tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15869225284371737632024-02-08T08:32:45.996-08:00but arise and go to the next thing...hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-14871573885149864002009-07-02T03:50:00.000-07:002009-07-02T05:47:17.700-07:00spend the lasto, in your pocko...<span style="font-family: verdana;">So let me tell you about my Saturday...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The principal from the local elementary school invited me to an end of the school year party in a small village in the hills near where I live. Cool.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I got up Saturday morning, got myself ready, and headed out the door at around 8:45 to meet the principal at the school. We, along with a group of five other men, left in a grand taxi for the school in a town about three kilometers away to pick up sound equipment for the party. They loaded the car up and we headed out into the hills where we spent about 30 minutes on a dirt road before reaching our destination. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">All the town's children were there and a group of 10 camp-counselor-type people were there from Inezgane (a bigger city near Agadir, about 2 hours away) to keep the kids entertained. They played big group games, the most notable of which involved a whistle. They chose a few kids to be taken aside while the rest of us were let in on the secret that a whistle would be hanging out of the back of Mostafa's pants from the elastic band. The kids who were taken aside were brought back one by one and charged with the task of determining who had the whistle. So it essentially looked like this: Mostafa wandered around the seated crowd with a kid by his side. When he stopped, someone would reach up and blow the whistle. Mere inches from his butt. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Later in the day, after lunch, we gathered in a room to watch a movie. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ratatouille</span>. I love that movie. Only this version had been translated into Tashelheet by what must be some very patient people in Inezgane. The title was <span style="font-style: italic;">Agherda n Bariz</span>. Literally, "Mouse of Paris". The characters had names like Lahcen and Zaina. I don't think I can define what I felt while watching it. Maybe it both amused and bemused.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Following the movie, we began another. Tashelheet films are quite popular here. I, for the most part, don't understand them (both language and subject matter) and therefore only watch them if they're on while I'm visiting someone's house. I'm not familiar with the stars of the Tashelheet silver screen, so imagine my surprise while watching the film on Saturday that the man who caught my attention by entering the room through the noisy door and interrupted the film was the very same man whose image was being projected on the wall. Didn't catch his name. Nor did I get an autograph. But I did listen to his very compelling argument for being a good student. No, I don't want to spend my life doing nothing but sitting on the sidewalk. Stay in school, kids. I do realize that this was actually probably a very exciting event for the kids. I do hope that his words held some weight with them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">What followed was a big treat. A clown in ski bibs. He danced with a cane. Some of his moves resembled mine. It was disconcerting. Change of clothes. Rapper. Change of Clothes. Charlie Chaplin-esque. Change of clothes. An Indian guy singing... something. I spent this period texting a play by play to my friend Maggie. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was an awards ceremony for the kids afterwards. They called each kid up and a distinguished guest was called upon to present each award. I was sitting with the kids and not really paying attention when I heard, in Tashelheet, the words for "American," "health education," and "she knows Tashelheet". I looked up, noticed a teacher motioning to me, and realized they were calling me up to present the award. Looking back, I probably acted too much like the award was going to me. Could've waved a little less.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">To wrap up the evening, some of the younger (middle school aged) counselors from Inezgane, put on a fairly dramatic production. I can tell you that those kids will probably think twice before sniffing glue, smoking, being homeless, and/or abandoning an infant. I was honestly quite impressed with them for presenting those somewhat racy topics in such a conservative area. They did a good job. It was a little long. But they acted their hearts out. I wondered if they were doing it up a bit because the film star was in the audience. Maybe they've got their careers lined up now.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">The crowd dispersed, the men took down the tent, packed it up, we got back on the dirt road, and headed back to the school where we had picked up the sound equipment earlier that day. There was a group of men waiting there and I stood around while they struggled to assemble the tent (for the party I attended the next day) with only the glow from the classrooms in the distance. I felt kind of bad just spectating, but I figured there wasn't much they would let me do anyway. