FOMO

Not too many moons ago I was having to push myself out the door to socialize seeing as it was the best way to make social connections and feel like I belong in this strange and distant land. Tonight, though, I have a serious case of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out for those new to TextSpeak). A number of my friends are heading to our Ecuadorian Cheers se llama G-Spot (Yes, that name was purposeful. It's a total Gringo hangout.) Rather than taxi off to this infamous bar and (pretend to) watch March Madness games, I am home baking cookies for mis estudiantes porque a Friday with chocolate chip cookies has a tendency to turn out pretty sweetly. It feels good to be in this place where I have to force myself to stay in rather than force myself to go out.

The solitude of home and smell of baking cookies does give me the opportunity to reflect and write about how life is just generally coming along here in South America. (Luckily I am afforded the weekend beginning tomorrow to drink it, chat it and shake up it con mis amigos.)

So, speaking of my students, I've, more or less, recently really settled into Americano. Ecuador has continued to push me to learn to just. let. go. I've relaxed quite a bit inside the classroom and the kids are commenting on how much I am laughing and smiling now. (Though, to be clear, I have instituted detention for tardies, so I pride myself on still being "strict" in their eyes in some form.) From my perspective, this is a product of their ultimate willingness to do a bit more work in English, but one thing affects the other and we now have a good domino effect taking place. Honestly, I have come to enjoy these kiddos more than I thought possible. 

Recently our girls soccer team won a big game that had never been taken by an international school in the past. It was pretty awesome to celebrate their success. ¡Viva Americano! 

These ladies sealed the win in a shoot out. Pretty intense. 

So, with work going more smoothly, I've got more energy to be fun. Even when fun comes in the form of waking up at 4 am to summit volcanoes. During la epoca de lluvia at that. In the past weeks I have climbed Pichincha (de nuevo) and Imbabura. Mother Nature's elements made these climbs pretty trying, but my friend Alli and I joke that we do it for the memories, memories we will laugh at, romanticize, and yearn for when we look back on these adventures. 

First Pichincha...

This was before the rain set in. Something mystical there.

Alli might be the most photogenic soggy hiker ever. I, on the other hand, am thinking "what you can't see is the pants I am wearing that you could literally wring out right now." 

By the end of the 14 mile trek, my hands were so cold that I could not even button my pants after using the restroom. Seriously. One of the other hikers and I ended up laughing hysterically in the bathroom over this mishap.

Two weeks after we had unfrozen from climbing the most deadly volcano, we embarked on a 3.5 hour bus ride to tackle Imbabura, a hike that set us out on a steeeep climb to the summit, with an hour of pretty intense rock climbing in order to reach the cumbre. There were moments I thought the strong winds were going to kick me right off of that volcano. Luckily I did not perish and live to tell of it today. :-) 

Authentic pre-trek smiles from Andy, me and Alli.

Andy captured this incredible vista. 

Almost like Everest, right...?

So our girls soccer team had great success, I'd call our weekend treks a big success, but the success I celebrate most right now is the success of my Aunt Abby's book on undergoing treatment for breast cancer. She has boldly titled her book What About the Hair Down There? It's laugh-out-loud funny, but incredibly real and appears on the Hot New Releases page. Pretty. Damn. Awesome, Auntie Godmom. After spending many special days (such as holidays and birthdays) in the hospital for chemo, Abby will celebrate her 55th birthday tomorrow being a best-selling author. I love it. Life's Silver Linings. 

Well, I've burned the last batch of cookies, so I am going to return my attention back to the oven. 

Hope your weekends are full of warmer weather and the hopeful signs of spring.

Todo mi amor,

Jame

¡Monos en vivos!

Trying to get myself to bed temprano esta noche porque my alarm clock is going off at 4:30 am. Climbing Pichincha (de nuevo). I figure as I am more acclimated to life and the altura now it will be an even more amazing experience...and speaking of amazing experiences, hace tres dias I returned from THE JUNGLE! (#thisSouthAmericanlife moment 217). I'm short on words tonight, so pictures and captions are going to tell of this adventure...buckle up.

After a short 40 minute plane ride, this vista hermosa on the two hour bus ride to the river. 

Arrival at the river, our passageway to the Jamu Lodge. 

They actually aren't crocs or alligators, but there are caiman, which are a smaller, cuter version. 

Yes, welcome to the jungle. We're certainly not in Kansas anymore. (Actually, I never have been.)

