to befriend and exciting challenges. I love living in the Pi Beta Phi house, I love the boisterous tea times at our neighbor's, I love running into friendly faces all over campus and having a moment to exchange a genuine greeting! We are blessed to be here.
And in those moments that the hateful German book becomes my indecipherable enemy, or the miserably failed Greek quiz taunts me, or friends are no where to be found, I'm blessed to be here.
Learning Greek is a humbling experience. It's also an exciting and frightening one--it's one small step toward the future. Will I use this knowledge to assist in Bible translation? Perhaps. At the very least, I've mastered an entirely new set of characters that compose an alphabet and they're fun to draw. I can write them phonetically and anyone who knows Greek pronunciation will understand. It will be like a secret way of communication--cool. In other news, Lauren told me today that I'm a "language junkie."
My life in Spain seems like a dream to me. It's really an unusual feeling and almost unpleasant. Those 180 days were a part of my life, but they're fading into the distance. The life lessons haven't though--and for that I'm thankful.
This semester I μελέτη ελληνικά und Deutsch y español. And it's getting mildly confusing! Greek hasn't yet become familiar enough to invade the modern languages I speak, but I ramble on in Germpanish all the time. My made-up name for that language is about as ugly as what it sounds like when I unconsciously combine the two in one sentence.
And since my dear, kindly German professor absolutely refuses to sign my drop card (I expressed serious concern about my future in the class and he preemptively said he wouldn't sign it), I suppose I shall be stuck struggling along for the next few months. My professor, the epitome of a European gentleman, has this stubborn belief in my intelligence and German capabilities. Maybe one day his optimism and faith will manifest themselves in my fluency...I can only hope. I did discover the secret to calm my heart so that it doesn't palpitate in such a dangerously rapid manner each time I enter the classroom: I told him that I had a) forgotten all of my German and b) was nervous! It's funny how simply telling someone you're uncomfortable practically alleviates all discomfort. Anyway, I now boldly speak like a German toddler.
I generally understand what he's saying, but six months in Spain will really clear your mind of any remaining German vocabulary you once had, so speaking requires slightly more effort.
I've been back at Hillsdale for almost exactly one week, and the happiness of this sweet reunion has yet to fade! Despite the fact that as a senior at a mere week into classes I am somewhat behind in the work--but really, who isn't--I am glad to be here! I am surrounded by precious friendships, new acquaintances to befriend and exciting challenges. I love living in the Pi Beta Phi house, I love the boisterous tea times at our neighbor's, I love running into friendly faces all over campus and having a moment to exchange a genuine greeting! We are blessed to be here.
And in those moments that the hateful German book becomes my indecipherable enemy, or the miserably failed Greek quiz taunts me, or friends are no where to be found, I'm blessed to be here.
Learning Greek is a humbling experience. It's also an exciting and frightening one--it's one small step toward the future. Will I use this knowledge to assist in Bible translation? Perhaps. At the very least, I've mastered an entirely new set of characters that compose an alphabet and they're fun to draw. I can write them phonetically and anyone who knows Greek pronunciation will understand. It will be like a secret way of communication--cool. In other news, Lauren told me today that I'm a "language junkie."
My life in Spain seems like a dream to me. It's really an unusual feeling and almost unpleasant. Those 180 days were a part of my life, but they're fading into the distance. The life lessons haven't though--and for that I'm thankful.
Aug 29, 2011
Photos of "the cutest girl in the world"
...and I quote. A man walking his two dogs in the park said that about her just this afternoon. I can't say I disagree--nor do her parents. Follow this link to see more photos from my unexpectedly prolonged visit to my sister's house. Thanks Hurricane Irene for stranding me in NY two-and-a-half days more than planned.
Aug 26, 2011
The two-year-old & the iPhone
My niece turned two yesterday and is probably more adept at using her mom's iPhone than I am. To see that little thumb deftly scrolling across the screen in search of new games to play is a cute and almost disconcerting sight. I remember in either eighth grade or freshman year of high school when my friends and I all started to get digital cameras. We developed the instinct of taking photos and then crowding around the little screen to see the photo, i.e. to see how we looked.
Well, for Kathryn, that habit has already developed. She smiles for cameras, acts when she's on video, and then promptly asks "I see? I see!"
On her second birthday, at just few minutes into the day with "afrackers" to munch, she's ready with an endearing, sleepy grin for the camera.
That evening, she devoured a scrumptious cupcake and then stuck her fingers in four more merely to eat the frosting and fun sprinkles. Of course it was all captured on camera. And the fun didn't stop there: the mountain of gifts provided many minutes of sheer delight.