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Another ride in the car. I made it in my door at 11:30pm. 15 hours. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">But probably one of the funnier days of my life.</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-9192898914761605272009-06-22T03:12:00.000-07:002009-06-22T03:33:42.704-07:00hooray hooray, but now i'm gold...<span style="font-family: verdana;">Friday, June 19</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I took a Facebook quiz a couple weeks ago to determine which Food Network personality I am. Rachael Ray. I blaming it on narrow test parameters.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">My water is out today. I know, I know... This is the Peace Corps. If I never had running water, I'd be fine. I'd have a system. I don't have much of a system for usually having running water and then having it stop. I generally keep jugs full of water just in case. I had some girls from my community over yesterday, though, and they'll bang on anything to make music. They used my 20 liter jug for a drum, which I refilled this morning after noticing a drop in water pressure. It proceeded to leak out all over my floor. So. In the market for a new 20 liter jug. I currently have 10 liters in bottles in my kitchen. I test the faucet about every 30 minutes. I really shouldn't. A watched faucet never runs. At least today.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back to the girls... A group of five came over yesterday afternoon. I've had people from my community over before, but never a solely teenage crowd. I've never entertained for a group of teenage girls before. In any country. I was kind of nervous and was afraid I'd bore them. But when in doubt, bake. I figured it would keep us busy while also allowing us to socialize. We made jam thumbprint cookies from the wonderful cookbook my grandma sent me for Christmas. I made the dough ahead of time so we could just assemble them together. Two people rolled the dough into balls. Two dunked the balls in egg whites. Two rolled the balls in chopped walnuts. And we all made thumbprints in the cookies and then filled the prints with strawberry jam when they came out of the oven and had cooled. We drank iced chai. I don't know if they liked it, but they drank it, and that was kind of them. They wanted to listen to music and dance after we finished the cookies. Ladies here know how to move. They wanted me to dance and I warned them that I most certainly cannot dance like they can. They didn't believe me. I showed them. They believed and we did my spastic moves instead.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Oh. And because of the cookies... They told me that I'm like Rachael Ray. I don't want to hear that anymore. Yes, they get Rachael Ray here on a station from Dubai. Dr. Phil and Tyra too. I'm glad I don't have a TV.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I spilled candle wax on the touch pad of my computer last night. I don't think you're supposed to do that.</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-36188105737652599772009-05-08T05:24:00.000-07:002009-05-08T05:27:35.167-07:00i may be weary, but i am not weak...<span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Things I am pretty sure of:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> There are at least two Komodo dragons living on my roof.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> My kitten, Olivia, alternately thinks I am a cozy bed and something to climb and/or attack.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"> "In the womb of winter, summer seems a myth..." But it's not.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I'm just finishing up a three week tooth brushing program at the local pre-school/kindergarten. What a time, what a time... I'll say this: the world does not need comedians when there's a room full of 3-6 year olds learning how to brush their teeth. Each child was provided with a toothbrush and every weekday morning, I, along with the teacher, demonstrate and correct tooth brushing technique. Overall, the kids have been very enthusiastic about it and many caught on very quickly and are now able to model to and lead their classmates. The class consists of about 30 children, broken up into three tables, organized by age. Naturally, the older table is a bit ahead of the others in terms of ability, although the second table has come to be quite good. The third table... What to say about the third table? There are a couple of kids who have done very well, perhaps even on par with the children at the other tables. Others may need a bit more time. There's one girl who I just cannot get to stop chewing her toothbrush. On occasion, I've taken her toothbrush from her telling her the one single thing that she has to do is close her teeth and I'll brush for her. That lasts for about two seconds and then she's chewing again. Some of the toothbrushes at that table look like they've been used to scrub the floor for years. Of course, I'm sure my three-year-old self had tooth brushing blunders of her own. </span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-69844266896519695112009-04-18T02:57:00.000-07:002009-04-18T03:18:47.959-07:00merrily, merrily, merrily...