everything is a really big deal

Cold

2012-01-08T08:50:00.002-06:00

For the next story, I'll admit that it fastened itself to my memory only because it made my Father laugh. The afternoon was cold; it was always colder back east in Woodlawn than Charlotte. My grandmother's house during this time was vacant except for when we visited; we'd open up the doors so she could come home. In the evening we'd watch television together, I liked sitting on a floral cushioned rocker the most; the rocker sat directly opposite of the television. My Dad would work outside wearing his denim overalls and dingy railroad hat, he'd come in the front door to the right of the television letting the heat out. Our toes would freeze because they had slipped from the cover of our blankets. I'd break the dull stare I had going at the television and look out the window just beyond those few feet. Outstretched across the two lane road was a cotton field. In the winter, a haze similar to a heat haze but with frigidness lay over the field. My Dad would walk by, tousle my hair and I would love my family in that moment, warm inside the house looking over at the dormant cotton field.
That was how many late afternoons were spent but not on this visit; the heat wouldn't turn on this time. My Dad, realizing the heater was broken, and contacted his brother Earl who was just right down the road. Grandma Dunning stayed at the Autumn Manor while they conferred over a solution. I knew that as much as they wanted the heater to turn on, they had a kind of satisfaction over the project. They had worked all afternoon, crouched over the pipes and then laying on the floor with flashlights and screwdrivers. The house was cold, that vacant sort of cold that makes your bones hurt, I recalled the cotton field, the coldness there matched the temperature inside the house.
Dad and Earl decided to take a break around 1pm; the three of us headed out to town for lunch. It took about 10 to 15 minutes drive from Woodlawn to Rich Square and when we finally did arrive, there were only 3 restaurant choices, Claudine's, a questionable pizzeria, and the Golden Skillet. The Golden Skillet won out because it was the fastest of the three. The Golden Skillet stood alone like any other major chain fast food restaurant. There was only about 1 or 2 cars in the parking lot, the sun sulked behind the clouds, I could see my breath hover in the air. Dad and Uncle Earl were quiet and most likely thinking about the heater as we entered the Golden Skillet, we had been standing in line for maybe 15 seconds when the silence in both our group and the restaurant was broken with Dad sharing, "Well, It's cold in here, too. " Uncle Earl muttered an agreement, I rubbed my hands together trying to create warmth. Sure enough, the Golden Skillet didn't have heat either. It was time to order, the choices on the menu read: Fried Chicken, Fried Chicken with Fries and Fried Chicken Tenders. The middle aged man behind the counter complete with a ridiculous paper wedge hat, slightly ridged from the cold, asked, "Is it for here or to go?" Dad knowing full well the house was just as cold responded, "For here." At that the middle aged man turned quickly and with complete and obvious surprise in his voice told the two workers in the back, "They want to stay!" I quickly pointed out their shock to Dad and Uncle Earl and that's when I got the laugh. I can still feel the satisfaction of my timing. Dad and Uncle Earl laughed heartedly, puffs of cold smoke escaping their mouths. I felt a part of whatever conspiring of fixings things, laughing and reminiscing was between my Dad and his brother. That feeling was silent and invisible but it rested on me and I know that feeling even as I recall the story.

End of a Semester Blues

2011-11-18T05:40:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning before my alarm, the time was 5:44 am. I prepared some water for a french press. Toasted two pieces of Ezekiel bread for almond butter and Agave Nectar. The press waited for about 5 minutes then I plunged the filter. I sat at the kitchen table this morning with my breakfast, the house was quite and mostly dark - I was still upset. I received an email from my professor the night before pretty much rejecting an assignment I was really proud of. My eyelids this morning are red and puffy from crying. Everything in my head last night, any self-deprecating thought from the past week, funneled down to that last blow and I collapsed. Last night I hid away in my room for not even 10 minutes; I knew my friends were just in the next room waiting to hear me out, love me despite the shame I felt, and offer some perspective. I left my room, cried it out some more. This morning with the puffy eyes and the ache in my heart I feel like I can't pretend this week hasn't been a hard one. I feel consistently challenged at Queen City Church to be thankful. I can tell the Lord that I'm thankful, I can list the family, friends, my house, my work - but I still have a hard time living thankful. This morning my eyes seem like a blinking,red light; I'll wear my glasses to shield them. A new item I am thankful for: I genuinely felt like writing this morning. I am determined to continue on thanking the Lord, I sure want my feelings..my living to follow.

Stories

2011-09-29T14:02:00.004-06:00

When I was a child, my family and I would travel east to see my Grandmother on Friday evenings every couple months or so. It was late summer, early fall on this particular trip when I saw my first Evening Primrose. My Grandmother's home stood between two fields of cotton and a tall pine forest. She's passed now but I imagine pulling up to her house in my family's station wagon, again and again. I recreate that pine forest breaking on the right, the ditch creates an even path and makes a driveway round her house. It's evening in this particular dream. I can see us stumbling out of the car, I feel relieved and tired - the sky is getting nearly dark. I am young; my Father is a tower of protection, wisdom and absoluteness. He's walking in front of me across the lawn toward my Grandmother, his Mother, to greet her after our long trip. They embrace, she is wearing a yellow cotton top tucked into her black cotton skirt. An apron wraps around her needle thin waist. She is strong and relaxed with a constant edge of severe, quiet humor.
I can't make out her words but then Dad calls out, "Come on over to the side of the house."
I'm almost there, it's completely dark by now. I'm shocked that our usual system of, "unload the car, clean the car, go to bed," has been altered. I stretch my skinny legs, running over to the cotton field side of the house to where my family's gathered.
"Come closer girls and have a look," my Father's tone says, "This is important, it doesn't happen everyday and we're here to see it."
Grandma explains, "Girls, this is an Evening Primrose and you arrived just as it's blooming."
"How'd she know?" I wonder.
We look in closer, there with an open white face is a single flower looking nothing like a rose looking straight up to the moon.
"You see, it only blooms for a few moments in the evening, that's why they call it an Evening Primrose," Grandma continues.
We are silent, I see the full bloom. It's alone on this side of the house, the grass is damp and marking my tennis shoes with specks of green. I'm breathing slowly, almost steadily holding my breath.
And then, in almost several blinks - our Primrose has closed once more. That's all - only for that brief moment - we arrived, my Dad hugged his Mother, and I saw my first Evening Primrose.

timewaster

2011-06-27T15:21:00.000-06:00

I'm waiting for a test and it's the most uncomfortable feeling. Here's a summary of my thoughts while I've studied these last 2 days.
Call off the hounds.
Bill Callahan.
Good grief.
Temporal Deixis: language that anchors time.
Yo La Tengo.
Fastidious.
Indiana Jones.
Bibio.
Day trip.
Staycation.
Countable Nouns.

An Update Moment

2011-06-24T21:52:00.001-06:00

I chose to stay in Charlotte all this time because of graduate school. When I first thought about going back to school, I figured there'd be plenty of graduate schools with my program in North Carolina. Imagine my surprise when I realized there were only two programs, one in Greensboro and one in Charlotte. I never wanted to live in Greensboro. (Not that I was aching to live in Charlotte, either). But Greensboro was certainly the less desirable of the two. Greensboro meant that I'd be caught between Raleigh and Charlotte but in neither, depressed. So the decision was made, I left Costa Rica and began my awkward transition back to the States. I hadn't lived in Charlotte in about 7 years at that point. I felt like a car that couldn't gain enough speed to travel the highway. My slow momentum kept me along the side of the road, back behind everyone else. That was two years ago and some where along the way, I found purpose. I started reminiscing about my journey when the weariness of my summer course started to ware off. I considered how graduate school is the whole reason why I even stayed in this city. Honestly, I begrudge school sometimes (read: often); I've had plenty of issues with the program. And yet, I'd have to move to another city if this school thing hadn't happened. I'm here in Charlotte, it's been two years- and I'm okay after all.

A Microwave and Age

2011-06-03T22:28:00.005-06:00

There was a point in my life that something as small as a microwave could impress me.
I started noticing that all my friends had a microwave but we did not.
I thought the ultimate microwave were those that came with a house, placed right in the cabinets for your convenience. My family finally got a microwave when my Aunt Max and Uncle Earl moved into a such a house. I remember visiting them for the first time, my Aunt Max pressed their old microwave into my Mom's hands, saying, "We don't need two! One came with the house!" I was supremely jealous.
I'm not sure if it was the idea of convenience or the luxury of more counter space that evoked awe for me at the age of 8, either way, we finally had our very own microwave.
For 6 hours I fantasized about that microwave while riding in the back of my parents station wagon. Every so often I'd look back and stare at its' faux wood paneled sides. I thought about what I'd make...the time I'd save....you know, microwave fantasizes.
The first time I ever used the microwave, our microwave - unattended, was the day I decided to make "grilled" cheese. I slapped a square of kraft cheese single between two buttered pieces of bread and pressed start. I recall thinking, "Man, the microwave has been on forever..." but I just let it run. 10 blistering minutes later I realized my error, the kraft single had exploded into this horrible mess, oozing and bubbling all over the microwave walls. I quickly grabbed the trash can and attempted to hide the evidence. There were numerous occasions as a child where I thought I could successfully, "hide the evidence,"- it never works.
Skipping up about 21 years, I'm still trying to hide the evidence but with a little more reasoning and tact. Last January I managed to achieve a highly noticeable grey hair right in the middle of my forehead. My first instinct was to hide the evidence, but then, I decided to keep my grey hair. This was my test, Could I appreciate the ever looming signs of age? That grey hair said, "Hey world, I'm approaching the last year of my 20's." And what else has come with age? It's been a long time since I nuked a cheese sandwich in the microwave for 10 long minutes, but it's also been a long time since I've been amazed with the small things. Oh, to be even half as cynical as I am now like I was in those microwave-popularity-years. I will turn 29 this July, a small fete but quite an amazing one, too. I removed the grey hair a couple of weeks ago, not to hide the evidence but only because I was thinking about it too much. That one grey hair was proving to be even more unruly than the rest of my hair, if you can believe that's possible.

My Plant Child

2011-05-16T10:44:00.000-06:00

Introducing the latest addition to Draper Ave; this little plant has made me quite happy.

2011-04-22T10:54:00.000-06:00

I have two topics I could write on right now. Topic 1 is school related and I'm exhausted. Topic 2 is too painful; my Uncle Earl has a brain tumor. One day I will write on both of these but right now I'm just plain ol' not able.

Try This: Swiss Chard

2011-04-07T09:21:00.007-06:00

Thanks to Sophia Dahl and her cookbook Miss Dahl's Voluptuous Delights: Recipes for Every Season, Mood, and Appetite,I have now baked swiss chard. I recommend you do the same.
What you will need:
1 bunch of swiss chard, chopped
1 red onion sliced or chopped
a generous amount of goat cheese
2-3 eggs
olive oil
salt/pepper
Here's the idea:
Preheat your oven at 350
Caramelize the onion for about 10-15 minutes, be careful to not burn.
Mix the onion and chopped swiss chard together and place in an oven proof glass
Break your eggs carefully over the mixture, making sure the yokes stay intact.
Place in the oven for about 10 minutes on the middle rack.
Remove from the oven and turn on the broiler.
Cover your dish with the goat cheese and place back in the oven for an additional 5-7 minutes. Watch the goat cheese to make sure it doesn't burn.
When I prepared this dish the eggs did not finish cooking until after the broiler stage.
I would like to add to Sophia's recipe by suggesting pine nuts.
While the dish is under the broiler, saute some pine nuts in olive oil. Add the pine nuts right before serving.