And even though she had just personally watched her mom enter with the lighted cupcakes and heard us sing "Happy birthday," viewing it on her dad's iPhone again was just too good to pass up-- "I see!"
It's fascinating to observe her behavior that's unrelated to technology too: "owies" are healed by a kiss, an exhaustion-induced crying fit is soothed by a hug and a song (even by her aunt!), and the moments when her love is apparently just over-flowing, a run-into-your-legs-super-hug is just the thing to express it. I admire the simplicity and purity of her emotions. She's sad or clingy or scared or proud for a time and when the situation changes--the plane has passed, the new, exciting contraption called a toilet has been flushed, etc--she is back to her happy norm. She is, of course, beginning the typical human behavior of selfishness: "mine" is a frequently shouted word. Sometimes she correctly applies it: when she's eating and her daddy teasingly reaches for a strawberry, for example. But really, Kathryn, that entire playground cannot be yours, let the little boy step on the play structure too.
I've seen her sprint about screaming with delight and then be still and calm, cheerfully panting for breath. She doesn't have the typical anxiety so unfortunately common in adults. It seems small children like her can be perfectly at peace when they have the blessing of loving parents. The confidence she has in her own astounds me--I watch her fly about in her dad's arms or sit on high shelves or pet a hissing cat without a care as I await the worst, tense and fearful. She entirely trusts her mother and father.
So this is what faith like a child looks like. I'm glad to be reminded.
Well, for Kathryn, that habit has already developed. She smiles for cameras, acts when she's on video, and then promptly asks "I see? I see!"
On her second birthday, at just few minutes into the day with "afrackers" to munch, she's ready with an endearing, sleepy grin for the camera.
That evening, she devoured a scrumptious cupcake and then stuck her fingers in four more merely to eat the frosting and fun sprinkles. Of course it was all captured on camera. And the fun didn't stop there: the mountain of gifts provided many minutes of sheer delight.
And even though she had just personally watched her mom enter with the lighted cupcakes and heard us sing "Happy birthday," viewing it on her dad's iPhone again was just too good to pass up-- "I see!"
It's fascinating to observe her behavior that's unrelated to technology too: "owies" are healed by a kiss, an exhaustion-induced crying fit is soothed by a hug and a song (even by her aunt!), and the moments when her love is apparently just over-flowing, a run-into-your-legs-super-hug is just the thing to express it. I admire the simplicity and purity of her emotions. She's sad or clingy or scared or proud for a time and when the situation changes--the plane has passed, the new, exciting contraption called a toilet has been flushed, etc--she is back to her happy norm. She is, of course, beginning the typical human behavior of selfishness: "mine" is a frequently shouted word. Sometimes she correctly applies it: when she's eating and her daddy teasingly reaches for a strawberry, for example. But really, Kathryn, that entire playground cannot be yours, let the little boy step on the play structure too.
I've seen her sprint about screaming with delight and then be still and calm, cheerfully panting for breath. She doesn't have the typical anxiety so unfortunately common in adults. It seems small children like her can be perfectly at peace when they have the blessing of loving parents. The confidence she has in her own astounds me--I watch her fly about in her dad's arms or sit on high shelves or pet a hissing cat without a care as I await the worst, tense and fearful. She entirely trusts her mother and father.
So this is what faith like a child looks like. I'm glad to be reminded.
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 20, 2011
Time is not on my side
I'm not sure that I've yet adjusted to being back in the States (though really I should be by now). Yesterday I woke up at 5 AM after a mere four hours of sleep. I knew I needed more but my body resisted; the thing hates me, I swear. Today, I slept in a whopping six hours later than that and rolled out of bed at quarter to 11. Yesterday I dragged Raleigh to the beach for a romantic sunrise stroll and today, he had to wait for me to actually wake up before I took him for a run.
My memory also has a mind of its own--for lack of a better expression--forgetting and recalling things on a whim, generally leaving the important things for me to remember too late. My brother and his girlfriend were up visiting and I had planned to go to our grandparent's camp with them for just one night. At eleven-thirty on said night, I slapped my forehead in dismay--I had entirely forgotten! He mercifully pardoned me the next day with a chuckle and a roll of the eyes, "Oh, Boogs." (That is my family nickname--maybe I will explain it to you one day. It certainly is better than what he used to call me: Chubbers. And with his speech impediment it was more like Chubbews. Good times.)