<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">So... I guess it's been awhile. But only because nothing's happened since it was cold in November...<br /><br />Okay, things have happened. So we're all up to speed, a brief recap (did you know the full word is recapitulation?):<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">December: </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Eid Mqqurn </span>- sheep died, nearly every bit was eaten, though I still have a piece in my freezer <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Christmas in Madrid</span> - ate many pork products, Indian food on Christmas Eve, went to </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> a Methodist church with Texan preachers</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">January: </span> <br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Visit from Sam</span> - HLP4L! <a href="http://peaceandapint.blogspot.com/2009/01/morocco.html">Here's the comprehensive rundown.</a><br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Marrakech 1/2 marathon</span> - what a mess! Got very lost, but found a friend in Ishmael, </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">an 11 year-old with a penchant for James Brown</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">February: </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Visit from Tori</span> - we did a lot of turning about the country in trains, buses, and </span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">automobiles and met some... interesting folks</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"> <br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">March: </span> <br /><br />One year in country. Crazy.<br /><br />And now it's April. At the beginning of the month, I, along with 7 other volunteers (and 130 others countrywide), worked at a spring English language immersion camp in the city of Zagora (about 14 hours of travel from where I live). There were about 70 campers aged 14-17 and a group of about 5 Moroccan counsellors. I taught an English class with another volunteer named Kate. We covered subjects like family relationships, simple action verbs, and the difference between "a" and "an". Kate and I taught our class "Hello, Goodbye" by the Beatles. We came up with hand motions and wowed the crowd at the "Spectac" at the end of the week. My friend Mel and I led a nutrition club 3 days of the week. We introduced the kids to peanut butter. The campers were fantastic. They were so enthusiastic, and overall, very well behaved. We taught them "Row, row, row your boat" and they ate it up like pie. It was a totally exhausting week, but completely worth it.<br /><br />Finally, finally, finally I found myself a kitten! There are cats everywhere here, but I've been wanting a kitten from a family who keeps their cat inside because the outside cats can be pretty funky. Last month, I was visiting a family that I'm friends with and they told me their cat had just given birth. It was a triumphant moment. I was there a couple days ago. The kitties are bigger and I can bring one home soon! There are two daughters in the family; Samira is 21 and Hafida is 15 or 16. Samira loves make up and nail polish and all things pretty and they both love doing henna. Thus, I had my nails painted and henna done on my hands. In the process of waiting for the henna to dry, dinner was served. Egg tagine with bread. Samira had to hand feed me. I decided this must happen a lot when people get henna because not one person in the room skipped a beat as Samira scooped egg up with the bread and proceeded to shove it in my mouth.<br /><br />At camp, I made a bean bag with a sock and lentils. I introduced it into the afternoon activities of the kids in my neighborhood. Whoa.</span></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-55849519725451163472008-11-05T10:51:00.000-08:002008-11-05T10:55:29.222-08:00oh, the weather outside is frightful...<span style="font-family: verdana;">I have a new appreciation for Tiznit. I just had to buy a blanket two weeks ago. Just one blanket.<br /><br />I'm in the north for training.<br /><br />It is cold.<br /><br />Very very cold.<br /></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-48673534275016395612008-10-21T12:15:00.000-07:002008-10-21T12:18:02.951-07:00you are my sweetest downfall, i loved you first...<span style="font-family: verdana;">So, I named him Samson and not Zeke.<br /><br />He died about two hours ago. He had a really rough case of roundworms.<br /><br />I'm thankful that I got to love him the last four days of his life.<br /></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-3215423444986136232008-10-20T04:29:00.000-07:002008-10-20T04:36:19.985-07:00you ain't nothin' but a hound dog...