Open windows in a House

2011-03-30T09:31:00.002-06:00

I just nearly missed the moon tonight. Earlier Jimmy at the coffee shop mentioned that we would have the brightest moon in 18 years. In 18 years, uh? I wondered quickly if this happened every 18 years. 18 years ago I was a child; I'd stare at the new-spring-open windows they way I did a new bright moon this evening. I bet I missed my bright moon 18 years ago, too. If I had planned better, had I believed this moon would be so great, I would have planned a night picnic, sparklers, stretched across a boulder starring, I'd have left the house. The moon was so great and bright that I could see the blue sky. The tall pines in my back yard reminded me of Damien Durado's St. Bartlett. I starred at my house, realized I could easily find my keys, went inside, and then gazed back outside again.

2011-03-23T20:58:00.002-06:00

I didn't mean to take this photo so after I downloaded the photo it just sat there, dark and blurry. I really thought the bushes were gargoyles. Maybe whomever cuts the bushes tries to make them look like gargoyles.

How it Came About

2011-03-08T11:19:00.002-06:00

   Charles Faires rode by on his bike at the intersection of Sunnyside and Oakland Avenue around 5:30 last Wednesday; Charles Faires has impeccable timing. I wish I could have seen him coming along the way, but I can imagine it. Hands hanging free, barely steering the handle bars. The wheels of the bike are spinning in tandem to his hiking boots propelling the pedals onward. He wills the metal spokes straight past my house; the sun obscures gangly Charles all the while he sails past.
   Look now, there he is just before the Sunnyside basin feeds into the mouth of Louise Avenue. He calls out in neighborly jest, "HEY THERE CHAMPION!" I'm sitting close by like an island surrounded by water, I know it's him, "Hey!" I quickly reply. Wheels in tandem with handle bars hardly steered, the street a steadily rippling road, my house a jumping smear of white wood in a pile of dirty-green-earth wrapped porch.
   On another day he'll sing me a song, an a cappella with those spokes running fast making a creak and churn and how 'bout a joyful groan in accordance with a delightful tune. Alongside a bicycle ride, the road has grown quietly now making for easy steering. Charles commands his two wheel vessel with ease, "Today's an afternoon for sailing," he says. "Why am I still perched atop this island?," I wonder.

Woke On A Whaleheart

2011-02-13T09:21:00.001-06:00

I am facing one of my biggest scholastic challenges yet as the weather turns to spring. This morning I brought out all the papers, due dates, progress report forms in the face of a beautiful day. Our kitchen table is situated between two kitchen windows, so here I sit as near to the outside as possible. Before I get too studious I am going to write for you a list, titled:

I Feel Most Alive When

I'm at a bookstore with no one rushing me

Cooking a recipe after a full morning of reading a cookbook

Listening to This American Life, in the car, in the kitchen, with friends and alone.

When my after-school kids are sweet-hearted

At the thrift store, shuffling through the racks and coming across the "golden ticket"

Planning a trip or a wonderful evening

The beginning of an adventure

A perfect show, listening to someone that rarely comes through North Carolina

Completing most anything that took any amount of effort

Reading a book that's so good I'd cancel plans

Honest conversations

In the morning

Tiananmen Square

2011-02-05T23:53:00.004-06:00

I dreamt that he and I were looking at photos of Tiananmen Square. I was in each of the 5 photographs. I don't remember having someone take these photos but I do remember our trip to Beijing. For the most part this dream was only part truth then feeling and place to follow.

The exposures were clear; you could see the Monument to the People's Heroes and the great museum in the distance. He thumbed through the prints somberly. I was the only one on the square. I wore a red skirt that stood out against the grey. My hair was long and kept blowing across my face. I was self conscious because my face was frozen in an almost talking expression and double chins.

A mixed emotion of missing him and forgetting settled calmly in my sleep.

Photos in hand, He then told me, "These will need to be retaken."

(Never mind that the Square is halfway around the world).

I took his disdain then simply responded, "I think of you everyday."

He turned toward me, "Really?"

I said, "It is neither good or bad."

Taking a Chance

2011-01-31T17:33:00.000-06:00

It's pretty simple actually. I arrived with Esther at the Visualite last Sunday evening knowing I would see both people I knew and did not know. I was ok with that idea and not feeling flighty. Esther is up for whatever comes. She has a look in her eyes that says, I think whatever happens next will be ok. The Visulite has served as the temporary space for Queen City Church; it's at the corner of Hawthorne and Elizabeth Avenue. The brick one story building serves mostly as a music venue for bands passing through Charlotte. Just this past October I saw The Books with Stig McDermott, that particular fall evening we walked to the venue from my Oakland house. These days I'm driving down Independence Blvd every minute I'm in the car it seems. Time has certainly passed since those town-walking days. Queen City Church is my new Sunday evening standard. The crowd was smaller this Sunday. The numbers had been declining ever since the third Sunday when the venue had been packed to the point of can't move, can't turn or sit down crowdedness. "I'm relieved," I thought. Who were all of those people, how did they know we were meeting here every Sunday at 6:30? Our very own Charlottean John Mark McMillian is experiencing success across the broad United States and certain fans came flocking those first few Sundays to see what he and his band were up to, perhaps. I'm glad the crowds left. This most recent Sunday I could move, sit and stand with ease. In fact, I can even wonder where the people will come from for this new idea, Queen City Church. You see, I think I know this town but I want to be surprised. Three wooden doors face the street leading into the venue. One is propped open to greet new faces. I wonder who will walk through that far left door and discover that life can surprise them. Maybe that mystery person will learn they haven't quite learned everything about the Lord after all. Little Hearts, Little Charlotte Hearts, I want you to come walk through that far left door propped open to lead into what can be family. I do want you to be a family QCC! A few people hover in a group just beyond the heavy three front wooden doors. The venue is dark and broken up in the back by a bar. As I move forward I looked for a friendly face. The venue is dirty, the lights are dim, the chairs for now are empty. Something is finally waiting to come into being. Little groups are here or there waiting to be brave enough to approach those not brought out. It's simple really. People need a family. The church is to be that family.

Why Does Class Do This To Me?

2011-01-19T12:20:00.002-06:00

   Class has in fact done nothing to me, I just get in a fluster regardless. Yesterday I picked up 3 books, 2 of them I already owned; this was a welcomed mistake considering I got that money back. Directly after the book pick up I drove to Target and proceeded to pick up a pair skinny jeans (a questionable purchase) and a dress. I actually need a zip drive but clothes seemed like the reward I needed for starting school.
   The following evening I returned to the University for class. I arrived so early that I purchased a sandwich and took a seat in the student union. Let me tell you, sitting in the student union where you over hear flirting, recounts of the winter break, and more flirting, is not a great way to start the semester. I was sitting there disgusted and feeling ancient when all of the sudden the flirty girl that had been bothering me the most, exclaimed, "IT SMELLS LIKE ONIONS!" There was a quiet murmur amongst them while I realized it was the onions in my sandwich. Why try to hide at this point? I gave a retort, "It's my sandwich." Still in a bubbly tone, flirty girl semi attempts to salvage the awkwardness, "Oh....I like onions (I grunt) but only when they're cooked..." It was around this time that I reread my class schedule only to find that class began at 5:00pm not 5:30pm. As I scrambled to class I kept thinking that I could have avoided that whole student union situation had I looked at my schedule.
   I am sulking even more this semester about my scholastic duties. The honeymoon is over. The stress has returned as bags under my eyes and the hunch of my shoulder loaded with books.
   This was a bad time to get up-to-date skinny jeans. I can hardly sit down without having to think that through, as well.

Poached, poached in their noses

2011-01-10T00:13:00.000-06:00

It's really hard to start going to bed at a normal hour (11:30 pm) after having stayed up unusually late for so many nights before. The holidays are over. It's time to embrace 2011 and I'm doing so with new cooking ideas. I'm excited to say that I poached an egg for the first time and the results were satisfactory. I purchased a new cookbook that suggested I place: one poached egg over a well toasted portabella mushroom. It was a semi success. Next time I will cook the mushroom longer, maybe even marinate it in something delicious. Tim and Lydia suggested I try Red Wine Vinegar but I'm afraid that might make it too sweet. I will definitely use goat cheese like the recipe suggested and perhaps caramelized onions as well. I like reading cookbooks in the morning with a cup of coffee. If I'm found reading a cookbook it's a sure sign that I feel relaxed; a special and rare moment.

I am From

2011-01-06T10:58:00.001-06:00

I am from
a Miami Mother
a tobacco East Father
In the middle of two red clay sisters
Rachel Anne
Sarah Beth
and a small, Glenham white shuttered house space

I am from
movement, travel,
Two hours, three hours, two days
all locomotive, seafaring and sky travel

I am from
sweet honey suckled friendships
and always I'll return
long evening, bright nightly
Sunday brunches
my home
Our Queen city,
North Carolina

*I wrote this for a class fall semester

Fiery Ginger Savory Sweet Delicious

2010-12-30T09:26:00.002-06:00

Fiery Ginger Cookies
3/4 cup butter
1 3/4 cups sugar
1/4 cup molasses
1 egg
2 3/4 cup unbleached flour
2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablspoon ginger
1 1/4teaspoon cinnamon
2/3 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Cream together the butter, sugar, molasses, and the egg.
Sift together the dry ingredients.
Gradually stir the wet ingrdedients into the dry until blended, it will be a pretty thick consistency.
Form into small balls.
Roll in powder sugar (if you want).
Place 2 inches apart on oiled cookie sheet.
Bake at 375 for 10 minutes.

All credit goes to:
1. The monk cookbook
2. Cindy LaFrance who gave me this recipe and so many others

Come On, Dreamer.

2010-12-22T19:15:00.001-06:00

I've wanted to ask my professors: "Is it normal to doubt what you have decided to do?"
I'm afraid that if I ask Professor Monday and Professor Wednesday, that they will doubt my commitment to the program.
All that is over for now though; I came out on the other end, alive and whole.
I posted those photos of my students below in the glow of a completed semester.
I'm proud of my students. I have until January 3 to clear my head enough to be better for them next term. For now I want to sleep, laugh over meals and drinks with friends, and read to my personal taste content.

My class

2010-12-21T16:36:00.001-06:00

My class this year.

Sadiya, Bishal, Yenifer, Sulemani

Sulemani/ the Congo

Yenifer/ Mexico

Usha/ Nepal

Sarmila/ Nepal

Bishal/ Nepal

Maria/ Eritrea

Moo/ Burma

Checking Back In

2010-12-12T09:16:00.002-06:00

I'm coming back! I have not forgotten this blog, in fact, I remember it frequently with a twinge of guilt. My lazy blog for the post few months has been my: tumblr, so check that out, too.

2010-10-16T07:33:00.001-06:00

The morning is better;
the morning is clearer,
pristine, too bright
thoughtful, helpful.
I'll think, think, know a different perspective,
outside this inward dark constellance, too much no filter night,
in the morning time.

2010-09-23T10:57:00.003-06:00

I dream of...

A list

2010-09-20T10:42:00.000-06:00

I no longer work at Pasta and Provisions (otherwise known as "The Italian Job").
I am shopping for a pair of Moccasins.
I just discovered BaNilla yogurt by Stoneyfields and think its the best thing ever.
Elizabeth purchased new chairs for the porch.
I discovered another little trail in my neighborhood that helps me avoid walking along Central Ave.
I will begin working for In Goode Company as a tutor this October.
I have a Netflicks account. The first movie I ordered was, The Sting.