Anyway, I've been rapidly cleaning my room (and house and dog and and car, too) and while glancing about my closet on Tuesday, I saw a stack of my yearbooks. The outer binding listed the title and the publication number: in this case they were numbers 96, 97, 98 and 99. I confess that I literally muttered out loud to myself, "I was in high school in the nineties?..." Moments later I recalled that, no, in fact not only did I graduate in 2008, in '96 I was six years old. I have no excuse for myself, it's just too ridiculous--but wait, there's more:
On Wednesday I flew to Minneapolis! That was so much fun, but the funny story of my absurdity occurs the day before:
It was Tuesday evening and I was sitting at my computer doing who knows what. I did not know that I had never changed my calendar application back to EST time; it was still in Europe/Zurich time. Therefore, in the evening on Tuesday, my calendar told me it was already Wednesday. Now, I had been planning to visit two of my best friends in Minneapolis on Wednesday in the late afternoon. I did a double-take, and I saw that it was already Wednesday! What a shame! I had so wanted to go. I put my head down on my desk in disappointment. It literally took me a few minutes to convince myself that something was amiss. You can imagine the thrill of gaining an entire day of time and the opportunity to see the friends I thought I had missed! I corrected the time zone and was very glad.
While these are rather hilarious, they concern me: I am determined to think better and more clearly, speak more slowly and live purposefully. These moments become funny stories, but I don't want to find a few months of time gone with my life zooming by crazily like this.
1 Peter 4:7 says "The end of all things is near; therefore, be of sound judgment and sober spirit for the purpose of prayer."
I find that being of sound judgment and sober spirit is good not only for prayer, but practically useful too, and even relationally. First, I am not going to haphazardly speak with the Lord. Second, I don't want to do things poorly: I'd like to fold the laundry well or wash the dishes until they gleam, or get an A on that essay (but who am I kidding, at Hillsdale, we hope for B's or C's). There's no reason not to strive to do things well, and every reason to actually do so: do all things to the glory of God. And third, in relationships with friends, family and the rest of the world, having good judgement is essential.
It is great to think rationally in all areas, accompanied by our natural emotions. I think the two working together won't generally lead us astray. And love, both as a decision and an emotion, is of course the substance of any good relationship and a source of joy. There are times though, when for any variety of reasons, that I find the natural emotion of love stifled and practically smothered--then I have to become mechanical about love, a robot going through the motions. Doesn't that sound terrible? It isn't really. As soon as I decide to do that, real love replaces my right decision to love. And, voila! Does that make it sound too simple or too stupid or too fake? It's hard to communicate. I just want to follow Jesus Christ's teaching to love my neighbors and even my enemies. No one escapes my responsibility of love. Therefore I must choose to love them. So, this choice and others require sound judgement and a calm, gentle spirit. I don't want to slap my forehead at the end of my life realizing I've forgotten to love some people.
I'm graduating college in nine months, and for goodness' sake, I want to finish well and glean every bit of knowledge and chance to grow that I discover at school. After that, it's off to new adventures!
My memory also has a mind of its own--for lack of a better expression--forgetting and recalling things on a whim, generally leaving the important things for me to remember too late. My brother and his girlfriend were up visiting and I had planned to go to our grandparent's camp with them for just one night. At eleven-thirty on said night, I slapped my forehead in dismay--I had entirely forgotten! He mercifully pardoned me the next day with a chuckle and a roll of the eyes, "Oh, Boogs." (That is my family nickname--maybe I will explain it to you one day. It certainly is better than what he used to call me: Chubbers. And with his speech impediment it was more like Chubbews. Good times.)
Anyway, I've been rapidly cleaning my room (and house and dog and and car, too) and while glancing about my closet on Tuesday, I saw a stack of my yearbooks. The outer binding listed the title and the publication number: in this case they were numbers 96, 97, 98 and 99. I confess that I literally muttered out loud to myself, "I was in high school in the nineties?..." Moments later I recalled that, no, in fact not only did I graduate in 2008, in '96 I was six years old. I have no excuse for myself, it's just too ridiculous--but wait, there's more:
 |
| Time flies and I pretend to. |
It was Tuesday evening and I was sitting at my computer doing who knows what. I did not know that I had never changed my calendar application back to EST time; it was still in Europe/Zurich time. Therefore, in the evening on Tuesday, my calendar told me it was already Wednesday. Now, I had been planning to visit two of my best friends in Minneapolis on Wednesday in the late afternoon. I did a double-take, and I saw that it was already Wednesday! What a shame! I had so wanted to go. I put my head down on my desk in disappointment. It literally took me a few minutes to convince myself that something was amiss. You can imagine the thrill of gaining an entire day of time and the opportunity to see the friends I thought I had missed! I corrected the time zone and was very glad.
While these are rather hilarious, they concern me: I am determined to think better and more clearly, speak more slowly and live purposefully. These moments become funny stories, but I don't want to find a few months of time gone with my life zooming by crazily like this.