Seis Americano teachers heading deeper in la selva...

Miguel, our incredibly enthusiastic guide. 

Walking Stick. This guy had nothing on the tarantulas that we saw on our first night. 

Sunken forest which is under water for 11 months of the year. 

Baby Anaconda. Mamas and papas are 5-6 meters long!

Our lodging. No hot water, no electricity. Totally discounted from the rest of the world. Kinda cool. 

Hike on the 2nd day: Love the hairdo on this über furry caterpillar. I believe he was poisonous. Again, welcome to the jungle.

Very. Large. Spider web. I used to screech at a Daddy Longlegs. I've really grown here, friends. Really.

Literally on the equator here. Check that off my bucket list. 

Lots of ants. I think these were Roman ants, also known as stripper ants. Used as a form of torture at some time and place. Continuing my reflections on the world's (and my own) duality, while these ants can drive someone to shed all of her clothes, they are also a natural repellant if you like squash them all of the surface of your skin. 

Wicked cool. 

We crossed some tricky terrain...er, rivers. I think this is about the time I started to really want lunch. Miguel had a way of underestimating the time for...pretty much everything. His contagious energy made up for it, though.

After our hike, we were indeed properly fed. A bit later we went out for a night hike. This was the sunset in the laguna. Freeze frame. 

Nothing creepy about being in the oscuridad in the middle of the jungle. Nope. Nada. I'll spare you the photos of all of the night spiders. My skin is still crawling.  

After the night hike, we woke up at 4:45 am for a morning site-seeing adventure. This was after another group kept us up playing music and being generally boisterous until 4 am. Even in the jungle Quiteños know how to party. Perhaps especially in the jungle. No photos of our faces featured here. They weren't especially feliz.

Los monos were my favorite part of the trip. This guy isn't actually smoking a cigar as he looks to be...if he was, I would have climbed the tree and joined him.

Birds are cool, too, but not as cool as monos.

Our last full day we first went to visit the Shaman. At 12 years old he knew he wanted to take this holy path.

Shaman's gato. 

Shaman's tortuga. 

After our interview with the Shaman, Miguel took on us a hike to check out the arboles mas grande...

and to enjoy the beauty surrounding us.

After the hike, a venture into a small village para hacer tortilla de yuca. 

Step 1: Harvest the yuca (When Miguel said he needed 2 volunteers to pull it out of the earth, my hand shut up, because I am sooo strong. Yeah, it didn't budge.)

Step 2: Grate the yuca

Step 3: Squeeze the the juice out of the yuca which is reserved for soup

Step 4: Make yuca flour into tortillas and cook (no photos of Step 5: Consume yuca tortillas--they were gone before my camera was out)

On our last day, as we were heading back to Lago Agrio to catch the plane to Quito, we spotted this sloth. Sloths are so slow that moss can grow on their fur. Thank you, Miguel, for adding abundantly to my knowledge of jungle insects and animals. 

My eyes are drooping now. Signing off here I extend a great deal of gratitude. It's a blessed life I lead.

Les extraño mucho.

Jame

The Juxtaposition of Joy and Sorrow

February 23rd, 2014
I Skyped with Plain Grandma today. There is nothing plain about my maternal grandmother, but this is the name she endearingly acquired when we were young. My dad's mother is NieNie as my cousin Adrienne worked to articulate "Jeannie" when she was a little girl.

My heart is aching for my abuelita right now. Grandpa Art was diagnosed with dementia some years ago and in the past months he has been deteriorating more rapidly, bringing nearer the day when Gram will bring him into the care of specialized staff. While I want to emphasize to her that this will be a good thing for Grandpa because he will easily make friends in his new home, and she has so much spunk yet and so this newfound freedom will be good for her too, it's tearing me up. In moments like now it steals my breath away to think first about her pain in the face of this great life change, and my own sorrow for seeing parts of my Grandpa slip away. The Silver Lining is that that sweet man still has his sense of humor. Well, actually, while I can call him sweet, his sense of humor is kind of wicked. As an adult, I now understand he sometimes tells dirty jokes. It's funny, I can't lie.

There has always been such goodness in my grandpa, and that certainly lives on despite his grapples to remember details from past and present. When I struggle with whether there is more pain than joy in the world, more darkness than light, it is in thinking about him that I feel hope. He is imperfect as the rest of us, but Grandpa has always extended great kindness to the world and those around him. He is also the reason that, while many people have a phobia for attending the dentist, it is actually my favorite doctor to see. Grandpa had a dental practice in Superior, Wisconsin, and he was the most gentle of dentists that a little girl could visit. 