A First Grade Teacher Taking Her Kids Out On A Field Trip

2010-09-15T20:46:00.000-06:00

By Jerry B. Dunning

2010-09-12T21:36:00.001-06:00

I just woke up to that morning nature sound one finds in the southeast United States. When I was young, I slept in the front bedroom of my parents house. Some summer nights we went to bed with the evening still bright. I'd lay restlessly in my top bunk bed, the sheets on top of me and then flung off again. These were the years that the air conditioning remained off. The outside air would whoosh in and out, making the blinds press against the screen and then out again. The street lights along Seneca would buzz with electricity as they slowly came on. I went to bed so early those nights. The curtains would move back at the turn of the wind and I'd see neighbors out walking their dogs. The wind would sometimes surprise us, ease around the corners of our room, collecting, flapping papers against the walls. I've been thinking about this ever since Lydia was living at Rachel Fogel's house. Their house was small, comprised of a circle of tiny square rooms. Above Lydia's bed was a ceiling fan, both of her doors remained open to control the temperature of each little square. Lydia's room was similar to my childhood bedroom with the open doors and summer heat. Our ceiling fan worked ceaselessly, taking the air in and cooling us off. Lydia expressed fear that she would suffer hearing loss; it was loud and consistently running right over her. I wish this Draper house had a ceiling fan. I'd wake up with crickets and cicadas charming in with the heavy hum of a hallway fan.

You know well enough how the wind blows this way and that, you hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no idea where it comes from and where it's headed to next. That's the way it is with everyone 'born from above' by the wind of God, the Spirit of God. The Message, John 3:8

It must be September

2010-09-05T14:43:00.002-06:00

http://www.standiers.com/

economy of words

2010-08-29T07:35:00.005-06:00

I am writing for other people now. Professor Monday and Professor Wednesday. That little "economy of words," is not my own catchy phrase but that of Professor Wednesday. Yesterday evening I was overwhelmed sitting by my new books and my head swirling with this idea of school, purpose, summarize, read, read, and finally that phrase: economy of words. I need to be to the point, read a bunch and write just a small paragraph that eloquently processes my findings. I laid on my bed, went to the kitchen, put off, put off. Finally I told my paralysis to walk around the block. I left the house, my mess and was glad I did. The moment when my blood began to flow was a few blocks from my house and onto Arnold Avenue. I heard this woman's voice, real loud with a midwestern accent come from far off in a back yard. I looked and immediately realized, "It's Saturday evening...why yes, now there's a man's voice too.....of course, it's Garrison Keeler!" Prairie Home Companion was streaming from a radio as a neighbor worked on his truck. All exhausting effort, pressure and numb brain- ness deflated. Instead my brain took me back to a time when my Dad was driving; it was a late drive to his mother's house in Eastern North Carolina. I could see the stars shine in their constellations. The rhythmic canter of Keeler's voice signaled feelings of security. I am taken care of, I remember a family that loves me, we laugh together and just for this radio hour declare that nothing else in life is important. Here is the link: http://prairiehome.publicradio.org/

Aegean Mist

2010-08-24T21:50:00.002-06:00

I haven't found my head yet with this new schedule. I'm living in a busyness of a time that hasn't yet occurred. Could I become a night person? I have got to find the time somewhere.

2010-08-18T08:39:00.000-06:00

The Dragon at Kyle's house

August 17th - August 22nd

2010-08-15T22:27:00.000-06:00

Travel week. First stop Asheville and then onto Kentucky. Almost a year ago my dear friend Stig Mcdermott traveled these same roads with me but in a greyhound bus. This time I'm taking the new wagon. I'm calling her, The Dragon.

2010-08-13T09:00:00.001-06:00

This is our new kitchen. I have so much more room in this kitchen than I did in the last kitchen. The windows are positioned just so that I am able to see the sun pour in at every angle of the day. We have about ten paint samples scattered about the fridge as we are trying to decide which color compliments the space best. As for cooking, well, I've been slack this summer.

I have made a green ginger soup, though. Here is a very rough guideline:

1 peeled, fresh ginger, mince as small as possible, maybe use a food processor.

1 large yellow onion, chopped large

1 shallot, chopped small

While sautéing these first ingredients in some olive oil season with:

garlic powder

bay leaf

all seasoning, or, most any herb that moves you

salt and black pepper

Once the onions are transparent,

add

2 cups of water (or so, make your soup as brothy or thick as you like)

a boyan cube or broth

1 medium sweet potato diced small

After the sweet potato begins to cook, add,

1 bunch of bok choy,

1 bag of pre-washed and cut spinach,

(or whichever leafy greens you have on hand).

Adjust water and seasoning amounts to taste

The ginger should give your soup a nice spice and warmth. I love how the sweet potatoes balances the spice of the ginger. Make sure to not put your greens in too soon, the sweet potatoes may take a while to cook. I was inspired by this blog: www.101cookbooks.com

North Carolina

2010-08-09T22:22:00.000-06:00

I know a love like you.

Coming from across the street

in a

static tunefulness of

Cicadas, cicadas,

crocking, chirping, and noise making.

A love that gazed like you

made for a low sun, lingering,

that wants

the people to perch outside houses

like a flock of yellowish

Canaries, canaries

fixed, flapping and perhaps chattering.

Yes,

a love,

the goodness of knowing you,

My love

and a summer evening.

D C

2010-08-07T12:09:00.000-06:00

I'm drafting, saving and storing away more than what I'm actually posting online. Instead of completing my own work, I trot around the world wide web gazing at other's creations. That's probably why I am drinking a Diet Coke right now.

2010-08-02T20:02:00.002-06:00

The new porch in my life.

idea

2010-08-01T20:44:00.000-06:00

I have an idea. If you are out there and you are reading this....think of a writing prompt and let me know. I need some practice and some goals that aren't of my own doing. LET ME KNOW. If I choose your prompt, my hard work will appear in this very blog.

How Does the Sea Feel?

2010-07-30T22:44:00.001-06:00

Dear Sea,
I am not sure how you feel when the tide comes in or when fish swim together in schools. Do you enjoy summer swimmers, early morning fishing and sail boat rides? But what I mean to say is, have you been taking care of your sea creatures? You see, A jellyfish attacked me today. He was quite unhappy. He came floating along, wrapped all of his tentacles around my right leg and then brushed up against the left. Truly, I love your waves but your angry inhabitants make me want to rent glass bottomed boats.

Sincerely,

Rebecca

2010-07-17T09:48:00.001-06:00

World Cup Day

2010-07-13T15:52:00.001-06:00

Elizabeth and I are attempting to decorate our new home while

balancing work and other activities that hopefully aren't work related at all.

I want my home to say,

"We are at sea, adventuring: loveliness."

I should also put in a plug for my new favorite blog http://thisisnaive.com/ . Photo credit goes to THIS IS NAIVE.

2010-06-24T09:08:00.001-06:00

rhododendron

rho-doe-rose

den-tree

doe

Look! The Rhododendron is blooming.

rho

blooming

tree of rose

rhododendron

doe-rho-den-rose-tree.

Goodbye

2010-06-18T09:00:00.000-06:00

I sold my Volvo wagon yesterday.

Morning One: Draper (not Don Draper)

2010-06-15T16:43:00.005-06:00

This is the tale of my first waking hours at my new house on Draper Avenue. The night before I immediately regretted not putting up blinds to block neighbors from looking in my windows. I only managed to get up one make-shift curtain. When I tried to put up the second, my make-shift hammer broke both pushpins. The evening ended with me avoiding my room for the sake of privacy until I was ready to turn off the lights and go to sleep. Then, this morning, I heard a dog barking. I thought to myself, "That's awful close." The barker felt real close...I glanced out the window, the neighbor's dog was looking in my window, no mistaking it...directly into my window, barking at me. I thought to myself, "You can't do that! I'm in my house, doesn't this dog know the rules??"...If I was in his yard, then maybe. But from in my own home? I also reconsidered our idea that the tall bushes would give us privacy; people (or dogs) can definitely see in. So to get the dog to stop barking I edged away from the window and hid behind my closet door. I peaked carefully, the dog was starring waiting for me to reappear by the window. The dog's beady little eyes were starring intently. The dog finally half-way backed off from the near window drive way area only to stand on the deck. This medium sized black fur ball made me feel like I shouldn't be there, like I was doing something illegal by standing in my own bedroom. Well, welcome home. The neighbor's dog is sounding the alarm: Intruder! Intruder!

A Little Something

2010-06-10T05:00:00.004-06:00

Have you ever read something and told yourself you'd never write again? I certainly have. I have never said I'd never read again, though. Here are a few books that have left me flabbergasted; that's right people: flabbergasted.

Autobiographical/Historical works by Han Suyin

The Crippled Tree (1965)

A Mortal Flower (1966)

Fiction by John Steinbeck

East of Eden (1952)

Fiction by Willa Cather

My Ántonia (1918)

This is by no means a complete list, but what I have mentioned all relates in this beautifully moving, heart wrenching way. Here is an excerpt from My Ántonia just to whet your appetite.

"All those fall afternoons were the same, but I never got used to them. As far as we could see, the miles of copper-red grass were drenched in sunlight that was stronger and fiercer than at any other time of the day. The blond cornfields were red gold, the haystacks turned rosy & threw long shadows. The whole prairie was like the bush that burned with fire and was not consumed. That hour always had the exultation of victory, of triumphant ending; like a hero's death--heroes who died young and gloriously. It was a sudden transfiguration, a lifting-up of day."
My Ántonia by Willa Cather, p. 28

2010-05-19T22:29:00.005-06:00

Calm

Aaron

2010-05-12T14:31:00.004-06:00

I hadn't seen Aaron in 4 years when our paths crossed Saturday night. We met at a new bar in the hopes for a quiet spot to hear conversation. Aaron is taller now and not nearly as scrawny. He had cropped his hair back, but still wore the same oxford shirts. His eyes softened the curtness of his hair and reminded me of a younger man I knew in college 4 years ago. When he left the table to get a beer, Katie and I both agreed that he was a man now. His legs and arms had filled out of their boyish constraints. Aaron acknowledged the change, "Yeah, I'm no longer lactose intolerant, maybe that's why I grew taller." Aaron told us a story in his old animated fashion of a night he took a darling Irish girl out on a date in Canada. In one brief, thoughtless moment he suggested they go get ice cream. Instantly, he heard himself but his pride refused his mouth to confess the truth. So they went to get ice cream. Aaron's stomach started cramping up at the thought. I can imagine this date of his giggling with red hair shining in the sun, light-hearted as she contemplates what flavor she will choose. Aaron proceeded in the ice cream line, "A scoop of vanilla, please." The childish plastic spoon edged towards his mouth and trespassed his fearful lips. His stomach lashed out with pain; churning with the sudden cool cream coating his insides. He still didn't tell his date; he hid his pain for the rest of the evening. That was the only date they went on. So, a good two years or so passed since then and he remained dairy free. Aaron is a non-practicing Jew; I guess you could say that he stayed away from dairy those two years the way a devout Jew would stay away from unkosher foods. "My hair is growing in these patches." He rolled up his t-shirt sleeve and showed me a patch on his shoulder. Maybe that was the milk, too. I was also updated on the hair that had grown on his back in the shape of wings. How do you go from not seeing someone for four years to having a detailed update on their back hair? From four years to these couple of hours. The conclusion to his lactose story took place in the Philippines. He had this neighbor, Khun Rolan, who would come to his door, creek it open slightly and say, "Miiiister Mickelsoooon, want fresh cheese?" So, he accepted and started eating the cheese slowly but the pain didn't return. Miss Rolan appeared each week at the bottom of his stairs offering the cheese. His life was turned around. He could go on ice cream dates now, have that favorite Promise land milk chocolate he always craved, maybe even grow a few inches. That all occurred up until this moment, and then, there he was, sitting across from me at the bar in Asheville. Ordering drinks, not so painstakingly self-aware as he had once appeared.

2010-05-10T10:34:00.003-06:00

I am going to Portland today. Packing up my bags. Listening to Bearclaw whine downstairs. Found my new favorite hoody. Planning on borrowing Sarah's volumizing shampoo and conditioner. I think the only way I can get myself to concentrate long enough to pack, is a little, This American Life. Today I will pass the time with show 388: Rest Stop.