1 Peter 4:7 says "The end of all things is near; therefore, be of sound judgment and sober spirit for the purpose of prayer."
I find that being of sound judgment and sober spirit is good not only for prayer, but practically useful too, and even relationally. First, I am not going to haphazardly speak with the Lord. Second, I don't want to do things poorly: I'd like to fold the laundry well or wash the dishes until they gleam, or get an A on that essay (but who am I kidding, at Hillsdale, we hope for B's or C's). There's no reason not to strive to do things well, and every reason to actually do so: do all things to the glory of God. And third, in relationships with friends, family and the rest of the world, having good judgement is essential.
It is great to think rationally in all areas, accompanied by our natural emotions. I think the two working together won't generally lead us astray. And love, both as a decision and an emotion, is of course the substance of any good relationship and a source of joy. There are times though, when for any variety of reasons, that I find the natural emotion of love stifled and practically smothered--then I have to become mechanical about love, a robot going through the motions. Doesn't that sound terrible? It isn't really. As soon as I decide to do that, real love replaces my right decision to love. And, voila! Does that make it sound too simple or too stupid or too fake? It's hard to communicate. I just want to follow Jesus Christ's teaching to love my neighbors and even my enemies. No one escapes my responsibility of love. Therefore I must choose to love them. So, this choice and others require sound judgement and a calm, gentle spirit. I don't want to slap my forehead at the end of my life realizing I've forgotten to love some people.
I'm graduating college in nine months, and for goodness' sake, I want to finish well and glean every bit of knowledge and chance to grow that I discover at school. After that, it's off to new adventures!
Aug 18, 2011
Come smoke the peace pipe with us
We've built an amazing teepee at my friend's house. And when I say we built it, I mean we really built it. Last fall we chopped down trees, we dragged them to our selected plot of grass, we hoisted them into the air after lashing them together, we somehow managed to get the canvas (5 painter's canvases stitched together) around the whole thing. And now, the real fun begins.
When I am inside it, I am at peace with the world. Relaxing in there with friends gathered around the fire gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "sitting Indian-style."
And this friend of mine is an excellent photographer, check out her stuff here.
She snapped this one too. Not only do I sit Indian-style, I dance Indian-style:
When I am inside it, I am at peace with the world. Relaxing in there with friends gathered around the fire gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "sitting Indian-style."
And this friend of mine is an excellent photographer, check out her stuff here.
She snapped this one too. Not only do I sit Indian-style, I dance Indian-style:
Aug 15, 2011
A few more photos!
 | |
| Awaiting a bus in Sevilla |
Everyone laughed at my disposable camera. I think some of the photos turned out okay!
...but yes, it really was ridiculous. That's what I get for losing not one, but two, cameras in Spain. That's what you call despistada.
See the conglomeration of photos from sketchy Lisbon, the beach in Cádiz and the last photo from a hiking trail in Marquette here.
Aug 14, 2011
Caramba! El tiempo vuela!
Within a matter of few days, everyone is leaving! Well, not everyone, but lots of dear people. I'm in the process of saying goodbye to all sorts of friends and today at church I was informing everyone, including my family, that I'm leaving next week for Hillsdale. False.
I have two weeks left at home.
I knew I had to be down at the 'dale on the 28th but the mathematical truth of the distance between today's date and then didn't dawn on me until this instant. I have two weeks! Two weeks!
In that time, I hope to perfect the teepee, recall what little remains of my German vocabulary (or else I will be speaking Spanish in die Deutsch Kurs), work on getting my TEFL certificate and enjoying the waning days of fall in the Upper Peninsula, among other things.
My "little" sister is heading to college--tomorrow! It's unbelievable. I remember calling her my 'little sister' just to annoy her, but I can say, thankfully, that it's been a few years since I tacked on that adjective. The three-year difference between us is shrinking by the day, it seems. Time is an unusual concept: it seems its own entity sometimes.
(And guess what, we're not actually three years apart! We're two years and 9.2 months apart, or something like that. I just enjoyed saying I was three years older, back in the days of my youth. I'm certainly over silly things like that now...)
So, I am still in shock: I have an entire week extra! I feel like I just won something. But in reality, it's time to do work and be a functional, hard-working human being before I get bogged down with schoolwork. And, time is always a gift!
"Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil. So then do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is." That's from Ephesians 5. It's been on my mind lately: I like the exhortation to make the most of our time and to understand the will of God. I've been pondering that lately, as I enter my senior (senior!) year at Hillsdale. I just keep seeking His will and trusting. What more can I do? Worry is sin, so I shan't do it. Or at least that's my intention, but I am human.