<span style="font-family: verdana;">Friday, October 17<br /><br />I used to hate dogs. I could not understand why other people seemed to love them so much. I've always been a cat person. Strangely enough, my first pet was a dog. A little Dachshund named Dodger. And I remember loving him and being very sad to leave him when my family moved to Saudi Arabia when I was five. But those feelings were soon enough forgotten and from that time until the end of my junior year of college, the only pets my family had - both my dad and stepmom and my mom, my brother, and I - were cats. I love cats. They're independent. They're clever. Despite what non-cat people say, they have a lot of personality. All the cats I've ever owned have been an incredible source of entertainment and laughter. They can tend to be kind of elitist. You have to work for their affection, and it's so rewarding once you've earned it. I always thought dogs were fairly dumb animals, giving their loyalty and affection to anyone who gave them the slightest bit of attention. And really, who wants love you don't have to earn?<br /><br />Which brings me to my next point. <br /><br />My mom had been wanting a dog for quite a while when she finally was presented with the opportunity to take a dog from a woman she met in a parking lot who was having trouble finding the time to care for her dog Savannah. <br /><br />Savannah. <br /><br />I swear she's the most beautiful creature that has ever existed. I love her with my whole being. Her wonderfulness is unending. It was only after she came into our lives that I was able to begin to tolerate other dogs. And it is because of her that having a dog later in life is now a non-negotiable for me. (A dog that will live in harmony with my future cats, of course...)<br /><br />There are a lot of wild dogs here. A lot. And it's very rare to see one that looks fully healthy. They mostly look dejected, scared, malnourished, deformed, and abused. Dogs here are definitely not man's best friend. They are mistreated and for the vast majority, if not all, that's the only life they'll ever know. On my way back from a hike on a mountain near my house, I was walking to my host family's house to say hello and a dog that I hadn't noticed moved about three feet away from me. It startled me at first as it can be unclear as to what a wild dog's reaction to an oblivious and obtrusive human is going to be. But it just stood up and cowered timidly. And as it backed away from me, I looked it in the face and I saw Savannah and I felt for that dog the love that I feel for her.<br /><br />And I had a thought... And at the risk of sounding blasphemous... I think Savannah is like Jesus. Kind of.<br /><br />She loves me when I take her for walks. She loves me when I throw her toys in the backyard. She loves me when I run around the house and play with her. She loves me when I love her. <br /><br />She loves me when I don't have enough time for her. She loves me when I would rather watch a Project Runway marathon than take her for a walk. She loves me when she's covered in dirt and I don't want to get near her. She loves me when she smells and I push her off of the couch because I don't want to sit next to her. She loves me when I ignore her.<br /><br />It's only because of Savannah that I have been able to love other dogs. Well-behaved dogs. Pretty dogs. Friendly dogs. Even annoying dogs... in small doses. And the dispirited, desolate, and mangled dogs I see here on a daily basis. <br /><br />I love dogs because I love Savannah. I love Savannah because Savannah loved me first.<br /><br />And much like Savannah, Jesus loves me when I love him. He loves me when I laugh. He loves me when I delight in the beauty of nature. He loves me when I take interest in the world around me. He loves me when I work hard. <br /><br />But far more significantly, he loves me when I'm ungrateful. He loves me when I'm impatient. He loves me when I think poorly of others. He loves me when I think poorly of myself. He loves me when I'm yucky. He loves me when I'm lazy. He loves me when I really couldn't be bothered. His love for me is flawless and endless and is constant and consistent no matter the circumstance. I only know how to love at all because of the example he gives by loving me. <br /><br />It's only because of Jesus that I am able to love other people, although not even close to approaching how perfectly he loves. My family. My friends. Strangers. People that are interesting. People that are funny. People that are friendly. People that annoy me. People that aren't particularly nice to me. People that are sad. People that are lonely. <br /><br />I love people because I love Jesus. I love Jesus because Jesus loved me first.<br /><br />So, I guess the answer to my earlier question is: Me. I want love that I don't have to earn.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To be a disciple means that we deliberately identify ourselves with God's interest in other people. "That ye love one another as I have loved you..."</span><br /><br />...