A season

2010-05-01T21:55:00.004-06:00

For a month now Dad and I have been on the search for the perfect Volvo wagon. I can compare this car search to many other searches in my life but speaking publicly about the car is the safest bet. Here is a list of the very particular criteria he and I have come up with:

Wanted

Volvo 850 wagon
All papers and history of the vehicle present
No more than 3,000 dollars, preferably much less in fact
A gray or a silver paint, dark colors attract the sun which increases the possibility of peeling paint
A loved car
It's okay if it's not running, Dad can fix it depending of the seller and their level of trustworthiness
Interior leather in okay condition
Relatively low miles, for Volvo this means most anything under 200,000
A standard would be awesome, automatic acceptable
The wagon must be no more than an hours travel to see
Not all wheel drive
Sold by an individual, not a dealer
Not a Buick

That could be it...I think so. The more time passes, the longer this list gets. We are getting more obsessed, looking 3 and 4 times a day on craigslist and other sites. Will the wagon of my dreams ever come along? Do I sit around really thinking such a Volvo wagon exist? Do I want to spend my money an entirely different way? Maybe. I feel myself getting more stubborn, though. I want this very description and nothing less. Okay, so some items on the list are more his thing than mine, but he's the brains of the operation, so I'm trusting him. At least a car is more manageable than other questions marks I'm dealing with. Turning these cars down doesn't get their feelings hurt. They just sit in their lot not knowing the difference. Thank God the car and I don't have to sit face to face and discusses this, that and the other about why I'll make a decision. I tell people the list of criteria and I've gotten some laughs. At times finding a car (with this particular list of wants) is like waiting for our lotto number to be called. Can you guess what on the list is especially his opinion and what is mine?

2010-04-08T20:09:00.003-06:00

How I started Good Friday

2010-04-02T10:33:00.002-06:00

The windows are finally, rightfully open in the house. I have only one comforter on my bed, not two. As I was going to sleep last night I could hear the sweet sound of old time music wafting across the street, hanging low around my ears.
How I awoke this morning was comedic and a bit sinister in comparison. Some nameless person asked me (in a dream), "What do you want to do with the stolen money?" As I started to become more conscious and awake, I felt my self respond, "Travelers checks."

VINEGAR!!

2010-03-17T19:42:00.011-06:00

This entry is for my good friend, Lydia Martin. The latest newsflash in my kitchen is vinegar. Lydia says it's good on, "Everything!" She's one of those people that could take vinegar shots. Me? Well, in brief: I detest vinegar. Have you ever thought someone was wearing dirty socks only to discover they dressed their meal with vinegar? That's what vinegar is to me, dirty feet. It was my very own grandfather, Charlie Robfogel, that said, "If vinegar is used as a preservative for food, why would I consume it?" I was young when I heard this idea but I took to his disgust easily. You see, I hate beets most of all and the two are usually paired together. I've imagined for years vinegar pickling my insides like mason jars staked for the winter. So here's Lydia, the word, "Everything!" echoing in my ear. For her birthday I made a frittata and hoped to add vinegar just to prove my dedication to our friendship. She stopped me quick, "Becca, eggs and vinegar do not go together." The echoing of, "Everything, it's good on everything!!" ceased. So, there are some rules...I now see this as a personal battle I must fight with vinegar. I cannot have everyone around me enjoying it's acidity while I sit back and have lack luster foods! Friends, I am proud to announce that I have made a spicy carrot puree that requires red wine vinegar. Here is the recipe,

Omi Houriya (Spicy Carrot Puree)

1 1/2 pounds carrots

salt

3 tablespoons wine vinegar

2 cloves garlic

1 teaspoon harissa or 1 teaspoon paprika and a good pinch of chili pepper

1 1/2 teaspoon ground cumin or caraway seeds

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

First boil the carrots, then slowly add in the ingredients in a food processor or blender.

(The New Book of Middle Eastern Food by Claudia Roden)

wintry march

2010-03-02T14:52:00.001-06:00

Snow in March means, hold off Spring. 

Bearclaw, you must wait indoors. 

My covers and ridiculous amount of layers are still necessary.

Books, books, books and gray afternoons. 

Wonderment: how can the white and hardly covered ground produce this response in me?

Spring you are hiding somewhere far off in the West waiting to seize our coldness and bring us out of our houses. 

Cancel schools, cancel your works, come home and station your watch by windows; watching flurries.

See the snow come down; amazement, quiet, snows in March.

2010-02-18T10:36:00.001-06:00

humor

2010-02-12T10:24:00.001-06:00

One time I went swimming at the Y. This is a story of the mistakes that followed. I was mentally prepared, my gym bag packed, ready for a swim. But here's what scares me each time: having to awkardly wait, cold in my swimsuit, for a lane to open. Much to my relief there was one lane open. I hurriedly took a brave dip into the heavily chlorined water. Right away I regreted swimming. The pool was frigid. I was just coming off a long, lazy stint of not excersing so it was a trial to swim one lap. Worst of all, I had a cold. My nose was like a plug for a taut floating device. (I guess that makes me the floaty). Anyway, there I was in the middle lane hoping the other Y patrons weren't noticing my gagging as I tried to doggy paddle up and down the lane. I looked up to see if the lifeguard was noticing. She sat looking completely bored with us all. In my desperation to rescue my hurt pride, I thought, "She doesn't even look that fit! Maybe I'm better than her." So after passing judgement, and hardly raising my blood pressure, I exited the pool. I had only been at it for 20 minutes! What was I doing all those years as a child swimming for a whole day? My decision to continuing exercising on the treadmill, after swimming, was the bigger mistake. I scurried off to my locker. It sure was a hassle to dry off and get back into workout clothes. I hadn't swam long enough to get heated. The shorts and t shirt were sticking to my thighs and back. I was like a cold animal caught in the rain. I trudged passed one of the many mirrors only to realize in horror that I had old mascara staining the whole area around my eyes. How right I had been to feel like a cold animal, I was specifically a cold raccoon. I'm imagine the other women watching me as I tried to quickly change by my locker, like a raccoon caught in someones trash at midnight. I tried to smudge away the black circles but they wouldn't budge. I considered the series of bad decisions as I half heartedly worked out a little longer: a swim in freezing water; judging that poor life guard; a cold that kept me from breathing; the mascara; my wet gym clothes. Good decision: making a story of it. I've needed some humor lately.

featured blog

2010-02-01T18:09:00.000-06:00

This is a link to Ben and Lexi's blog about life in Haiti. They began living and serving in Haiti roughly a year ago. Their words and photography have become my new preferred source of news.

 http://blexi.blogspot.com/2010/01/life-in-port-au-prince-these-days.html

Somalia

2010-01-21T12:36:00.004-06:00

He is Somalian and yet he lives right down the road from here. His hair gathers in 4 different curly tuffs, hair scattered by 4 crosswinds. He is young and small, with a face of a beautiful, young girl yet to become masculine with wild hair and beard. He, with little sandaled feet, is gathered about by various mothers shrouded in ornate fabrics. Gold, sapphire, emerald fabrics. Only their faces pearing at him and me. To this young man, I am normal and so are the women gathered about him. That's curious because I feel my difference strongly. I have bare arms, a light fabric that suggests at the hint of my form, pants and shoes with toes peaking through. I feel the gathering of womenly faces starring at me and back at their young, toddler son. Here we are at these sad Central Aveune, forgotten ghetto apartments. I don't speak their language, they don't speak mine, we just look. Wait.

2009-12-31T08:11:00.002-06:00

A New Time

2009-12-23T16:16:00.004-06:00

A sweater, drapped across both shoulders, loosely tied close to your chest.
His beard had a place on the right cheek where the hair hardly grew.
The sun reflected off the skyline like a giant review mirror in late afternoon traffic.
I'm dreaming about this woman's beret with long dark hair and thick cotton skirts. The dream drove me to choose the outfit of someone made for a homeschool mother's outting. I changed.
She said her credit was, "tragic." Her boss had to pay her phone bill. The phone was also in his name.
The best part about loosing your hearing is the being able to hear again.

to dunn

2009-11-30T16:35:00.005-06:00

Some where back in the far reaches of North Carolina's dreaming and forgetfulness lays a small town of Woodlawn, North Hampton County. Yes, this little land that is not tourist destination nor booming metropolis is the land from which the Dunning's came. Dunning, I originally thought, meant: a loud thunderous noise. I came to this conclusion in ignorance sitting in my youth leaders kitchen. In all actuality he was making a crack about my father's overwhelming laugh. Many a Sunday after church we would sit in the station wagon waiting on Dad. Where was he? Follow the laugh, I could hear its' boom extending from the narthex jarring between us as we sat in the car. That's my dad, Jerry Dunning. The second meaning and actual meaning of Dunning came to my attention last year while reading. Dunning means: to owe payment on a debt. My, my, my. Two items struck me, the previous definition was a joke, and number 2, that my last name is a verb. In its' gerund form, at that. Who were the Dunnings? Did they patrol the town as debt collectors? Now, let's return to that forgotten town of Woodlawn and marry that idea with debt collection. This town of farmers, this town of one restaurant, Claudines, where Claudine and her daughters work, where my Great Uncle Doc, was the vet for the entire lonely farming county, my Grandmother Dunning the math teacher for everyone including her three Dunning sons. No, we weren't debt collectors, that must have been some sort of mistake. This Woodlawn of mine remains something I now dream about as well, in a forgetting sort of way. But the idea of a Dunning is right close at hand, in my parents home, in my laughter, especially in my Father.

NOVEMBER

2009-11-11T15:54:00.012-06:00

I told a friend recently that my blog would be so much better if no one read it.

Also, I've enjoyed list making lately.

Frustrated

*lost my keys

*lost Y pass

*let a rotting onion drip on an important photo

*was reactionary, again

*placed a mug of green jasmine tea on my dashboard, it fell, go figure.

Fashion

*the sea

*teddy girls

*primary colors, solids

*antique florals

*gold

*Cuba

*Marc Jacobs

Too full, too worth it

*sushi

*icecream

*white turkey barbecue plate

*apple pie

Need to

*remove islands of fingernail polish from nails

*finish the three books i have started

*write something more meaningful than this

Food

*fennel

*shallots

*flat bread

*lentils

Names

*Irving

*Leota

Thanks for reading.

2009-10-05T12:58:00.008-06:00

News from middle North America: the fields are still stretching, the corn is still growing tall, and farms sit near the highway like calendar stock images for October.

USofA, I know so little about you, and yet, as I sat patiently state after state from North Carolina to Colorado, I was not surprised.

*People smoke just as much as you would think they would. Our Grey Hound bus driver reminded the passengers, "Don't smoke on de bus! If you do, YOU WILL LOSE YOUR TRIP!" And then after 30 minutes, "We will have our next break in Gastonia, You will be ejected from the bus if you smoke! You can smoke at this next stop!" I imagined all the passengers lifting a camel to their quivering lips just as the announcement rings out, 'You will loose your trip!" Could they forget between announcements? Ed, the busdriver, certainly made the announcement with the sort of conviction that someone had.

*Stig purchased an apple turnover Little Debbie snack from a gas station attendent, who then offered the advice,
"Put that in the microwave, it'll make it taste real good."

*Stig and I went to an IHOP between the hours of 12am and 6am in Knoxville, TN. After occupying a corner for 3 hours our server come over and gently reminded us, "You can stay here for as long as you like but you can't sleep." I shook my limbs and stretched my eye lids, staying awake was more important than being thrown out...barely...

*The name, "Kentrell" should be pronounced, "CAN - trel," do not make this mistake around his mother.