Speaking of making the most of your time, as I was playing catch with my dad today, I was scolding him (which is a terrible habit of mine) about his multi-tasking. I am convinced that multi-tasking is just a hyperbole for doing multiple things poorly at the same time. If we are going to do something, let's do it well! Play well; rest well; eat well; sing well; speak well, etc. That's why I don't do homework on Sundays at school. It is perfectly doable! The majority of students seem to be doubters, but I disagree with the standard homework-everyday-all-day mentality. If we do our work well during the week, we can rest well on Sunday and catch up with our families, or do whatever we'd like. But if we want to rest well, we have to work well.
Studying with people doesn't really work. Yes, if you want to study with that guy you really like, go "study" with him and sooner or later, you'll probably be Hillsdating. If you want to "study" with your friends for your history class, go do it--just don't be ignorant of the fact that you're probably not studying as efficiently as you would alone. And by probably, I mean, you're not.
(Is this a founded judgement? I think so. This series of statements also seems to contradict my Myers-Briggs personality test results. They say I'm a perceiver and I think I am. Perhaps I might just be both 100% perceiving and judging. It's totes possible, right? I'm equally extroverted and introverted too...and as per usual, I find myself side-tracked in my thoughts.)
I think my stream of consciousness would confuse and frighten most people. Therefore, I will press "Publish" now and end this. It's time to go set up the teepee again!
I have two weeks left at home.
I knew I had to be down at the 'dale on the 28th but the mathematical truth of the distance between today's date and then didn't dawn on me until this instant. I have two weeks! Two weeks!
In that time, I hope to perfect the teepee, recall what little remains of my German vocabulary (or else I will be speaking Spanish in die Deutsch Kurs), work on getting my TEFL certificate and enjoying the waning days of fall in the Upper Peninsula, among other things.
My "little" sister is heading to college--tomorrow! It's unbelievable. I remember calling her my 'little sister' just to annoy her, but I can say, thankfully, that it's been a few years since I tacked on that adjective. The three-year difference between us is shrinking by the day, it seems. Time is an unusual concept: it seems its own entity sometimes.
(And guess what, we're not actually three years apart! We're two years and 9.2 months apart, or something like that. I just enjoyed saying I was three years older, back in the days of my youth. I'm certainly over silly things like that now...)
So, I am still in shock: I have an entire week extra! I feel like I just won something. But in reality, it's time to do work and be a functional, hard-working human being before I get bogged down with schoolwork. And, time is always a gift!
"Therefore be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil. So then do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is." That's from Ephesians 5. It's been on my mind lately: I like the exhortation to make the most of our time and to understand the will of God. I've been pondering that lately, as I enter my senior (senior!) year at Hillsdale. I just keep seeking His will and trusting. What more can I do? Worry is sin, so I shan't do it. Or at least that's my intention, but I am human.
Speaking of making the most of your time, as I was playing catch with my dad today, I was scolding him (which is a terrible habit of mine) about his multi-tasking. I am convinced that multi-tasking is just a hyperbole for doing multiple things poorly at the same time. If we are going to do something, let's do it well! Play well; rest well; eat well; sing well; speak well, etc. That's why I don't do homework on Sundays at school. It is perfectly doable! The majority of students seem to be doubters, but I disagree with the standard homework-everyday-all-day mentality. If we do our work well during the week, we can rest well on Sunday and catch up with our families, or do whatever we'd like. But if we want to rest well, we have to work well.
Studying with people doesn't really work. Yes, if you want to study with that guy you really like, go "study" with him and sooner or later, you'll probably be Hillsdating. If you want to "study" with your friends for your history class, go do it--just don't be ignorant of the fact that you're probably not studying as efficiently as you would alone. And by probably, I mean, you're not.
(Is this a founded judgement? I think so. This series of statements also seems to contradict my Myers-Briggs personality test results. They say I'm a perceiver and I think I am. Perhaps I might just be both 100% perceiving and judging. It's totes possible, right? I'm equally extroverted and introverted too...and as per usual, I find myself side-tracked in my thoughts.)
I think my stream of consciousness would confuse and frighten most people. Therefore, I will press "Publish" now and end this. It's time to go set up the teepee again!