<br /><br />So, no joke... <br /><br />About 15 minutes after I finished writing everything above, I decided to sit on the stoop outside of my house to read The Audacity of Hope (Go Obama!) and a little puppy wandered over to me. I could tell that he had been injured because he has a lump on the left side of his jaw and throat area. I sat for a little while baby-talking him and kind of touching him with my fingertips. (He's fairly dirty). I heard a dog yelping and crying last night which caused me to have a fairly strange dog dream and I figure that it must have been him. A couple neighborhood kids rode by on their bikes and I asked if they knew what had happened to him. They said another dog bit him. So, I had a decision to make. One option was to continue playing with him for a few minutes and then leave him to fend for himself. I didn't think that was a very good option. <br /><br />I went inside and filled a bucket with hot water and tried to clean him up a bit. I cleaned the area around his jaw and neck and he didn't yelp or flinch or anything, so I'm not exactly sure what the problem is. I gave him some water and he seemed to have some trouble swallowing. I gave him a homeopathic remedy (Arnica) for trauma, muscle fatigue, sprains, and bruises on the counsel of my mother. A neighborhood girl came by. I told her what I was doing and she said that he belongs to the family that lives behind me. The concept of dog ownership here is pretty foreign and judging by his condition, it's pretty clear that he's not being taken care of very well by the owners that he may or may not have. It was getting pretty dark, but I heard the son of the family behind me and asked him if the puppy is theirs. He said something along the lines of "It was at our house". After a while, I locked him in my front gate and went over to the neighbors' house to ask if he belongs to them and they said that he just runs around outside. I told them that I was going to take him. They said I should just keep him in the area inside my gate but outside my door and that's where he is now. In a little cardboard bed with some fabric in it. I gave him a little dish of milk to see if he'd take it. He lapped a bit of it up, but I think he got a bit overzealous because then he started to cough. I may give him a bit more in the morning so that he can have something of substance as I'm not sure he can swallow food at this point. I was not planning on becoming a dog owner during my time here and the timing certainly seems less than ideal. But whatever...<br /><br />It's only the first night, so I may be getting ahead of myself. I'm going to bathe him in the morning. I'm pretty sure I already have a flea bite on my hand. But I have the opportunity laid out right in front of me to love and care for something whose life would otherwise be most definitely hard and painful and troubled.<br /><br />He's sleeping so peacefully. I keep opening my door to check on him. He must be so tired. Spending every night out in the wilderness with older, bigger, tougher dogs on the loose. He's safe inside my gate. He's so precious. I want to take care of him. I want to nurse him back to health. I want to love him in a way he's never known.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">For I will gather you up from all the nations and bring you home again to your land. Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you will be clean. Your filth will be washed away, and you will no longer worship idols. And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart. (Ezekiel 36: 24-26)</span><br /><br />So maybe his name will be Zeke. <br /></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-37836187724037171372008-09-19T04:23:00.000-07:002008-09-19T04:33:11.362-07:00it's the most wonderful time of the year...<span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >I had an epiphany this week...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Walk toward people instead of away from them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Wow.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >I like that I'm still learning how to be a person. I've never really understood the phrase "eating humble pie," but I'm pretty sure that every day in my life is an all-you-can-eat humble buffet.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >This week, I've been focusing on getting out more in the afternoons and being a presence in my neighborhood. I sit and at least attempt conversation with different groups of women and girls. If nothing else, we confirm, with a fair amount of repeated and rapid fire questioning, that all is well with each other - family, health, home. Are you happy? Yes, I'm happy. Are your parents well? Yes, they are well, thank God. Your family? They are well, thank God. Your health? It is good, thank God. It's been really positive. I have some great neighbors and the kids that live around me are really sweet and a lot of fun. A couple of younger neighborhood girls wanted to know if I dye my hair, if my blue eyes are really contacts, and if I've ever met anyone famous back in the States. I asked them if they knew the show FRIENDS. The one with three girls and three boys? Yes. You know the girl with the black hair? Yes. I met her when I was 13. I met her husband as well. Her husband in real life or on the show? Real life. They asked if she's my neighbor back in America. No.