As a reader, a teacher, a Truth-seeker, I often turn to books as I work to make sense of the world. Today I am back to Kahlil Gibran. 

At the end of his time student teaching, Michael gave me The Prophet by Gibran. The first time I began reading it, the wisdom would have been welcome, but I wasn't in the right place to digest it. When I picked up the book again months later, I loved it so much that it has found a place on my list of books everyone should read. The part of his work I have found most powerful are Gibran's thoughts "On Joy and Sorrow." He writes,

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. 

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. 

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

And so it is, that sorrow is as real as joy, and joy as real as sorrow. The romantic side of me, while working to live in the present, imagines that those moments of joy always hang suspended in the Universe, twinkling like stars in the clear night. In my mind's eye, they come to wrap themselves around Grandma right now, somehow soothing some of her pain, reminding her of beauty. 

Deember 11th, 2015
And now I sit in my living room in Quito, having just spoken with Linds who told me of Grandpa's passing at 4:30 this afternoon. I am gazing at the mountains and the wispy clouds and the last colors of the sunset as the sun has already fallen behind the mountains, and I'm thinking of you, dear abuelito, who brought so much goodness and beauty to this world. And because of the husband and father and grandfather and friend that you have been to us, that goodness and beauty lives on in us. 

And tonight you shine down on us, you bright and beautiful star. 

Te amo a la luna y lejos, my sweet abuelito. 

Grandpa Art and his mother, Grandma Shirley, a photo that sits on my night stand. 

Home to hug you soon, my dear abuelita. XOXOXO

Bienvenue a Café Resistance

My friend Michelle hosted a Murder Mystery dinner this weekend in celebration of her birthday. She was quite the hostess, and it was a shmashingly fun evening.

Allow me to set the scene:
In order to celebrate the end of WWII, Herr Bevore throws a party at the Café Resistance. Before the party even begins, Herr Bevore is killed by a sausage that turns out to be a ticking time bomb. Now, gathered at the café to deduce the murderer, is quite the mix of Germans, French, and English persons.

Allow me to introduce you:

Here is our hostess, the birthday mujer, Noemi Dooyoo. She certainly knows how to coax out information when she needs. 

Meet Gee I. Joe and Frau Nalott. What an American solider is doing cavorting with a German, well, that has yet to be determined...

Why, hello, Phil Le Girthe. You do sell the best sausage in town and that sure helps bring in the customers. 

Gerry Basher, General Kopov, MiMi, Gee I. Joe, and Phil. While MiMi is partial to the German officers, she just loves the men in general. They do tip so well, you know. She is especially indebted to Franc who hired her off of the streets. Her parents were going to send her to boarding school because she was getting into too much trouble with the law. 

Franc Le Orrful, the famous chef at Le Resistance, is always carrying around his favorite spatula. Guests do often complain that he is using it to flatten his moustache. Looking oh so innocent in the background is Julie Noted. She receives important messages from a hidden radio. 

Liza Wizenni, the cabaret dancer. She's certainly not bad for business. Is she merely an entertainer, or something much darker...?

Here we have Nurse Gently, who recently helped operate on Herr Bevore. She accidentally left her engagement ring inside of him. Was blowing him up with sausage her way of getting her bling back? She argues she could have just given Herr Bevore laxatives. Likely story?

Luc Overlair appears to be trying to deduce the truth, but is being part of the French police all just for show? And General Kopov, why the smug smile? 

The conversation is just mired with suspicions. 

"Wait a minute," says the Frau defensively. "I wouldn't want to kill a fellow German." Meanwhile, Luc appears to be scrutinizing Franc across the table. 

Noemi is pondering something...her suspicions or her own guilt?

After several hours of accusations, the truth was revealed...

Gee I. Joe. 

Little did the guests know that Herr Bevore was his father. In fact, Joe had just discovered this truth recently himself. He couldn't go back to the USA and be received in all of the glory if people learned that he was half German. This American solider who was celebrating his country's victory took matters into his own hands...without an ounce of regret. 

As it turns out, we are teachers with some mad acting skills. Cheers to Michelle and another fabulous year...and to the whole group who really livened up a Saturday night. 

Happy Sunday to you all.

Mucho amor,

Jame