Aug 8, 2011
Clean teeth and tribal habits
I went to the dentist today. As I was reclining in the seat with the too-small sunglasses pressing against my face I was thinking about how very American it felt. I also recalled an anthropological article I read regarding a tribe with very laborious oral hygiene. It's fairly amusing and enlightening:
BODY RITUAL AMONG THE NACIREMA
Revised from “Body Ritual Among the Nacirema” by Horace Miner, American Anthropologist Magazine 58(3), 1956, pp. 503–7
The ritual of the Nacirema was first brought to the attention of anthropologists twenty years ago, but
the culture of this people is still very poorly understood. They are a North American group living in the territory between the Canadian Cree, the Yaqui and Tarahumara of Mexico, and the Carib and Arawak of the Antilles. Little is known of their origin, although tradition states that they came from the east. Nacirema culture is characterized by a highly developed market economy, which has evolved in a rich natural habitat. While much of the people’s time is devoted to economic pursuits, a considerable portion of their day is spent in ritual activity. The focus of this activity is the human body, the appearance and health of which appear as a major concern in the people’s belief. While such a concern is certainly not unusual, its ceremonial aspects and associated philosophy are unique.
The main belief underlying this ritual activity appears to be that the human body is ugly and that its natural tendency is to weakness and disease. Captive in such a body, man’s only hope to avert these characteristics is through the use of ritual and ceremony. Every household has one or more shrines devoted to this purpose. The more powerful individuals in the society have several shrines in
their houses and, in fact, the grandeur of a house is often referred to in terms of the number of such ritual centers it possesses.
The focal point of the shrine is a box or chest, which is built into the wall. In this chest are kept the many charms and magical potions without which no native believes he or she could live. These preparations are obtained from a variety of specialized practitioners. The most powerful of these are the medicine men, whose help must be rewarded with large gifts. However, the medicine men do not provide the potions for their clients, but decide what the ingredients should be and then write them down in an ancient and secret language. This writing is understood only by the medicine men and by the herbalists who, for another gift, provide the required charm.
Beneath the charm-box is a small font. Each day every member of the family enters the shrine room, bows his or her head before the charm-box, mingles different sorts of holy water in the font, and proceeds with a brief rite of cleansing. The holy waters are secured from the Water Temple of the community, where the priests conduct elaborate ceremonies to make the liquid ritually pure.
The medicine men have an imposing temple, or latipso, in every community of any size. The more elaborate ceremonies required to treat very sick patients can only be performed at this temple. These ceremonies involve not only the miracle-worker, but also a group of assistants who move quietly about the temple chambers in distinctive costume and headdress. The latipso ceremonies are so harsh that a fair proportion of the really sick natives who enter the temple never recover. Despite this fact, sick adults are not only willing, but eager to undergo the long and drawn-out ritual purification, if they can afford to do so. No matter how ill or how grave the emergency, the guardians of many temples will not admit a client if he or she cannot offer a rich gift.
The Nacirema have an unrealistic horror of and fascination with the mouth, the condition of which is believed to have a supernatural influence on all social relationships. Were it not for the rituals of the mouth, they believe that their teeth would fall out, their gums bleed, their jaws shrink, and their friends desert them. They also believe that there is a strong relationship between oral and moral characteristics. For example, there is a ritual cleansing of the mouth for children, which is supposed to improve their moral character.
The daily body ritual includes a mouth-rite. This rite involves a practice which strikes the unfamiliar stranger as revolting. It was reported to me that the ritual consists of inserting a small bundle of hog hairs into the mouth, along with certain magical pastes, and then moving the bundle in a highly formalized series of gestures.
In addition to the private mouth-rite, the people seek out a holy-mouth-man once or twice a year. These practitioners have an impressive set of tools, consisting of a variety of augers, awls, probes, and prods. The use of these items in removing the evils of the mouth involves almost unbelievable ritual torture of the client. The holy mouth-man opens the client’s mouth and, using the above-mentioned tools, enlarges any holes which decay may have created in the teeth. Magical materials are put into these holes. If there are no naturally occurring holes in the teeth, large sections of one or more teeth are gouged out so that the supernatural substance can be applied. In the Nacirema’s view, the purpose of these religious functions is to arrest decay and to draw friends.
Our review of the ritual life of the Nacirema has certainly shown them to be a magic-ridden people. It is hard to understand how they have managed to exist so long under the burdens which they have imposed upon themselves.
...Got it? That's us, people. It's really interesting to see the perspective from someone who writes as if he has no knowledge of the basic tools we use for daily activities, such as brushing our teeth. If only we could all observe our culture objectively. Really, we could begin by seeing each of ourselves clearly. Why do I do what I do? Motives are important. We need to know what they are before we can determine if they're good or not. There's always a reason.