</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > </span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >We're in the middle of Ramadan right now - it will last all of September this year. It's the month in the Islamic calendar when men, women, and children who have reached adolescence fast from "sun-up" to "sun-down," although it doesn't follow that rule precisely. I have a fairly rudimentary understanding of all that Ramadan entails, but I've been able to observe some of the practices and know to some degree how people alter their schedules and behaviors this time of year. Fasting includes both food and drink, as well as things like smoking and sex. There are some exceptions to fasting. You are exempt if you are traveling, sick, or are a woman and have your period. The exemption applies to only food and drink. The general practice is to make up the days that you don't fast after Ramadan is over. Where I live, the morning call to prayer that indicates that all eating and drinking must be finished is around 4:50. In the evening, the call the prayer indicating that all may break fast is around 6:50.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >These days, the regular greetings all seem to be preceded by "Are you fasting?" Yes. "Is Ramadan hard?" Not anymore. I'm used to it. "Is Ramadan nice?" Yes, of course. Ramadan is very nice. I made the decision to fast I guess as an act of solidarity with my community. It's been interesting thus far. I've noticed that, above all, it requires me to be intentional. I set the alarm on my watch for 4:05 every morning and have the alarm set on my phone for 4:10. My watch is near my bed and never succeeds in getting me out of bed. My phone, I learned, needs to not be near my bed. Therefore, I put it in my kitchen every night and wake up in a startled panic every morning. It is one of the most terrible noises known to man. It wins every time. I have to get out of bed to make it stop. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Feeding myself in the mornings generally consists of deliriously grabbing what's easy and what will not leave me hungry two hours later. Fruits, vegetables, almonds, sometimes oatmeal, and lots of water. Around 5, I go back to bed until 8 or 9. Mostly, I don't let myself think about not eating or drinking until after 12. If I think about it before noon, it seems like there are just too many hours ahead of me. The light at the end of the tunnel starts showing at around 5. The hunger really isn't much trouble, but it can be difficult to not drink water, especially if it's hot outside. When it's time to break fast, I eat mostly fruits and vegetables, sometimes an egg, sometimes yogurt. Here, it's traditional to break fast with a soup called askif that has different variations, but most commonly consists of chick peas, lentils, small noodles, and spices in a light broth. This week, a family who lives near me has been sending over pots of askif. I think it's almost ridiculous how moved I was when I got that first pot. It was just such simple act of kindness. As for the askif, it's tasty, but add some hot sauce and pepper, and it's delicious. I drink a lot of water during the sunless hours. About three or four Nalgenes (32 oz each). Consequently, I make a fair amount of delirious trips to the bathroom during the night.</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-10688173136195437002008-09-03T07:00:00.000-07:002008-09-03T07:04:35.460-07:00you think you have to want more than you need...<span style="font-family: verdana;">Saturday, August 30<br /><br />So I'm going to confess something. But promise not to judge me, okay?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I didn't leave my house today. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I didn't plan it that way, but everything just fell into place so perfectly. I woke up before 8 and did a quick mental run through of my options for the day. And then it occurred to me that the exact thing I wanted to be doing was laying in bed drinking a cup of tea while watching the episode of No Reservations that I got from iTunes yesterday where Anthony Bourdain goes to the American Southwest. Perfection. I even got to see a shot of downtown Phoenix.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And it just kind of progressed from there. I made popcorn. I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</span>. I made some lunch. I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil</span>. I read "Death of an Innocent: How Christopher McCandless lost his way in the wilds" by Jon Krakauer... The precursor to <span style="font-style: italic;">Into the Wild</span>, the book and, of course, the movie. I made more popcorn. Then I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">Into the Wild</span>. I've tried watching it twice before and had been in and out of sleep before giving it up both times. I've had this weird feeling about the movie because of those two experiences. Sleep makes things weird sometimes. I haven't been eager to see it, really, until today after reading the article. I loved it. There's a part where he's particularly excited about an apple that he's eating. I loved that part. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Every now and then I get in this place, emotionally... And there's no real equation or formula that brings me there, although it generally tends to stem from a book, a movie, music, and lately, my podcasts, especially This American Life and Selected Shorts from Public Radio International. I suppose today's spell makes sense. I finished reading <span style="font-style: italic;">Shantaram</span> last night. Watched both <span style="font-style: italic;">One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Into the Wild</span> in one day. Listened to two phenomenal This American Lifes yesterday, one of which featured an as yet unidentified song that has me seriously and wonderfully attached. I feel incapable of describing this place... and how it makes me feel. I always try to prolong it. Most often with music. And it usually works for awhile, but it always eventually dissipates... I start making poor music choices... And then I kill it... I always know there will be another one. I wouldn't get much done if I always felt this way because all I want to do when I feel this way is to simply feel this way. And I think rather than feeling something specific, it's just feeling strongly and deeply and truly that I am in touch with or connected to something. Whatever it may be... </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Whoa. Does that paragraph make any sense? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I got in touch with my inner Betty Crocker yesterday and the day before and made some cookies... Peanut butter, oat, and cocoa no-bakes and snickerdoodles. I brought some down to the women at the neddi (the women's argan association) yesterday and made a delivery to my host family as well. The neddi ladies were pretty excited. They really enjoyed them. I'm honestly just surprised that I didn't make an awful mess of it. I saw and talked to a fair amount of people yesterday. And now it's the weekend. So I'll go ahead and say that I think it's okay that I stayed in today. It was a wonderful day.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">And maybe I lied a little bit. ...Because I was making hot cocoa at around 10pm and heard thunder while I was standing in the kitchen. I've been craving a thunderstorm, so my interest was piqued. I unlocked my front door and stepped outside with my cocoa (so I did, technically, leave my house). I could see stars in the sky. No clouds. But there was definitely thunder in the western sky. And then I heard something rustle in the plants about a foot away from me. So I terminated my 30-second quality time with nature and quickly stepped back inside.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">I think I need to find a bigger place</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Because when you have more than you think</span><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">You need more space</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-49311407827788681312008-07-30T04:08:00.000-07:002008-07-30T04:19:00.610-07:00you wanna be startin' something...<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I ate a cucumber for dinner last night.<br />I slept on my currently sheetless, pillowless (but amazingly wonderful) bed.<br />I felt a breeze during the night.<br />I woke up and drank black tea with milk and sugar.<br />I ate a bowl of raisin bran.<br />I listened to my Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me... podcast.<br /><br />Yes, I love my host family.<br />Yes, approximately two tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked away from their home yesterday with the last of my belongings.<br />Yes, I will go visit them on a regular basis.<br /><br />No, I couldn't be happier to be living alone!!!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-23623784819978927672008-07-23T07:44:00.000-07:002008-07-23T07:45:38.517-07:00home... is where i want to be, but i guess i'm already there...<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Note: I am noticing that it is becoming increasingly difficult to express myself in English, so if any of this sounds peculiar, blame it on the Tashelheet (which seems to maybe kind of be improving).<br /><br />I'm moving into my new place in a week. It's the same place the volunteer I replaced lived for the two years of her service so I didn't exactly have to put much effort into house hunting. I'm in the midst of some cleaning and organizing and brainstorming. I've never lived all by myself before and it occurred to me the other day while I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor that although I'm excited to live on my own, perhaps I'm not incredibly excited about being the lone soul responsible for the cleaning and upkeep of this house. I've never had to bear the entire load before (and to be fair, I don't think I've carried my own weight when the responsibilities have been shared).<br /><br />It almost seems surreal that home-stay is coming to an end. Surreal and also like the-most-amazing-thing-in-the-world is about to happen to me. I really do adore my host family. At the right moments, I even feel like part of the family. But if two's company and three's a crowd, then what does that make seven? I learned this week that being bossed around by a four year old is even harder to bear than being bossed around by a twelve year old. That may seem obvious, but I didn't know that I'd ever learn it from first hand experience.