Ha. That was corny. But it's the title of this post because that's pretty much all that's going on with me now. My brain has one gear: home. homehomehomehomehomehomehomehomehomehome.
One full year is far too long to be away. I don't know how we've managed.
But we don't have to manage much longer. Friday night (early Saturday actually) we're off. The first flight is to Brussels and then to Chicago from there, where we have to wait 8 HOURS for our final flight home.
I did a little problem-solving and found out that we can use the pool and showers at the O'Hare Hilton for 5 bucks. After 36 hours of flying, that's exactly what we'll do.
Then beers.
Then HOME! AH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't wait. I'm bursting!
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
back
I've just spent the past week on the west coast of India. Brad and I went to Goa on Friday, spent a few fun hours at the Shore Bar, then flew back on Sunday. Monday I woke up, turned around, and took 42 kids to Kerala for their week without walls trip.
As you can imagine, that was exhausting.
I can't slap up pictures of the trip here, but I can say that these 8th graders are a great group of kids. So fun and funny, polite and eager to learn. It was nice for the teachers to be able to spend a week getting to know them and their quirky little selves.
It was a good time, but it is also so, so good to be home.
As you can imagine, that was exhausting.
I can't slap up pictures of the trip here, but I can say that these 8th graders are a great group of kids. So fun and funny, polite and eager to learn. It was nice for the teachers to be able to spend a week getting to know them and their quirky little selves.
It was a good time, but it is also so, so good to be home.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
a Thanksgiving announcement
I'm about as grumpy as I can be about having to work on Thanksgiving. And by work, I don't mean teaching funny little 8th graders, I mean spending a whole day in meetings with other grumpy adults.
I need a special emoticon for this feeling. One that can express rage, annoyance and homesickness. Something like
/:(
No, that's not doing it.
Anyway, on this day of thanks I am thankful for the opportunity to break my own rules and announce something that I am not 100% certain of, but because I am about 99.9% certain, I will now say:
WE ARE MOVING BACK TO IOWA!
Give thanks.
The plan now is to move to Cedar Falls, where I will start my master's degree in school psychology and Brad will finish his master's degree in administration.
This is possibly bad news for the blog itself. Probably no one wants to read, Dollar Thousandaires, the story of two Iowans, living in Iowa. But as the picture of what our lives will be starts to form, I am thinking things could be interesting. One thing is for sure: We will be broke. Brad's plan to counteract this is to live in married student housing, which he points out will be conveniently placed on the bus route.
Whatever the case, our lives are going to drastically change. No more weekend trips to the beach. No more months-long vacations through Asia. Slowly, this is sinking in and I am coming to terms with how our lives will be. I picture it a little like this:
At the laundromat, I'll be folding a fraying and faded blouse. I'll turn to the woman standing next to me. "I used to have a maid," I'll say. "Cleaned the house floor to ceiling five days a week."
"What is it," she'll think, "with laundromats and lunatics? And why do they always bother me?"
Each morning I'll climb on to the bus, flopping down in a seat, dragging my belongings behind me. "I used to have a driver," I'll say to my seatmate, who is fixedly gazing out the window.
"Oh?" she'll ask, being, as always, politely Midwestern.
"Of course he had a terrible odor problem, but he took us where we needed to go, 24 hours a day, 6 days a week, we had a private chauffer at our beck and call.
Guests will come on Saturday to our rooms in the student housing complex. There, our silk rugs will be doing a poor job of hiding the abuse the carpet underneath has taken. Red Bull and cigarette stains will peek out of every corner. "We used to have a house made of marble," I'll say. "In a land where the sun shined every day."
I need a special emoticon for this feeling. One that can express rage, annoyance and homesickness. Something like
/:(
No, that's not doing it.
Anyway, on this day of thanks I am thankful for the opportunity to break my own rules and announce something that I am not 100% certain of, but because I am about 99.9% certain, I will now say:
WE ARE MOVING BACK TO IOWA!