BODY RITUAL AMONG THE NACIREMA
Revised from “Body Ritual Among the Nacirema” by Horace Miner, American Anthropologist Magazine 58(3), 1956, pp. 503–7
The ritual of the Nacirema was first brought to the attention of anthropologists twenty years ago, but
the culture of this people is still very poorly understood. They are a North American group living in the territory between the Canadian Cree, the Yaqui and Tarahumara of Mexico, and the Carib and Arawak of the Antilles. Little is known of their origin, although tradition states that they came from the east. Nacirema culture is characterized by a highly developed market economy, which has evolved in a rich natural habitat. While much of the people’s time is devoted to economic pursuits, a considerable portion of their day is spent in ritual activity. The focus of this activity is the human body, the appearance and health of which appear as a major concern in the people’s belief. While such a concern is certainly not unusual, its ceremonial aspects and associated philosophy are unique.
The main belief underlying this ritual activity appears to be that the human body is ugly and that its natural tendency is to weakness and disease. Captive in such a body, man’s only hope to avert these characteristics is through the use of ritual and ceremony. Every household has one or more shrines devoted to this purpose. The more powerful individuals in the society have several shrines in
their houses and, in fact, the grandeur of a house is often referred to in terms of the number of such ritual centers it possesses.
The focal point of the shrine is a box or chest, which is built into the wall. In this chest are kept the many charms and magical potions without which no native believes he or she could live. These preparations are obtained from a variety of specialized practitioners. The most powerful of these are the medicine men, whose help must be rewarded with large gifts. However, the medicine men do not provide the potions for their clients, but decide what the ingredients should be and then write them down in an ancient and secret language. This writing is understood only by the medicine men and by the herbalists who, for another gift, provide the required charm.
Beneath the charm-box is a small font. Each day every member of the family enters the shrine room, bows his or her head before the charm-box, mingles different sorts of holy water in the font, and proceeds with a brief rite of cleansing. The holy waters are secured from the Water Temple of the community, where the priests conduct elaborate ceremonies to make the liquid ritually pure.
The medicine men have an imposing temple, or latipso, in every community of any size. The more elaborate ceremonies required to treat very sick patients can only be performed at this temple. These ceremonies involve not only the miracle-worker, but also a group of assistants who move quietly about the temple chambers in distinctive costume and headdress. The latipso ceremonies are so harsh that a fair proportion of the really sick natives who enter the temple never recover. Despite this fact, sick adults are not only willing, but eager to undergo the long and drawn-out ritual purification, if they can afford to do so. No matter how ill or how grave the emergency, the guardians of many temples will not admit a client if he or she cannot offer a rich gift.
The Nacirema have an unrealistic horror of and fascination with the mouth, the condition of which is believed to have a supernatural influence on all social relationships. Were it not for the rituals of the mouth, they believe that their teeth would fall out, their gums bleed, their jaws shrink, and their friends desert them. They also believe that there is a strong relationship between oral and moral characteristics. For example, there is a ritual cleansing of the mouth for children, which is supposed to improve their moral character.
The daily body ritual includes a mouth-rite. This rite involves a practice which strikes the unfamiliar stranger as revolting. It was reported to me that the ritual consists of inserting a small bundle of hog hairs into the mouth, along with certain magical pastes, and then moving the bundle in a highly formalized series of gestures.
In addition to the private mouth-rite, the people seek out a holy-mouth-man once or twice a year. These practitioners have an impressive set of tools, consisting of a variety of augers, awls, probes, and prods. The use of these items in removing the evils of the mouth involves almost unbelievable ritual torture of the client. The holy mouth-man opens the client’s mouth and, using the above-mentioned tools, enlarges any holes which decay may have created in the teeth. Magical materials are put into these holes. If there are no naturally occurring holes in the teeth, large sections of one or more teeth are gouged out so that the supernatural substance can be applied. In the Nacirema’s view, the purpose of these religious functions is to arrest decay and to draw friends.
Our review of the ritual life of the Nacirema has certainly shown them to be a magic-ridden people. It is hard to understand how they have managed to exist so long under the burdens which they have imposed upon themselves.
...Got it? That's us, people. It's really interesting to see the perspective from someone who writes as if he has no knowledge of the basic tools we use for daily activities, such as brushing our teeth. If only we could all observe our culture objectively. Really, we could begin by seeing each of ourselves clearly. Why do I do what I do? Motives are important. We need to know what they are before we can determine if they're good or not. There's always a reason.
Aug 5, 2011
Sevilla
The evenings here are fragrant, warm and black.
The fan's monotony on the stillness
A dull lullaby to calm my burnt back.
Aloe vera soothing--drying--cool bliss!
The mirror in muted light holds me: bronzed
(I easily forgive its dishonesty)
Lying, awaiting some sleep before dawn
The thick dark heat blankets, hushing the leaves.
The quiet is broken, an instant--now
A soft thud the sole rebellious sound
The tell-tale fragrance drifts through the window
An orange has fallen down to the ground.
Its sweet, strong odor escaping the rind
Filling moments that pass, marking the time.