Though I was not shocked, or surprised by the travel, I loved States in all its' predictability.

A true southerner.

2009-09-17T09:09:00.011-06:00

Last year, the thought occurred to me: I need to embrace my Southern roots. Living outside the United States was just the space I needed to appreciate accents and small, slow towns. Other contributing factors to this new found sense of pride were, Cold Sassy Tree by Olive Anne Brown, my Irish friend Stig McDermott, my New Englander housemates Rodney and Cindy, and my constant craving for cornbread. Prior to my year abroad I had been known to call my area of states, "The Mid-Atlantic," I took out the phrase, "ya'll," from my vocabulary, and even went as far to not read literature based in the area. I have seen the light, though! The South now has a spark I was blind to in the past. As a result, the other day I ate a fried flounder sandwich (with minimal regret), I still refuse to say "ya'll," but I don't cringe when hearing it, and, best of all, I'm becoming an amateur tour guide. This coming Monday my Irish friend Stig is coming for a visit. I feel the responsibility resting heavily on my shoulders to show him a beautiful, southern United States. I have already started refining my buttermilk biscuit making skills. My Southern tour will include: the Blue Ridge Park Way, porch sitting, and a traditional Dunning Dinner (of course, "dinner" means, a nice Sunday lunch).

Ridiculous? Maybe not.

2009-08-19T17:04:00.003-06:00

My Father used to say, "I guess it just sprouted wings and flew away!" Usually he delivered this line with a slow, loud voice just in case his young daughters missed the point. I grew up imagining remotes, sneakers, newspapers, flying away into the sunset. Large white seagull wings; small, homely brown robin wings; bright, flashy parrot wings. What would the process of a dog leash sprouting wings look like? I imagine the metal chain wiggling on the ground, and then final, after a few tremors, there on the handle appears humming bird wings. And where would all these missing items fly off to? I imagine that there is some obscure island in the south pacific where all lost items (or, items that choose to get lost) are having an endless party. Upon arrival, they check their wings with an attendant and receive a number. Do they return? I think that is all dependent on the item's personality. For example, car keys love a party but get tired soon after midnight, ask for their wings back (with coordinating number, of course) and return to their rightful owner. But what about contacts? I recently lost my contacts and have seriously considered they may have sprouted wings and flown away. I think contacts would not just stay through the whole party but maybe they would even look to DJ. Contacts would say, "I kinda like it here, why not make myself useful?" My contacts have not returned. One night I removed them and the next morning they were gone.

a heart remembers

2009-07-27T14:42:00.004-06:00

Last night we danced. Dance, how I love ridiculous you. Dance feels like banana seat bikes with streamers on both handles; like mail from a friend in my mailbox; like honey suckles at the playground; like hopeful love; like January 1 and July 4. Dancin' shoes with heels and scuffed leather. Feet unfettered by shoes with toes digging into the dirt or feeling the cool floor. I am 6 again, and 11 again, and 23 again. My heart is like a sail, merry to be free. People rushing, hearts pounding, sweat drenched, happiness dance.

To-do

2009-07-24T08:28:00.005-06:00

To do check list, online, because something so mundane should be blogged. Or, has the potential to be entertaining. Or, otherwise, I will ignore this blog and I must make it a useful creative outlet. Or, I am working and I simply have the time. Ok, and...go:

1. Continue mental list of what I have had to eat today.

(Must concentrate on fruits and vegetable consumption. I've lacked these two important food groups thus far).

2. Find Big Bottoms by Spinal Tap on Youtube to make a friend feel better about her self described, "saddle bags."

3. Exercise. Must exercise. Which could include: riding my bike or walking. Billie Sweet Heart(the dog) usually walks with me but she is away with her owner so today I walk alone. Sometimes if I am feeling angsty enough, I run as well.

4. Read, A Fraction of the Whole by Steve Tolz. A friend sent me this novel with high recommendations. I have to admit that I am struggling through. This is the part of the to-do list that will not happen. That's a pretty safe prediction. To be fair, my failure to speed through is my fault not the books.

5. Attempt to see two out of town friends that are not friends with each other in the same night while not slighting either one of them.

6. Ignore the kittens, Bearclaw and The Internet. (A definite can-do/ will-do).

7. Get new contacts! This is my chance to remove my harsh glasses. Not to say there won't be harsh glasses days in the future. There certainly will be.

Southern Evening Light

2009-07-15T08:52:00.002-06:00

Hello Sky and Light,and people walking by.
I can hear Southern talk about humidity,
June bugs and family dinners.
Everyone has their bicycles on the road,
close to cars whizzing by.
I choose this safe, quiet place.
An afternoon, library window gazing.

Age and Fashion

2009-06-27T06:35:00.006-06:00

Last night, I had a 20 year old ask me "What do you think is cool?" He squinted through doubtful eyes as I prepared my response with a question. "What do you mean? In a guy, with fashion, in general?". I am turning 27 in one month which is young I realize but relative to 20, I feel old. Around this friend, coming back to the question, I felt old. I think I may have given him a lame response at first, like, "I don't know." But I know that is not true. I go around creating my own idea of cool. So if I go about trying to achieve my own version of cool, I'm led to question if fashion in old age is similar to keeping your drivers liscense. At one point should someone take the right away? You know, there are people that have had the same look for 17 years because they had the best time of their life while wearing heavy bangs and cropped pants. He then suggestively asked, "Do you like Dunks?" I did not know that the shoe pictured was called a Dunk. In the long run, what does it really matter? Maybe as I get older I am trying to dish out the old cool of 5 years ago. Are people around me are afraid to tell me, "Change your hair already!" Is that true? Do I need to wear a pair of Dunks to secure my ever fleeting youth? I intend to be 90 years old behind the wheel of fashion. Maybe wearing a bright, shocking color and a pair of dunks.

Augustine

2009-06-16T10:40:00.005-06:00

Augustine, a man from El Salvador, perches on a stool overseeing the pasta shop. He is wearing a white mask to shield his mouth and nose from the pasta he is creating. I look his way; he is a like a small, stout superhero. I could see him wearing a cape made of garlic and parsely pasta, secured around his neck with a series of sandwich bag ties. The pasta he creates falls in line like peaceful citizens obeying traffic signals. Augustine, the keeper of Italian culinary peace.

hot damn!

2009-06-12T12:32:00.005-06:00

well, my life has shifted once more. if you know me at all, you have heard me talk about BELL, building educated leaders for life. I have now been accepted to work as a teacher's assistant with BELL at a local middle school. Yikes, the words, "middle school" make me think of flannel shirts, tan hose, and angst. Now is the time to turn over a new leaf. This position is the challenge I want and I feel a bit scared. I am reminded of Corky St.Clair when he accepts the challenge to put on the town play without the budget he requested. "What the city council did was really... give me a challenge, and it's a challenge that I am going to... accept. It's like in the olden days, in the... days of France, when men would slap each other with their gloves... say, y'know... ”D'Artagnan!"... y'know, "how dare you talk to me like that, you!," and... smack 'em!" Yes, I would have liked to hear about the position earlier, not ten days before...but, here I am. This is certainly a challenge that I will accept.

pick your idea out of the trash.

2009-06-07T14:46:00.010-06:00

I have considered for a while now and have come to the conclusion: I should write again. Well, just so history stands correct, I never stopped. I have a little notebook that serves as the catch all for all my rambling thoughts. This blog is what I considered trashing. I have battled with the idea the writing is self indulgent unless you are amazing with words. Does skill, perfect grammar, and unique insight obliterate unhealthy pride? I think not. I have not arrived on that plain of excellence but I have heart. A heart that wants to speak through the words I type. So, here I am again. Hello. I will start and hope to gather words in such a way that speaks my heart and releases that which wants to be alive.

That's a cashew.

2009-04-01T13:12:00.005-06:00

Since living in Costa Rica I have had plenty of, AHA!, moments. Realizing that the top of this pepper looking vegetable contains a cashew, was one of those moments. The part of the cashew that resembles a pepper does not feel like one at all. It feels more like an avocado. I felt so happy about this discovery that I just had to place it by the window for a photo shoot. No wonder cashews are so expensive, there is only one cashew in each of these. The color though is the main drawing factor for me. How brilliant that each cashew has a different color of fruit. Living in Costa Rica has definitely increased my fascination with color. The color in foods and flowers are represented on buildings. Walking around the city I am able to see the sun shining against a fiery magenta, deep saffron, and an alive lime green.

back to the present

2009-03-20T15:39:00.012-06:00

I know why I have been at a loss for words. I use this blog as a way to process the recent past, what I have experienced. Also, the blog is a blank slate to process my next step. NEXT, NEXT, NEXT. This is a word that, now, conjures up the most unknown, mysterious, and some what anxious of feelings. Yes, I am moving back to the states in a month without a plan. I feel this defensiveness growing up inside of me, that, if you ask, 'What will you do next?" at the wrong time, I might snap, "NO! I don't know what I'll do next!" This response is no ones fault, I am reacting upon an irrational fear that my life will slowly come to an end(aka: uselessness, poverty, isolation) as of April 16. Ok, so today as I write I will push all of my own reactionary fear aside and make attempt to be, present. I am not in the future yet, in fact, non of us are. Remind yourself right now, "You aren't there yet. Breathe. I am not being attacked. The Lord is good." Is anyone else in this place? The news tells me that the economy is bad. Talk is swirling around my head of unemployment. But, I ask the Lord to still my heart. Quiet the talk. Then I realize what lies underneath: my true fear of not being loved, of not loving. For, if I truly believed I was loved by the Creator, these anxieties would take the back seat they deserve. No, I am not saying that hardship would vanish, that my bank account would be full of savings, but that the word next would not make me want to crawl in a hole. On April 16, the day I move, I will be amazingly loved by the Lord, His love will never end. He loves outside of geography,time,and pay scale. My chance to love? Yes, that will only grow, too.

grab a bucket, save the barn.

2009-02-25T10:14:00.009-06:00

February is the month when you think, "Winter is almost over!," but you're wrong. March has a way of reminding you, winter does not know the Julian calendar. These are vague memories, of course. Living in Costa Rica, I have enjoyed/endured nearly a whole year of constant summer. Lately, I am experiencing the phenomenon of wild fires, for the first time. Rodney, Cindy, Joy and I got home one night to find the grass next to our property was ablaze. Fortunately, Rodney has been tending to this patch of earth, keeping the grass low. The fire stayed controlled, all is fine. The other fires around the neighborhood seem to be more....well, wild. People in Los Anonos seem to let the fire have it out for as long as it needs. Two days ago while teaching there were 3 different fires burning. Bits of ash came floating into the casita during Joy's class, getting in our eyes, and smudging onto our clothes. This is no exaggeration. I assume that Tico's have enough experience with this sort of thing, so there "everything as usual," attitude should be assuring. For me(being from the East Coast where wild fires are not as likely), I can't help but find some humor in feeling like a settler, living in one of the colonies. For those living around such fires, whereever you are, I pray for your safety, and hope they stay controlled.

an album

2009-02-15T15:03:00.005-06:00

Friends, I have posted an album from our teams work in Jasmine this past week. The last team that we hosted came from Gahana, Ohio and constructed two homes. The people of Jasmine and the construction groups that come make this special bond that is precious to witness. I am blessed to be with Harvest Hands to host these groups, hear their stories, be a part of the service that goes on in forgotten communities. Please enjoy the photos, I hope to add more soon.The photos in the album were taken by one of the team members, Jeff. The photo in this particular entry was taken by Brian Robertson, leader of the Gahana team.

wild animals

2009-02-02T15:54:00.006-06:00

Do you see the love on my face? That is shear bliss. Joy was there with me to capture the moment when I received an excellent Americano. In the past Holli called this face, "everything's right in the world." Today (as you very well can tell) I wanted to blog about something completely superficial. No, the sweet yet bitter espresso is not a must in my life, but I receive it with gladness. Working with short term teams, maybe 4 days spaced apart, is everything wonderful, stretching, and unpredictable. My coffee moment is a little reward in the midst of it all. As my time has been pressed, moments alone are short, I realized: I need a greater decompressent. C.S. Lewis describes the two forces that war inside of us, "It comes the very moment you wake up each morning. All your wishes and hopes for the day rush at you like wild animals. And the first job each morning consists simply in shoving them all back; in listening to that other voice, taking that other point of view, letting that other larger, stronger, quieter life come flowing in. And so on, all day." So, I have begun reading a Psalm each morning. It's a small start but I recommend this to any one who doesn't know where to begin.