Give thanks.
The plan now is to move to Cedar Falls, where I will start my master's degree in school psychology and Brad will finish his master's degree in administration.
This is possibly bad news for the blog itself. Probably no one wants to read, Dollar Thousandaires, the story of two Iowans, living in Iowa. But as the picture of what our lives will be starts to form, I am thinking things could be interesting. One thing is for sure: We will be broke. Brad's plan to counteract this is to live in married student housing, which he points out will be conveniently placed on the bus route.
Whatever the case, our lives are going to drastically change. No more weekend trips to the beach. No more months-long vacations through Asia. Slowly, this is sinking in and I am coming to terms with how our lives will be. I picture it a little like this:
At the laundromat, I'll be folding a fraying and faded blouse. I'll turn to the woman standing next to me. "I used to have a maid," I'll say. "Cleaned the house floor to ceiling five days a week."
"What is it," she'll think, "with laundromats and lunatics? And why do they always bother me?"
Each morning I'll climb on to the bus, flopping down in a seat, dragging my belongings behind me. "I used to have a driver," I'll say to my seatmate, who is fixedly gazing out the window.
"Oh?" she'll ask, being, as always, politely Midwestern.
"Of course he had a terrible odor problem, but he took us where we needed to go, 24 hours a day, 6 days a week, we had a private chauffer at our beck and call.
Guests will come on Saturday to our rooms in the student housing complex. There, our silk rugs will be doing a poor job of hiding the abuse the carpet underneath has taken. Red Bull and cigarette stains will peek out of every corner. "We used to have a house made of marble," I'll say. "In a land where the sun shined every day."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
far and away
Brad and I are getting excited about finally coming home for Christmas. This is by far the longest I’ve ever been away from home and lately I’ve begun to realize just how much the time and distance have changed me.
A few examples:
1. Sometimes when I watch British or American TV shows I think, “Is this set in the future?” Only to realize that it’s not.
Brad and I are well aware that we are behind the times. Our fashions are four years old and technology has left us in the dust. When we first left the US to teach in Barranquilla, I didn’t know a single person who owned an Iphone.
2. I will always be afraid of tap water.
You can tell me it’s safe, you can show me the studies, you can drink a glass right in front of me, but I will always be just a little bit afraid of drinking straight from the tap. I’ve had one too many bad experiences for that.
3. Grocery stores are mind-boggling.
There’s a scene in the movie Hurt Locker where the main character comes home from Iraq and stands befuddled in the cereal aisle. Any person that’s lived abroad anywhere can sympathize. Even coming home from Spain made me stand, open-mouthed, almost drooling, during my first trip to Dahl’s. But in Spain there were at least nice, if tiny, grocery stores, full of lots of delicious food. Here, our grocery store has four aisles, which are maybe, MAYBE six feet long and only chest-high. Most of the food is foreign to me and the grocery store has a terrible odor that lingers on the boxes and cans even after we take them home. At the checkout, we stand at a counter and have to play a game of push and shove in order to maintain our place in line.
4. My daily routines are all mixed-up.
To be more specific, I haven‘t driven a car in almost a year. Or done laundry. Or hugged my mom and dad. But every day I ride past cows on the road, and people squatting in ditches, and motorcycles carrying up to five people. And I don’t even look twice (especially at the squatters).
Because of these things, and a few more, I have a feeling that home might feel a bit strange, but in the nicest possible way. I’m looking forward to seeing it with fresh eyes. But I’m a little worried about fitting in, really I am. So, if I shove you in line at the grocery store, don't be MAD, just turn around and give me a hug to remind me where I am.
A few examples:
1. Sometimes when I watch British or American TV shows I think, “Is this set in the future?” Only to realize that it’s not.
Brad and I are well aware that we are behind the times. Our fashions are four years old and technology has left us in the dust. When we first left the US to teach in Barranquilla, I didn’t know a single person who owned an Iphone.