On a night just like the above, I really was confused by the sound and then the scent of an orange alerted me to what actually happened. It made me smile. And then, in my sleeplessness, I started jotting down the poem. It's mediocre but at least it kind of captures the moments of an average night in southern Spain.
The fan's monotony on the stillness
A dull lullaby to calm my burnt back.
Aloe vera soothing--drying--cool bliss!
The mirror in muted light holds me: bronzed
(I easily forgive its dishonesty)
Lying, awaiting some sleep before dawn
The thick dark heat blankets, hushing the leaves.
The quiet is broken, an instant--now
A soft thud the sole rebellious sound
The tell-tale fragrance drifts through the window
An orange has fallen down to the ground.
Its sweet, strong odor escaping the rind
Filling moments that pass, marking the time.
On a night just like the above, I really was confused by the sound and then the scent of an orange alerted me to what actually happened. It made me smile. And then, in my sleeplessness, I started jotting down the poem. It's mediocre but at least it kind of captures the moments of an average night in southern Spain.
Adjusting to change, and counting it
Yesterday I had a delicious lunch at Border Grill with a dear friend, at a time wonderfully Spanish-lunch-late in the day: at 15:45. (That's 3:45 PM. It's just more precise and efficient this way. That's one of the few things more efficient outside the States..oh, not the mention the metric system. Anyway.) To pay, I had to remember that a) the price one must pay always exceeds the listed price on the menu--why on earth do we do that here? and b) the value of American coins. Well, a I remembered, but b? Nope. The price was $6.36 and I fumbled through my quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies, trying to recall what they were worth. What an odd price! Why not just charge six dollars?
Well, I gave him the wrong amount of change, cringing as I handed it to him, just barely clinging to the slightest hope that it was actually worth the right amount. It wasn't; he looked at me like I was silly and handed back the nickel, waited for the dime; my friend explained "She's been in Spain..." as I am too busy laughing to think even sort of clearly any longer. When it finally was paid for and arrived at the table, the tostada salad sure was scrumptious.
I also went to Starbucks yesterday to meet up with some friends. I came late--feeling the tug of American and Spanish sentiments on my way there. Will they be annoyed? Should I just chill out? I couldn't get there any quicker, so I relaxed and showed up a bit late. I got myself a drink and most of them had finished theirs or nearly were done. When everyone was ready to leave and got up before I was done, it was the rude awaking to the fact that I am not in Spain anymore. We don't have all the time in the world to sit and chat and eat and drink with friends. So, I begged them five more minutes to stay so I could enjoy my drink in peace. Then I got up and left anyway--feeling like I was slowing them down--slurping the vanilla bean frap as I walked, blessing the memory of Spain in my mind.
That's just life. Over there, there was oh-so-many a time I longed for American culture. For just one moment of solitude, for example... But, I won't change Spain and I won't change America. I can only change me.
Well, I gave him the wrong amount of change, cringing as I handed it to him, just barely clinging to the slightest hope that it was actually worth the right amount. It wasn't; he looked at me like I was silly and handed back the nickel, waited for the dime; my friend explained "She's been in Spain..." as I am too busy laughing to think even sort of clearly any longer. When it finally was paid for and arrived at the table, the tostada salad sure was scrumptious.
I also went to Starbucks yesterday to meet up with some friends. I came late--feeling the tug of American and Spanish sentiments on my way there. Will they be annoyed? Should I just chill out? I couldn't get there any quicker, so I relaxed and showed up a bit late. I got myself a drink and most of them had finished theirs or nearly were done. When everyone was ready to leave and got up before I was done, it was the rude awaking to the fact that I am not in Spain anymore. We don't have all the time in the world to sit and chat and eat and drink with friends. So, I begged them five more minutes to stay so I could enjoy my drink in peace. Then I got up and left anyway--feeling like I was slowing them down--slurping the vanilla bean frap as I walked, blessing the memory of Spain in my mind.
That's just life. Over there, there was oh-so-many a time I longed for American culture. For just one moment of solitude, for example... But, I won't change Spain and I won't change America. I can only change me.
Aug 4, 2011
Hebrews 13:12-17
Therefore Jesus also, that He might sanctify the people through His own blood, suffered outside the gate. So, let us go out to Him outside the camp, bearing His reproach.
For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come.
Through Him then, let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that give thanks to His name. And do not neglect doing good and sharing, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.
For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come.
Through Him then, let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that give thanks to His name. And do not neglect doing good and sharing, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.
Back to America, back to a home blog
http://jcu.tumblr.com/
That was my home blog. But I'm switching to blogspot.com
That was my home blog. But I'm switching to blogspot.com
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