"millonario" is not the same as "misionario"

2009-01-22T12:51:00.008-06:00

Yesterday, Joy and I are were down at the casita teaching English classes when a bang at the door interrupted the steady flow of listen and respond. I excused myself and found several boys perched on bicycles, full of questions. Christopher was the ring leader who started the onslaught of, " How do you say this in English," questions. Reader, I will humbly report our English classes have gained a small scale popularity around Los Anonos. Many children, associating English with power and wealth, are enthralled with the idea of speaking English. Clearly Christopher thought I was one of the powerful and the wealthy when he asked me, "Are you a millionare?" Well, I misunderstood, I thought he said, "missionary." I responded, "Yes, I am." So he then asked, with the forthrightness only children can have, "Do you have a lot of money?" I understood that question. Unfortunately, I have been asked this very same question on several occasions. "No, I don't," I responded. The conversation went in that circle for quite a while: Christopher thinking I was a millionare and I insisting that I didn't have a lot money. Then I realized what he was asking. "Oh," I thought, "millonario not missionario." Children and some adults see a gringo and automatically think: wealth. In comparison to a lot of people, they are right. Relatively speaking, I am a millionare of sorts. This past weekend I went to a small community, Jasmin, to build a house for a single mom. Seeing the living conditions puts wealth into perspective. The house is simple. Two rooms, one dividing wall, simple electricity, no bathroom, two doors, three windows. In three days, a team we were hosting, built this home. The description of the home may not thoroughly impress you but it is a massive improvement from the shelter these families had before. I recall the scripture of the man asking the disciples for money, they instead healed him in the name of Jesus. I ask myself, where is my wealth and what do I have to give? To some people in Los Anonos they would say I am rich in material possessions. To people of western standards, I am poor. Where is my wealth according to the Lord? I am rich in the salvation I have received. I am also rich in what I have to give to children like Christopher: my time. I can only give them Jesus and hope that my actions, not just my words, will be the spreading of that wealth.

ok ok ok, san jose.

2009-01-08T16:31:00.005-06:00

No mistaking where I am, Costa Rica is a stark difference from North Carolina. My plane yesterday in Charlotte was majorly delayed. The wind was gushing us around (I mean that somewhat literally). I gripped the sides of my seat and wished I was traveling with a friend. Today the earth spoke, the ground shook actually, it was the biggest earthquake I have experienced yet. The skies are blue here and a bit moody, with clouds drifting in and out. I made a bad decision and choose to take a walk around three. I think I had a few close encounters with cars, dogs, and motor bikes. Reflecting on the walk, it's as though I'm a country girl back in the big city. I need to get my Spanish language part of my brain in gear. I will need to grip my purse, be on guard, go back in my shell come social situations. This Sunday we will have a team from Virginia join us and build houses in a nearby community, Jasmine. I am excited to begin. I hope to not experience life passively but to be fully in the way of serving, friendships, love, hope, and everything else that absolutely scares me.

December 22 has come, almost.

2008-12-21T13:59:00.003-06:00

It's the day before I fly to Charlotte, I am quite excited. Joy and I have been busy in our room strategizing on how to pack our bags. The thought of boarding the plane, being squished against possibly sick people, and going through customs, sounds like drudgery. The thought of being home with family and friends for 2 weeks, sounds absolutely wonderful. I am grateful to my own foresight to have scheduled a flight home for Christmas. Joy and I are traveling to the airport together but then taking different flights. Two books, To Kill a Mockingbird and The Pilgrims Regress, will be my companions. As the time gets closer I mull over in my mind all that I want to accomplish, the stories to recount, what I should bring back. I am glad I am going home but then I'm even more glad that I will return on January 7. After the Christmas break I will have 3 months remaining in Costa Rica. I look forward to English classes resuming at the Casita. I want to stretch myself more with Spanish, make sure to listen and get to know people, while I have the chance. I suspect the last three months will go by with tremendous speed.

Abigial

2008-12-13T08:38:00.005-06:00

This Christmas season I have had the privilege to live here in Los Anonos. When I think about what I remember about my own childhood, holiday festivities are certainly high on the list. After getting to know the children for the past 8 months celebrating with them now is even more rewarding. We had a team from Mechanic Falls, Maine that helped us celebrate with the kids and moms. The other part of the time, the team helped construct a home in a near by community for a single mom. In this particular photo is a girl, Abigail. She has a sweet heart. At this very moment when I took the photograph she was happily, overwhelmed by her little bag of treats and the games we had played that morning. Costa Rica is a Catholic country therefore there are plenty of religious decorations. We had the opportunity to take Christmas beyond those decorations and share how Jesus came to this earth. Near the Kindergarten we have our casita where we teach English classes. In the morning this past week the casita became crafts head quarters. We made decorations with the Mom's and the children. I was delighted there was a natural way to become a friend and neighbor to them.

Anonos, good morning

2008-12-07T06:48:00.004-06:00

Night photography doesn't necessarily work when you are trying to capture Christmas decorations. I should get creative one of these nights, attach a tripod to my camera and have a go. Los Anonos is full of Christmas tropical cheer. Flashing lights, Santa's, decorative manger sences that three or four children could fit in to...basically, Anonos has it all. So this photo is a usual morning scene for us, you can see the Los Anonos in the valley but at the top of the photo, the rich area, Escazu. The rich and poor always live really close together. Finally, yesterday I thought it was December 8th all day long. At about 9:30 pm while we were preping Christmas crafts I realized my error. I had so much delight all day thinking to myself, "2 weeks! and I'm home for Christmas!" That's ok, I think December in Los Anonos will be one of my favorite months yet.

a month and, how many days later?

2008-11-21T17:52:00.011-06:00

Yes, I have let my, "blog every ten days or so" commitment go by the way side. If you wonder how this may have occurred, I invite you to review the content of the previous blog entry. But, no more excuses. I enjoy this space to process life here, and I regret that I have failed to do so. Life, ESL scheduling, saying goodbye to a good friend, Stig, having Joy Snyder here, and the book I am reading at the moment has made time pass quickly. Costa Rica, well San Jose at least, is actually cold. Enjoy the photograph of our foot attire around the house. Today as I walked through down town, passed the crowds of people, I appreciated the wind for the holiday mood it created. We will try our best to have a Thanksgiving. Cindy is an amazing cook, so I am sure we will not be lacking. Well, except for the family we miss and the parade on television.
A high lite of November: our trip to an Organic Farm for a 3 day retreat. Rodney had the wonderful foresight to recommend leaving our business to be in nature. This time was set aside to, first, practice solitude, and second, be together to share and encourage. December 3, our first team will come, and it is crucial that we are of one mind and heart, as a ministry. God's creation is amazing, even surreal at times. The photograph I have posted includes, one of the best cups of coffee I have had in a while, and, in the background, Volcano Arenal. It was near this volcano that we had our, "away time." The discipline of solitude is hard. All that I mentioned above that has made time pass so quickly, was put aside. Friends, books, classes, it all was left in San Jose. I realizes that I need these moments to be quiet, but, I convince myself that doing something (anything) will be a better use of my schedule. A favorite neighbor of ours, Dona Carmen (age 93) told me the other day to, "Take it easy." She said it in English, I think the Lord may have sent her as a messenger. Thank you Dona Carmen, maybe I will practice that. Not passive, apathetic peace, but an active, trusting, and open peace in the Lord. That is my hope.

the basics

2008-10-17T15:22:00.011-06:00

Teaching, teaching, teaching. My teaching opportunities went from a dry well to an unplugged, force of a dam breaking, this October. As I have already noted, I was a student for the month of September. All teaching commitments ceased for about six weeks. Honestly, I was feeling some frustration here in Los Anonos at the end of those six weeks. I had the energy to start teaching once again, with no students. Some teenage girls played around with the idea but did not come to the classes. My energy and inspiration that I had bottled up for the month of September was running low. BUT THEN....I was introduced to two new willing and wonderful students. I am delighted that they will meet regularly, excited to learn. In two other communities, Veinte Cinco de Julio and Concepcion, I will be assisting Funda Vida once again with their English program. In all three classes, the students have varying levels of English language ability. I am tackling how to do this, asking for advice and loving the chance as I go. All the while, my mind is moving forward to my trip home in December. Is it too early to admit this? I considered admitting this no earlier than November. Not just the break though, I think about the next step. A sample of those thoughts: I love being with the students, will I teach? I guess I'm really asking, Do I have what it takes? On a good day a student will learn information that was too abstract earlier. I love that. I remind myself, "Rebecca, you don't have to decide your future yet." I am blessed to have the students that have been entrusted to me. I am thankful. Reflecting now, I realize, I am more student this month, than in September.

3 + 1 makes four, a new edition.

2008-10-02T16:32:00.011-06:00

I am happy to announce that Joy Snyder joined Harvest Hands on October 1; she will live and serve here for 7 months. For the past 6 weeks, prior to her arrival, I reflected on moments that were once inhabited by Holli with a wistful feeling. "(Sigh), it's quieter without her," I would think to myself. But as I looked forward, September held the possibility of finding my own way. Without a fourth person, I have moved up to the plate, so to speak. I took a Spanish class, met people alone, discovered new bus routes, even kept track of my keys. These are all ways that I have leaned on the fourth person in the past. I may too quickly discount myself. I think I know someone who can fill a role with more grace and skill. This whole year the Lord has been pushing me out of my comfortable self-constructed borders. So here I am in a Latino culture, where, at times, the women are treated like more of an object, undervalued, or possibly, underestimated. It is in this setting that the Lord is empowering me to be strong, independent, and unafraid. I love that irony. I have learned that strength means admitting weakness, independence means asking for help, vulnerability means growth. October has come and Joy is our new fourth person. I welcome her with excitement for the new personality she will bring to our ministry, her friendship, and persepective. I am also thankful for September. I now have mores stories of the Lord's provision when I felt timid and reluctant.

I need an editor

2008-09-20T13:35:00.006-06:00

I have become a person who reads blogs. I'm surprised that I would have one and also that I would consistently read others. Maybe this is part of what happens living overseas. Just two entries ago I wrote a bit about restructuring our Wednesday night event. I left the conclusion open, wondering how the new Saturday set up would go. This is just a quick catch up to let you know, last Saturday our meeting for the kids in the planche went wonderfully. We had just the right size group. They were engaged and excited to meet with us again after the break. The group moved along nicely with the new schedule.
This past week I attempted to tutor some teenage girls with their English. So far, the times were set up, the girls were excited, but no show-ers. Very disappointing. I feel like some sort of Sheriff walking around, looking for the towns people who didn't show up to the town meeting. When the teengagers see me coming I have to ask, "Where were you?" The interrogation begins. No strong answers yet. The girls shrug their shoulders and mumble. "That's ok," I tell myself, and them. The reason for my persistance is two fold, language skills and friendship. I want to be more than that Sheriff character, "Where were you?!" with great intensity, but a friend.