2. I will always be afraid of tap water.
You can tell me it’s safe, you can show me the studies, you can drink a glass right in front of me, but I will always be just a little bit afraid of drinking straight from the tap. I’ve had one too many bad experiences for that.
3. Grocery stores are mind-boggling.
There’s a scene in the movie Hurt Locker where the main character comes home from Iraq and stands befuddled in the cereal aisle. Any person that’s lived abroad anywhere can sympathize. Even coming home from Spain made me stand, open-mouthed, almost drooling, during my first trip to Dahl’s. But in Spain there were at least nice, if tiny, grocery stores, full of lots of delicious food. Here, our grocery store has four aisles, which are maybe, MAYBE six feet long and only chest-high. Most of the food is foreign to me and the grocery store has a terrible odor that lingers on the boxes and cans even after we take them home. At the checkout, we stand at a counter and have to play a game of push and shove in order to maintain our place in line.
4. My daily routines are all mixed-up.
To be more specific, I haven‘t driven a car in almost a year. Or done laundry. Or hugged my mom and dad. But every day I ride past cows on the road, and people squatting in ditches, and motorcycles carrying up to five people. And I don’t even look twice (especially at the squatters).
Because of these things, and a few more, I have a feeling that home might feel a bit strange, but in the nicest possible way. I’m looking forward to seeing it with fresh eyes. But I’m a little worried about fitting in, really I am. So, if I shove you in line at the grocery store, don't be MAD, just turn around and give me a hug to remind me where I am.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
hot bucket
Ghandruk to Deurali
Day Five
and
Deurali on down
Day Six
Deurali on down
The last day doesn't get its own post. It was just a three hour walk down the mountain to the road, where at the first blare of car horn I turned around, seriously contemplating heading straight back up and into the mountains. It was weird emerging back into the real world, like stepping off a spaceship.
The last day of our trip was also the first day of a big festival. Everyone was getting ready for it by preparing their goats. At our morning tea stop two guys were washing and shaving a headless goat under the spigot while another guy was burning the head in the fire. All the way back to Pokhara we saw people dragging goats to the slaughter. Literally, dragging them. The goats knew what was up.
For the festival people also set up big swings. Brad and I both took turns.
Also, that day I made a friend. She walked with me all the way down the hill till we got to her house. Then she invited me in to meet the rest of the family.
Ghandruk to Deurali
The second to last day was memorable for three things
1. Saying goodbye to our buddies, Inaki and Alberto (sad thing)
2. Walking forEVER. (hard thing)
and
3. Taking a hot bucket "shower" in a chicken shit den (funny in hindsight thing)
Inaki and Alberto originally planned to hike four days, then decided to stick with us for six. After the third night they decided to take it all the way to base camp. Inaki had to call his boss on a mountain phone to ask for another week off and they were a little short-supplied. But an understanding boss and some generous fellow-hikers got them on their way.
Brad and I were both sad to leave our friends, but almost as soon as we started down the trail, our spirits were lifted. These girls were singing Mason Pirri Ri, Inaki and Alberto's favorite song.
I love the little one in front. Her last move has a name: My mom calls it "the allergy salute."
All day we walked and walked. We walked down a mountain, just to walk up the one next to it. Then we walked all the way around that mountain and went halfway down the other side.
Brad took this picture to show our progress. At this point we were only half way.
We arrived, exhausted, at our tea house just as the sun was setting. As usual I was ready for my hot shower, but was offered a hot bucket instead. For the use of the hot bucket, I was ushered into a small room, just to the side of the chicken coop.
For this, I'll just give you what I wrote in my journal that night:
I'm not going to tell you much about the hot bucket shower. Just give you some food for thought should you ever find yourself taking one.
1. What do you do if you accidentally set your towel and your LAST clean pair of undies in a pile of chicken shit?
2. What do you do if the water runs out before the soap?
and
3. What else do they use this bucket for? I'll give you the answer to this one: don't think about it. Don't even dare.
Now, perhaps, you'll be more prepared than I was.
