If only I could really tell you...

Bring a change of clothes, like a yoga outfit, I was told. Hmmmm, what could my teacher friends have planned for this going away party? We could be doing some good bonding all downward facing dogging together, though I feel like there's going to be twist here.

I kept getting ready as I continued to ponder the events of the night. I knew that a number of my female colleagues and I would be meeting up for dinner and drinks, and then something mysterious afterwards. Altogether it didn't matter to me what we did, I knew we'd have a blast. The people I work with, both men and women (sorry, gentlemen, you were left out of last night's festivities) are one of the reasons I will miss Jefferson immensely. I first came to see what teachers were really like when I moved to Denver and taught in Aurora, Colorado. Wow, I began to think about my high school teachers in a whole new light. Students' jaws around the world might drop if they knew what was said in the teachers' lounge.

Anyhow, my friend--and Jefferson's librarian--Belle picked me up at 5:30 to head to one of the southern suburbs to meet at the restaraunt for dinner. As we walked to the booth where the other teachers were already seated, "my older sister" Lori's face lit up as she scrambled to get out from behind the table. School's been out three weeks and she's already missing me this much. Yay, I'm pretty special. I beam back at Lori, ready to give her a good squeeze, when she rushes past me to throw her arms around a woman who turned out to be a former colleague from Kennedy High School. Hmmm, okay, so not that special.

As we settle into the booth, our table is full of excited chatter. We make it a whole 45 minutes before school comes up. Pretty darn good if I might say so myself. As Liz is recounting her summer school ventures, we dig into our fare. I sip my supermodel mojito and take in the presence of my friends. Yep, another sentimental moment. Finishing up our dinner, these ladies give each other some goofy glances as we talk about our next stop for the night. After paying our bills, we all pile back into our cars and caravan to an undisclosed location. Riding shotgun I do kind of wonder why Susie told me I didn't need my yoga mat if we were doing something yoga-esque. I shrug my shoulders. We pull up to a building that looks to house some kind of gym. Walking into the entrance Cassie bursts out, "cagefighting!" Okay, yeah, alright, cool. Now I get to show them how tough I really am. I flex my biceps (just a little bit--I don't want to really intimidate anyone here) and say, "I'm so strong." Cassie's big grin widens as she says, "You're fighting with Liz first." Gulp. I think back to all of the stories Liz has told at lunchtime about how she learned to fight as she was the baby of a big family and was often getting picked on by older siblings. Just the look on her face as she's recounted these stories makes me head to the restroom. Hmmm, what's going to be my signature move? I'm not really known for good strategy or tactics, but c'mon, I've got to have something crafty in me.  

We begin to follow the instructor down a hallway and when we enter the room that we've got all to ourselves, I realize that we are not cagefighting. I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what these fine ladies had schemed up. I want to tell you, but Channel 9 News is just waiting to pick up a story like this. What I can say is that Liz Erdmann, Kristen Varpness, Julia Moe, Susan Bianchi, Belle Nelson, Cassie Harrell, and Lori Schultz have skillz that extend beyond analyzing literature. Ladies, that was epic.

Mission Accomplished...right?...007?

You know what's coming: Ecudorian Consulate trip #4. As I was taking my morning walk with Gus around Lake Harriet, I was imagining how the foray might go today. Breathing in the muggy (but delicious as anything warm is so welcome this year) morning air, I began picturing The Hombre's possible responses to Peter's and my request. It's going to be the (painted on) Lululemon Big Girl Pants today I think nodding my head. That way, if The Hombre still wants to barter about dates, I know I can break out my seductive WiggleWalk. Yeah, I say to myself, we make like we're leaving if he still says to come back later, WiggleWalk in full effect, and then as we're about to walk out the door, I turn back around and with my hypnotizing gaze ask "Are you sure about this Juan Carlos? With a dazed expression, Juan Carlos replies, "Guapa, I think I am mistaken. Whatever you want, I get for you. You would like the visa now? No problemo." I'm smiling and giggling to myself as Gus pulls me to every tree to claim his territory again...and again...and again. I don't even care this morning that he nearly pulls my shoulder out of the socket. My plan is so golden.

Well, as it goes, my fantasies and reality nearly never align. Darn.

So, Peter pulls up around 9 am (deja vu, anyone?) and I hop in. Got your big girl pants on. I nod. We chit chat our way to the consulate, park, and walk into the US Bank building to enter the consulate office. Wow I say, taking in the renovations. The office looks...like an actual office now. Plush new carpet, a front desk, nice dividers. After consulting the woman at the desk, we take a seat to wait for The Hombre. Little butterflies flutter in my tummy. If there is any chance of confrontation or disagreement on the horizon, I get a little queasy. Gotta work on that.