And then, I fell in a hole

2008-09-09T12:32:00.010-06:00

For the month of September I am taking a Spanish class every morning, 5 days a week, 2 hours each day. One of the benefits of having this class in the morning would be the onslaught of rain that I avoid in the afternoon. I am USUALLY home safely before the down pour even has a chance. Well, last Thursday the rain started as I walked to class. I was juggling what was supposed to be a double Americano in one hand, my ipod shoved in my front pocket for safety purposes, and a good for nothing umbrella. The rain continued through out class, pleasant sounding, consistent, a hard rain. As I left class my tutor Alejandra sort of chided me for having my ipod, I quickly responded, as I opened the bad news umbrella, "I'm keeping it in my front pocket," I declared over the sound of the rain, "I'll be careful!" So I walked, it's about a 15 minute walk to my bus, the Sabana Estadio. The rain continued with vengeance, unrelenting, the rain started to creep in my shoes. You should know at this point that I was listening to Alicia Keys, her new album, As I Am, feeling right confident, yet cautious. Everyone was under umbrellas, walking swiftly, yet carefully, through the streets. An intersection was ahead, I slowed and spied a puddle. I thought to myself, "I will walk around it," no problem. As I started to walk around the puddle, I realized it was huge, impossible to easily skip over or walk around. I'll admit, my right sneaker has a hole on the bottom. "Who am I kidding," I thought, "my feet are wet already, I'll just walk through the pool of water." That was a big mistake. What should have been a shallow puddle, was actually a big hole. Remember, Alicia Keys in my ears singing, as I place both feet in the hole and fall to my waist in run off water from the street. My reflexes were that of a cat and I swiftly placed both hands on the curb. Alicia Keys continued singing confidently in my ears. I was not hurt, but maybe my pride was. Did anyone see me? Did anyone help me? Did I take a taxi at that point? NO. Alicia and I walked to the bus stop. The thought, "I just fell in a hole!" kept running through my mind. Ah, life in Costa Rica, holes in the street...happen. All the time actually. Drug addicts remove any metal they can find in return for money to support their habit. NO METAL IS SACRED! Costa Rica doesn't even have street signs, I'm sure they wouldn't stand a chance.

I can't brush over this.

2008-09-03T16:37:00.009-06:00

I like to blog about events that have a start and a finish. Stories are easier to craft with a beginning, middle and end. Today I have an unfinished story to recount. First, know that we have a Wednesday night meeting for Los Anonos, for all ages, including mothers. On the particular Wednesday where this story begins, the night was unusually out of hand. Some of the leaders described the chaos as a "mini-riot." While that term is quite heavy, do know that whatever the label, there were rocks being thrown, chairs in the air, children actually on top of the planche roof. Rodney and I gave each other a look from across the planche that said, "This is bad, really bad." The worst part is that there are plenty of kids who do want to learn, and do behave who suffer. After that night we took a break of our commitments with the kids. Harvest Hands, in coordination with our church, La Vina Escazu, are meeting, praying and revamping the Wednesday night program. The other two events on hold are the hip hop dance night with the teenage girls and the basket ball night. I am excited that the new plan will serve Los Anonos better. So here is the conclusion part of my blog. Unanswered questions. I'm not sure. We have yet to know the full details of our "new plan" or how the kids will respond. I know that we have not given up meeting with the kids. I am excited to give the kids alternatives to the dead end life style of drugs, prostitution and hopelessness. Pray with us as we seek wisdom on how to do that.

morning noises and then a brief bit about travel.

2008-08-24T09:52:00.008-06:00

Sunday. A day of respite, sabbath, and hammocks. The slower pace this morning has enabled me to fully enjoy the random noises a San Jose morning brings. Brooke, a friend from North Carolina, sat with me on the back deck this morning. We counted not one, not two, but three egg vans driving about Los Anonos, armed with mega phones and, well, of course, crates and crates of eggs. If I was the ultimate blogger, I would have a sound bite of the egg man (or men, as was the case this morning) calling out for clients. Instead, reader, I am asking you to use your hearing - imagination. The egg man has this slightly bored voice, just barely exerting enough energy to wake the barrio with, "Huevos, huevos! Huevos, nuevos, frescos! Treinta huevos por quince-mil." Each van, yes, I will remind you, there were three this morning, has the side door ajar. The egg man sits gingerly above the eggs, teetering on the interior bump of the tire. The second familiar noise is in no way limited to the morning hours. Across the street, in a cage, sits our neighbor the parrot. The parrot has this sort of whistle that if he had the common sense of a human being, you would ask him to stop. I found a solitary place to sit this morning when I heard the whistle begin. I can almost imagine his beady little eyes looking in my directions hoping the wind will blow just so, so that I would hear perfectly his well crafted imitations. These imitations include, the sounds of other birds, the whistle (which I have already mentioned) and lastly, La Cucaracha. I find it humorous that this particular song (according to Wikipedia, the ultimate source) became popular in Mexico during the Mexican Revolution. Thank you Parrot for bringing culture into my everyday hours. On Monday, around the time the egg man makes his rounds and before the Parrot wakes up, I will leave for Panama. An equal purpose as the Nicaragua trip, four days out of Costa Rica enables me to live here in San Jose, without a visa, for ninety days. Please pray for safety, adventure and stories.

A new album

2008-08-18T18:28:00.006-06:00

I have posted some photos from an event we had at the planche last Saturday. In this particular clip, Andre bravely stood in the middle of a running game.

Rain: I need to have a word with you.

2008-08-12T16:25:00.004-06:00

A note concerning the east coast: I miss day light savings. There is no "spring ahead" or "fall forward," here. At about 5:30 the sun starts to set over the mountains. That is, as long as the rain hasn't rushed the sun away already. (Highly probable during the rainy season).* Because of the dark clouds, thunder storms and wind, I, often times, am in the mood for: books, sweatshirts, and coffee. If there are chores outside, they must be accomplished before 1 pm. I thank the Lord that at one point in my early twenties I became a morning person. I certainly was not a morning person for the majority of my life, my father bore the brunt of this. I recall throwing pillows at him, sitting up in bed, asleep, trying to appear awake so he would go away. That is all in the past, now I greet the morning with a, "Yes! What can I accomplish today?" I am especially grateful for this "morning preference," during the Costa Rican rainy season. The afternoons aren't a complete loss, though. We still visit neighbors, have night programs, all events armed with rain boots and umbrellas.

*Holli tells me I use the word "probable" incorrectly. I have decided to never correct the habit because I'm not completely convinced that I am wrong.

Time continues, it will not be tamed, held, or rushed.

2008-08-02T14:20:00.007-06:00

Time has flown by at an amazing rate. So, August has come, July has passed, and now I must adjust to Holli leaving. Holli has been my roommate, co-worker and friend for the past 4 months. She leaves on August 18 for Colombus, Ohio where she will resume her job as a legal secretary. I have considered making this specific blog, a guilt ridden plea to get Holli to stay, but alas, she is a woman of responsibility. A persuasive guilt ridden blog simply would not work. Because of the short term teams that stay in our home, we meet and say goodbye to many people. Just as I am sad to say goodbye to Holli, we as a team at Harvest Hands, were sad to say goodbye to our latest group from Ohio. They were a group of 7 adults that brought an energy, love, and endurance for hard work, that I greatly appreciated. Today we receive a team of 15 from Virginia. I hope once more the Lord will be that glue that binds us all together as we share the same home and work for the next 10 days.

A Green Anonos

2008-07-20T17:44:00.007-06:00

I just need to share this briefly. There is a recycling program starting in Los Anonos. For some time now, Harvest Hands has been brainstorming: how can we empower the community to recycle? One Sunday we went to a recycling convention downtown. Rodney spoke with a number of people. Things were kinda moving, but not really. We were frustrated. Now at this time I should remind the reader that our ministry, at its very heart, exist to go alongside other organizations to support them in their work. With the recycling program, we were trying to strike it out alone. I imagine this dark alley with plastics, metals, and paper. We, Harvest Hands, walking along that dark alley calling out, "Hello? Is anyone out there? Will anyone help us recycle?" Well, the Lord has certainly accomplished what we could not. Last Saturday a team from the university in San Pedro came down in coordination with the Catholic Church to jump start the recycling program. I first discovered this as I racked the sidewalk of our house. I heard some voices behind me, they were the girls from the Wednesday night group, armed with recycling wheelbarrels and gloves. Keeping with our missions statement, Harvest Hands will now be coming alongside the university group to empower the community of Los Anonos. I am excited that Ticos (Costa Ricans) are the ones starting the program. Harvest Hands is hoping to provide a public space for people to drop off their plastics, metals and paper.

I choose: Martin and Dona Maria

2008-07-13T17:26:00.012-06:00

I could take this blog in a number of directions. The list of importance is piling up. A few titles that I am considering are: Martin and Dona Maria, Columbus Came and Went, The Quebrada. I absolutely love connecting people, this blog is the best chance I have to make that connection for my readers. I feel responsibility and excitement in this task. For this blog, I choose: Martin and Dona Maria. So let's get started, I have prefaced long enough. They are neighbors of ours that I have the pleasure of knowing. Martin is the sort of man that would make you cross the street, clutch your bag, and avoid eye contact if you were to pass him in the street. Having him as an everyday neighbor has changed the usual sort of cold "ungreeting," so now we look forward to our Martin encounters. At this point I need to make brief reference to his eccentric outfits. Our favorite was "Baptismal Martin," the day he wore spotless white from head to toe. Another favorite of mine was his red shirt, black pants that matched his umbrella interchanging the same color combination. Lastly, in the way of eccentric outfits would be the day he wore overalls with a very high belt strapped around his rib cage (not the waste). Martin, an unexpected joy, is also ridden with a serious, life threatening addiction, Crack Cocaine. Crack is smoked, the high lasts only 5 minutes, and scrap metal is stolen to maintain the drug habit. Martin, in his escentric Martin sort of way, decided it was time to go to rehab. Our house is known for taking people to rehab if they, on their own iniutive, would like to go. Martin made it at rehab for about 2 weeks, his long hair and mustache shaved, when his health crashed and he was sent to the San Juan de Dios Hospital. At this point of the story, Dona Maria must be explained. She is this little woman that will not allow her grown son, Martin, to sleep in the house because of the drug habit. Martin has actually constructed a shelter right beside the front door of her house. He literally sleeps with the dogs. When Martin was sent to the hospital, Holli and I were put up to the task of taking her to the hospital to see her son. From the first moment she stepped into the car I began to see and want to understand Martin and his life further than the funny clothes and the drug habit. How would I feel if people thought to themselves, Rebecca can be summed up in two thoughts: "big hair and that habit of complaining." Yikes, that really puts this whole blog of Martin into prespective. Dona Maria speaks this quite, old Spanish. She has long gray hair that she pulled into a bun for the trip. After forming the crucifix in the air over herself and the house, she climbed into the van. To me, she was no longer Martin, the addict's mom, but simply a mom trying to love her son. They have both experienced a hard life. I can see that in their faces. It's a wonderful break through when I can begin to see the person not their problems. I'll take it one step better: seeing a person the way the Lord would see them. I am not sure what will happen with Martin and his mother. At this point he has left the hospital but has not returned to rehab. I can imagine him sleeping there with the dogs beside his mothers front door. That image is the earthly reality. I pray I am here living in Los Anonos when the heavenly reality comes into being in Martin's life.

Veinte Cinco de Julio. (A perfect place to start for a July blog).