Brad had a hot bucket shower too and we were in fits of giggles telling each other about it. The night got better when they lit a fire in the lodge. Most of the town showed up to enjoy the warmth and Brad and I spent our last night doing our usual activities, but with a slight sadness that all of this was about to end.
Day Five
and
Deurali on down
Day Six
Deurali on down
The last day doesn't get its own post. It was just a three hour walk down the mountain to the road, where at the first blare of car horn I turned around, seriously contemplating heading straight back up and into the mountains. It was weird emerging back into the real world, like stepping off a spaceship.
The last day of our trip was also the first day of a big festival. Everyone was getting ready for it by preparing their goats. At our morning tea stop two guys were washing and shaving a headless goat under the spigot while another guy was burning the head in the fire. All the way back to Pokhara we saw people dragging goats to the slaughter. Literally, dragging them. The goats knew what was up.
For the festival people also set up big swings. Brad and I both took turns.
Also, that day I made a friend. She walked with me all the way down the hill till we got to her house. Then she invited me in to meet the rest of the family.
Ghandruk to Deurali
The second to last day was memorable for three things
1. Saying goodbye to our buddies, Inaki and Alberto (sad thing)
2. Walking forEVER. (hard thing)
and
3. Taking a hot bucket "shower" in a chicken shit den (funny in hindsight thing)
Inaki and Alberto originally planned to hike four days, then decided to stick with us for six. After the third night they decided to take it all the way to base camp. Inaki had to call his boss on a mountain phone to ask for another week off and they were a little short-supplied. But an understanding boss and some generous fellow-hikers got them on their way.
Brad and I were both sad to leave our friends, but almost as soon as we started down the trail, our spirits were lifted. These girls were singing Mason Pirri Ri, Inaki and Alberto's favorite song.
I love the little one in front. Her last move has a name: My mom calls it "the allergy salute."
All day we walked and walked. We walked down a mountain, just to walk up the one next to it. Then we walked all the way around that mountain and went halfway down the other side.
Brad took this picture to show our progress. At this point we were only half way.
We arrived, exhausted, at our tea house just as the sun was setting. As usual I was ready for my hot shower, but was offered a hot bucket instead. For the use of the hot bucket, I was ushered into a small room, just to the side of the chicken coop.
For this, I'll just give you what I wrote in my journal that night:
I'm not going to tell you much about the hot bucket shower. Just give you some food for thought should you ever find yourself taking one.
1. What do you do if you accidentally set your towel and your LAST clean pair of undies in a pile of chicken shit?
2. What do you do if the water runs out before the soap?
and
3. What else do they use this bucket for? I'll give you the answer to this one: don't think about it. Don't even dare.
Now, perhaps, you'll be more prepared than I was.
Brad had a hot bucket shower too and we were in fits of giggles telling each other about it. The night got better when they lit a fire in the lodge. Most of the town showed up to enjoy the warmth and Brad and I spent our last night doing our usual activities, but with a slight sadness that all of this was about to end.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
rat (and nerve) attack
I meant to wrap up this Nepal thing today, but I can't because there is A RAT in my classroom and I'm afraid to go in there.
Also, once I finish Nepal, I have nothing to blog about but: whine, whine, worry, worry, what will become of me???? We are officially jobless come June. Our director emailed on Thursday to ask, "Are you SURE you're leaving? I found someone to fill your jobs."
Reply: Yes
Hit send and commence nervous breakdown. I'm not made of tough enough stuff to deal with this.
Also, once I finish Nepal, I have nothing to blog about but: whine, whine, worry, worry, what will become of me???? We are officially jobless come June. Our director emailed on Thursday to ask, "Are you SURE you're leaving? I found someone to fill your jobs."
Reply: Yes
Hit send and commence nervous breakdown. I'm not made of tough enough stuff to deal with this.
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