Juan Carlos walks into the office and spots us right away. A welcoming smile crosses his face. This is promising I think. Juan Carlos walks us over to his new desk and waves us into seats across from him. Despite the warm smile, JC continues to try to convince us that we still don't need to process the visas until August 1st. I do a little wiggle in my seat (warming up) and look over at Peter. The school does want us to go ahead and process the visas he pipes up broken record style. The three of us go in circles a bit until we conclude that JC should talk directly to the woman at Colegio that has been working with us to get the details squared away for our departure and arrival. I hand over her number in Quito and JC picks up his phone. A few moments later he's conversing with Katty in Spanish. I'm doing my darndest to translate what he's saying, picking up maybe half of the conversation. Do I consider it a victory that I easily recognize words like Julio (July)? MySpanishisn'tgoodenoughrightnow anxiety begins to creep up. Don't go there right now, Jame. There's no room for anxiety now.

Peter and I look at JC expectantly as he hangs up the phone. Yes, she says we wait til August 1st he explains. You come back on August 15th and we'll have your visas. Peter and I slowly shake our heads. We fork over our passports, and I give him all of my paperwork as he assures us he will begin to process right away in August. Should I call August 1st to make sure this Gringa says as she shakes her head yes. JC smiles knowingly ah, you North Americans he seems to be saying. Sure, you can call August 1st, just to make sure I remember. Peter and I stand and shake hands with Juan Carlos. As we begin to walk away, I break out a little WiggleWalk. Remember that, Juan Carlos, remember that.

Me and My Big Girl Pants

I was on a mission today. Mission Get Ecuadorian Consulate to Process Visa. My newfound friend Peter was picking me at 9:30 am to tag team the people at the consulate. (Note about Peter: He graduated from Jefferson a year before I began teaching there, so a number of his friends are my former students. He student taught at Colegio Americano de Quito and is now returning to spend the next two years there. I'm happy to be flying over with someone who knows the ropes.) As I'm getting ready this morning, I text Peter putting on my big girl pants so we can take care of business. Let's back up for a moment. This morning marked my third trip to the consulate to discuss the visa issue. In early May I took a half day off of work to pay my first (and what I thought would be my only) visit. I show up right when the doors are supposed to open to find a sign in Spanish explaining that the consulate will be closed just that day because the staff is at a conference. Grrrrrr. I march myself to school and promptly explain to my principal that I will be needing another half day to take care of this. So, a couple of weeks later I embark on my 2nd trip to Northeast Minneapolis, ready to waltz into the consulate with all of my documents and walk out with a smug grin on my face. Again I arrive promptly as the doors are opening and explain to a nice mujer what it is I need. I wait patiently (grading essays) to speak with the hombre in charge of the type of visa I must obtain. When he finally calls me over, I set down all of my docs on his desk, showing him that I have come fully prepared. I look at him expectantly as he shuffles through my papers. When do you leave? he inquires. August 18th is my reply. Shaking his head he says we cannot process this yet. You come back in July. I'll have your visa by August 15th. While we're both speaking English, I feel somehow that we are speaking different languages. I don't feel good about this deal, but I also don't want to argue with the hombre who's doing his job. I end up reluctantly leaving, again, with nothing. Later that day I email Colegio explaining my experience and ask if this seems kosher. The response comes please go ahead and process your visa. After chatting with Peter, we decide we'll hit up the consulate after school is out. I feel good about the fact that there is strength in numbers. This brings me back to today. I've put on my big girl pants, I've conjured my inner Lindsay (sister #1 always knows how to work things in her favor--I often stand in awe), and I get into Peter's car feeling like this is the day. We arrive to the US Bank building off of Hennepin Ave where the consulate is housed and pause in the entrance to talk strategy one last time. As we approach the door to the consulate my heart sinks. It is open, but all of the filing cabinets and furniture have been moved into a big bundle and there is definitely no business going down here today. I turn to Peter with a crestfallen look and then start to laugh. For real?! We hear voices from inside of the office space, so we venture inside to find all of the consulate workers chillin' in chairs in a circle. I spot the hombre that I spoke with on my 2nd venture. The group moves towards us as I start with We need to get visas. To work in Ecuador. Ummm, when should we come back? Making eye contact with The Hombre I say We've spoken before. He replies yes I remember you with slight disapproval. He also remembers he told me to come back in July. When do you leave again? Hombre asks. I stand up a bit taller, puff up my chest a little, and reply August, but our school wants us to process the visas now. I'm waiting for Peter to chime in a bit, but silence from the Peanut Gallery behind me. With some reluctance Hombre looks around and instructs us to come back on Tuesday, when the renovation (that has yet to begin) is scheduled to be done. Peter and I nod our heads and mutter our good byes as we head back out the door, again, with nothing. I'm just cracking up by the time we hit the parking lot. Dude, I hope they still have all of YOUR documents I say, jibing him in the side. When he visited the consulate the previous time, he left all of his paperwork, minus his visa, with a mujer. Based on the scene in that office space, I'd be nervous, but Peter's cool with this. A much calmer man than I am woman. We buckle our seat belts as Peter shakes his head There's no way that place is going to be running by Tuesday. Yep, the misadventures have begun. Uffffff da. Stay tuned.