2008-07-02T14:37:00.022-06:00

Time passed, June 19th came with a team from Grand Rapids, Michigan. This group was made up of 9 people, both teens and adults with a like purpose: to serve Los Anonos and the surrounding communities. I have found from personal, short term mission trip experience, that I am the one changed; I have wondered, "Am I more affected than the people I came to serve?" That question has gone unanswered in the past because I can only know my own process. Now I'm on the other end of the trip: from youth group member to leader. From short termer to long termer. I dare say I have more (no where near total) insight on the trip because I was here before and after the service project. To the visitors from the states I would say, "I saw the Lord increase a heart of compassion and awareness in you." To the communities of San Jose, I would say, "You have been empowered to take your own barrios for the Lord; breaking poverty and bringing hope." (Side note: I am now thinking to myself,"wouldn't it be wonderful to have a third party come alongside of me, tell me the purpose, cause and effect, the end of the means of everything I am going through!?" But wait, that would eliminate trust in the Lord). So here is what I do know. We worked in a number of places; my group worked with Funda Vida in a small barrio called, Veinte-Cinco de Julio. Funda Vida is renovating a former nursing home turned, addict hangout, into a computer/ nutrition center. The photos are telling enough of work we had before us. The free labor from short term trips allows Funda Vida to spend money on their programs as opposed to the work that goes into renovating the space. This coming Thursday a team from Ohio will land in San Jose ready to serve. I will return to Veinte-Cinco de Julio. It's pretty awesome seeing a community transform. I trust that what is happening in the physical is happening in the spiritual as well. Hebrews 6:19 says, "This hope we have as a anchor of the soul,both sure and steadfast, and which enters the Presence behind the veil,where the forerunner (Jesus) has entered for us..." Conclusion: I'm going to continue hoping in Jesus Christ for both physical and spiritual change. In myself, for others, both individuals, communities,and nations. I can't see what that change is all the time, my vision falls short, but the Lord is at the helm, guiding the ship.

San Juan del Sur

2008-06-18T16:25:00.016-06:00

I now have a link to the official Harvest Hands blog, as you can see to your left. Cindy just recently wrote a very good update on our we want the space (see previous blog) situation. Just this afternoon I was thinking, where do I even begin in relaying all that has happened here? Cindy has certainly helped me in regards to the space we are wanting to rent. So! Please visit the Harvest Hands blog for full detail. Nicaragua was a wonderful/eventful trip. The border between Nicaragua and Costa Rica has quite the developing world feel. There's this no mans land where old, tired dogs join you in the pursuit of the other side. The dusty ground hides the tracks of previous travels. Thankfully, we met a Canadian that had made the treck before, and helped us out. Scores of Ticos and Nicaraguans alike crowd around gringo travelers, such as Holli and I, hoping that their services would receive a tip. Sometime between getting in Marlo's car (not a taxi driver but a friend of the taxi driver) and transfer from an overheated taxi to another non-taxi, Kia Racer for transportation, I decided this was by far the most adventurous experience I have ever had. We met a ton of European travelers and a few North Americans in the hostel we were staying in. San Juan del Sur is one of those little beach towns full of wanderers. One friend we made, Iofe from Ireland, was traveling by herself. She had just gotten stabbed by someone who robbed her. In a long conversation that started with the IRA, over dinner we discussed the church today. Her insights on the church in Europe, what she thought of Jesus, and her own life, pierced my heart. I value her honesty, as she did ours. Iofe is a woman that has felt judgement from the church. How wonderful that Jesus is love and frees us from the judgements we put on others and ourselves. He is the one true God that loves. He is love. Iofe told us that the church is dead in Europe, and I thought, Good! A religion for the sake of culture. The world has too much of that. My prayer for those dead church places is for the Holy Spirit to come for a people, thirsty and disilliosned. There are many people like Iofe that are resisting the culture of religion and wanting Jesus. We talked about Jesus and she responded, He sounds like the best friend everyone wants. Amen, Iofe, He is. Thinking about Iofe makes my heart leap out, "Jesus! Have mercy on us. Holy Spirit come!" Near the end of our three days in Nicaragua I was ready to return to Los Anonos. I love the people here. I feel at home here now. I want to be a part of what God is doing in this community. Just last night the government came and tore down the main drug house. It was like a block party with everyone gathered around the rubble. I realize that the central for drug trafficking will just change to a different location but it was the act that meant so much. The government has all but thrown away Los Anonos. There is this, "let them kill one another," mentality. The people were hopeful last night seeing the drug center demolished. I believe what happened in the physical with the drug house is happening in the spiritual. Change, transformation, freedom! The Lord is good.

In brief

2008-06-09T14:52:00.007-06:00

Tomorrow I am going to Nicaragua with Holli. This trip marks Holli's 3 months here, therefore she and I will leave the country and return in 4 days. I discovered this past weekend that she and I have a joint nickname. It all started when someone forgot my name, but remembered hers. He slipped and simply called us, Holli y Dolli. That's right, I am Dolli.
This past week I added a new album, Vegetable Run, and added a few new photos to my Color album. Also, Biscuit has been featured in her own album (labeled, Biscuit) as well.
I would also like to mention that I am in love with the Chayote Squash. This squash, that has pear like qualities, is indigenous to Central America. I made a beautiful Chayote Squash soup with Curry and brown rice. You too can find the Chayote at grocery stores like,Whole Foods, EarthFare and probably your local Bizaar.
Quickly changing topics once more, I have been reading The Promise by Chaim Potok. The central character, Reuven, is a student at a yeshiva in Williamsburg, NY. Potok, in creating the character of Reuven, has honestly told the story of newness, and the awkwardness that comes with change. The Midrash is quoted in the book, saying, "All beginnings are difficult." The truth and simplicity of this quote resonates in my spirit. My own process certainly does not feel as poetic as the story of Reuven but I am learning just the same. Friends,let us not look down on hopes quietly buried in our hearts. I am there with you. The Lord is good and gracious to complete what He has begun.

We Want the Space!

2008-05-30T14:39:00.007-06:00

To teach English, Harvest Hands needed a space to rent in Los Anonos. For a long time there has been one space in particular that we have waited for. The time has finally come! Last Saturday, the keys we handed over. Just as a first step we are renting the house for only 3 months. Having this space is ideal for tutoring and teaching classes. It's important for people to have a community house to practice English. This little tin covered space has become our dream home in a lot of ways. There are an endless list of pros. Clients won't have to take a bus for class, this space is in the heart of Los Anonos. If they have children, the children can come. The classes are free of charge. Imagine, with English skills, a better job is that much closer to reality. We hope for more than English lessons. A group of mothers that usually meet in an outside space on Wednesday, will now have this shelter available. I am personally dreaming of art and music classes. A safe haven for children and adults to discover there abilities. We waited for a year, the year felt like an eternity. This is definitely cause for a celebration. You will here many updates. What should we call the space?

summer apparel, winter prints

2008-05-20T17:46:00.007-06:00

Costa Rica officially welcomed winter on May 1. The rain has begun, the Earth is greener, and the day is hotter. This fact is highly amusing to me. I imagine summer apparel (tank tops, shorts, flip flops) with winter patterns. Maybe even earmuff earrings. For the pool, you could purchase a floaty in the shape of a scarf. (Consider the implications if you bought my scarf floaty and couldn't swim. I do not recommend it.) Why do I go on about this? I think the weather is much like the Spanish sentence structure, backwards. Not, "backwards," in a negative sense, but literally, backwards. I have met MANY patient people that listen to my broken Spanish and gently correct me. I have to ignore what I know of the English language, and rewrite the rules. It feels like calling summer, winter.

The flip side of the journey would be my teaching opportunities. I have been teaching several short English classes at the kindergarten in Los Anonos. Just recently I have begun preparing an English assessment for children connected with Funda Vida. I will avoid the long explanation. The details are important, but, for now, just know that I am learning and teaching a language simultaneously. Life is getting busier. I love that the Lord created humor. I get uptight, stressed, overwhelmed, but that release to laugh and enjoy, comes at just the right times.

process

2008-05-12T22:25:00.004-06:00

Wednesday, I will have been in Costa Rica for one month. I am working, learning, relaxing, laughing, hearing, experiencing constant newness, stretching past comfort zones, being humbled, and loving that the Lord goes before me. I hope I relay to you what I'm captivated by. The photos are equally, if not slightly more important, than my blog entries. I have fallen in love with Costa Rica in many ways which include: individual relationships, color (please see my new color album), shared vision with La Vina (our church) and Funda Vida (a nonprofit), and my family here at Harvest Hands. This past month has been my first real attempt (ever) to learn the Spanish language. On Wednesday nights I sit with a group of teenage girls from Los Anonos. Surrounding me are other tables divided by age group and gender, to discuss the Lord. The girls are encouraged to share their lives, be honest, and to receive love. It is at this time that I want to speak Spanish the most. I see these young women, doubting their worth, awkard yet beautiful, seeking approval. My Spanish has improved so much but not enough to tell them, "You are worth more than you know! I want to hear everything, talk to me for hours." That is my heart. For now I smile, say small things, and pray.

visiting

2008-05-04T11:48:00.010-06:00

I am realizing how much I may need to adjust to "warm culture" schedules. If you know me well, you may not be surprised. I like schedules, i thrive in planning, give me a calendar, and I am satisfied! I know this about myself; and now I am restructuring my comforts for ministry. Ok, so here is lesson in warm culture, the afternoon is great for visiting. Visit your neighbor at any time, no planning needed. Also, stay for a while, anything under an hour is a bit short. Every "cold culture" part of me thinks I am intruding. I have this reflex to stay only about 5 minutes so I don't intrude, too much. I love that relationship is such a priority here. So I say, Yes! Amen, throw out the schedule! Marta is one of my new neighbors I have visited since moving to Costa Rica. She is from Nicurauga and has moved to Costa Rica along with her daughters and grandchildren for a better life. Seeing her house, I wonder, what was worse in Nicurauga? (Probably a cold culture thought, who knows). Her house atleast has a cement floor instead of straight dirt. Marta watches various grandchildren during the week while their mothers work. These children have become dear to my heart. One of them, Cassie, actually gave me a Spanish test at one of my visits. (Humbling moment, she is 6 years old). Marta survived polio some time ago but still suffers the affects of the disease. She holds on to the narrow walls, that make up her main room, to greet us when we come. One other time she proudly took us to her back porch which looks on to a river. (The river is a whole other blog). There we were, on the porch, 4 adults, 3 children standing far above rocks and trash. Marta was beaming over the sight. I was thinking, this porch is going to break any moment. The smell of sewage and other debris was strong. Marta is more important to me than my worries of a schedule and the porch breaking. I am honored to be her friend and neighbor. Honored that she would allow me, a gringa, into her home.

Love is more powerful than crack

2008-04-27T20:40:00.009-06:00

ok friends, well, i'm tired tonight but you know what keeps me writing? all the beautiful feed back i get from my blog readers. seriously, knowing you all read it and the responses i receive, helps a lot. i have had some stomach adjustments the past week that got pretty bad. i told my costa rica family about it and they prayed for me last night. praise the Lord, all symptoms cleared up after that prayer! now, i would like to introduce you to, david ceballos. david is our (mine, holli and rodney's) language teacher on monday and friday nights. in addition to this great service he works for funda vida. holli and i joined david on friday at the funda vida center in la tabla. la tabla is the center of the drug cartel in costa rica. david works all day with children teaching them computer skills. i sat in on the classes, helping with question, when there was gun fire right outside the classroom window. as we left the center to walk around la tabla, there were people doing crack all along the side walk. the children ran around, as holli and i were experiencing shock over the open drug use. the funda vida center also feeds the children and offers them a safe place to play. i am hoping to teach english at one of the funda vida centers. daivd, after a long day of teaching students, comes to our harvest hands house to teach us english. after witnessing the crime and addiction first hand, i think, what do i do with this knowledge? i am glad to teach english and hope to empower children. ultimately though, i know that the love of the Lord changes people. otherwise, the situation in places like la tabla, is hopeless. the Lord is good. i am excited and sobbered by the work that i am a part of.