The Beginning of "Hasta Luego"

So, I've already got that sentimental feeling going on. "Hasta luego" began with my colleagues and students as school ended on Thursday. I had awesome classes of freshman and juniors this year--my juniors will be graduated before I return to Jefferson. They are a group I am certain will go and do some pretty cool things out there. (But Jags, are you listening? Remember "China".) By the end of each year, I find a way to introduce my students to one of my favorite artists Trevor Hall and my favorite poet Rainer Maria Rilke. (I highly recommend Rilke on Love and Other Difficulties.) As I failed to fit Trevor Hall in this spring, mis estudiantes, check him out on iTunes. Rilke, on the other hand, I snuck onto the end of their final. There is little certainty in my world. I am often questioning everything really. Rilke leads me back to believe in something. Undefinable. This poem, thanks to the beautiful calligraphy of my Aunt Abby, hangs above my bed in a series of gold antique frames:

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing,
Embody me.

Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Book of Hours I 59

The Enneagram: A Slight Obsession

Some number of years ago, my dad, sister, her boyfriend at the time, my Aunt Christy, and our beloved dog Kole were on a camping trip in Montana. We were ill-prepared for the inclement weather and soon after setting up our tents in the mountains, we took everything back down the trail as snow was steadily falling. Camped out in a hotel, Christy first introduced us to the Enneagram. The Enneagram is something like the Myers-Briggs, though it features nine different personality types. After pouring over the chapters, I deemed myself a "Six: The Loyal Skeptic," apparently joined by the likes of Mark Twain, Jennifer Aniston, and Malcolm X in this wing of the Enneagram. Sixes are especially known for their duality, described as "engaging and responsible, anxious and suspicious." If you haven't explored this before, I encourage you to check it out--it's pretty fascinating. So years later, I still get an email each morning, my "Enneagram of the day." Today's was especially pertinent as it stated, "Seek out diversity and variety. By interacting with people from different backgrounds, you will learn more about yourself and the world. Far from being threatening or dangerous, this will greatly expand your base of support and increase your comfort in the world." Touche, Enneagram, touche.

Warming up

I've been pondering a blog name for months. For real, months. After knocking around a bunch of ideas with many of my brilliant friends, "Letters from a Sojournista" came together. I'm going to go all English teacher for a minute here as I say that the denotative definition of sojourn is a "short stay" (and I guess in the grand scheme of things two years is short), but connotatively speaking, a sojourner is someone seeking...something. I think I've always been a seeker. I seek knowledge, experiences, good friends...good food. For these reasons, I'm an avid reader, learning and living vicariously through the characters of historical fiction or the real life experiences of those writing memoirs from the Middle East. In the past couple of years, my craving for adventures abroad has increased. It's been a decade already since I was running around Barcelona. Really, all that reading now has just been a tease. So last summer my daydreaming started to become a reality when I learned about the University of Northern Iowa job fair. Months of preparing landed me in Waterloo with my mom, who is always a good sport, the first weekend of February. After interviews with schools in Costa Rica, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Nepal, China (I was nearly sold on the fashionable, sexy Shanghai), and Ecuador, it is the Colegio Americano de Quito that will end up leading to many adventures, and I'm certain a fair amount of misadventures, on the border of the hemispheres. I'm already getting a taste of the way things work in South America as I have been to the Ecuadorian consulate twice and still my visa is not being processed. (Mr. Hill, if you are by chance reading this, I was not trying to play hookie those two days I had to take off. I was making an earnest effort to take care of business, it just didn't work.) So, the thing about being a seeker is that you most certainly find more than you bargained for. For better or worse. Or just for. I try to imagine the kinds of experiences I'll have and how those experiences will shape me, but any predictions I have, I believe, will be quite different than reality. Somewhere along the line here I've stopped trying to make so many plans or foresee my future--this has proved futile time and again. My evolving yogic self is doing her best to just be open. And here I go...