<br /><br />I've been spending about three mornings a week down at the sbitar (clinic). I sit in the office with my counterpart Aicha, who is the midwife. Her English is impressive, so we're able to communicate pretty well. Occasionally I'll use my Tashelheet with her, but when I want to express something that isn't incredibly simple, English is much easier (at least for me). Thursday is vaccination day and women from the surrounding douars (communities) bring their children in and I get to watch as they wail in displeasure with being stuck by needles. It can feel awkward to walk into the sbitar and greeting everybody. "Hey! How are you? Are you doing well? Happy to be sitting here waiting to see a nurse/doctor?" But it's a good way to get to know faces and sometimes chat with people who I might not see on a regular basis because they live a bit of a distance away.<br /><br />There's a neddi (women's association) in town that makes and sells the oil made from the grinding of argan. Argan is a nut that grows on trees that thrive only in a particular climate. Morocco is one of the only places in the world where argan grows and within the country, it can be found only in the south. The neddi is made up of women of all ages, both married and unmarried, who are mainly caretakers for their families and households and would otherwise not work outside of the home. The argan nuts came in about two weeks ago and the women have been steadily working at cracking the hard outer shell with a rock with a larger rock as a work surface (when I tried this, I beat the heck out of my thumb and finger), and then sifting through the pile of cracked shells to pick out the nuts (a much more finger friendly task). I haven't been present for the actual grinding of the argan yet, but am hoping to figure out their schedule (the specifics of my interactions often elude me) so as to be able to see how that all happens. I wonder if it's funny for the women for me to be wide-eyed and intrigued by something that is so habitual for them.<br /><br />I slipped on water and fell down the stairs the other day while carrying the entire whites load of my host family's dry laundry. Woops. Now they won't let me walk anywhere in my flip-flops where there may possibly perchance be water.<br /><br />I've noticed that my longings for home (not homesickness) manifest themselves in the strangest ways. Yesterday while harvesting cactus on a steep hillside with my host mother, host sister, and neighbor, I felt this impulse to watch a movie on the Disney Channel. Not like Cinderella or Mulan, but one of those made-for-TV types starring a pre-teen involved in some sort of unrealistic suburban fairy tale. Weird.<br /><br />Positive interaction of the week:<br /><br />I was sitting outside the other night with the neighborhood women (as we do every night) and my six-year-old host brother was trying to get his mom's attention. I'm translating this exchange into English, as I'm a little doubtful of my audience's Tashelheet abilities. So, my host mom's name is Fadma Hussein, host brother is Mohommed, and my host father's sister is Fadma Ali.<br /><br />Mohommed: Mom...<br />Fadma Hussein: Shit... (dismissively)<br />Mohommed: Moooomm...<br />Fadma Hussein: Shit...<br />Mohommed: Moooooommm...<br />Fadma Hussein: Shit...<br /><br />Finding this funny, I laughed.<br /><br />Fadma Ali: Hanneke (which sounds more like "Anka"), did you understand what Fadma Hussein said?<br />Me: Yeah, "Shit"?<br />Fadma Ali: See, you know some Tashelheet.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-77093495289157716702008-06-14T05:01:00.000-07:002008-06-14T05:05:00.664-07:00so, i'm testing the limits of my brain right now...<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I'm listening to This American Life (NPR podcasts are a Godsend) while typing this and hoping my brain doesn't explode. I haven't interacted face to face with an English speaker in seven days. It's been a Tash and French heavy week for me. Mostly Tash. French when times are desperate. My Tash may be getting better. Maybe. My host father commented that I know "a little" Tashelheet at dinner last night. That's a good sign, yeah? Anyhow, whatever the case may be with my Tashelheet, my English is going down the tubes at an alarming rate. I grasp for words that sometimes never come. I've only been at site for three weeks. It's already funny what's happening to my English abilities. It may get a lot funnier. It may get scary. It may get ugly.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Life is...moving along. I've been going down to the sbitar every morning, getting to know the staff. There's a midwife named Aicha (my counterpart), two nurses, Ali and Brahim, a head nurse named Tawfiq, and the doctor's name is Asma. She's not there all the time so I haven't interacted with her much, but the others have been great. They teach me new phrases everyday and we end up laughing quite a bit. When there are patients to be seen, I sit in the waiting room and attempt to speak with people. Sometimes I just greet them, Sometimes I stare at my feet. The main point of my going there is so that the people in my community will begin to associate me with the sbitar and will recognize me as a health worker. That's the stated goal, at least. Whether or not that will be the result is yet to be seen. </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >In the afternoons and evenings, I try to get outside and sit with some of the women who live near me. I watch the kids play, sometimes I join them. I kicked a kid in the hand the other day, which, incidentally, was not part of the plan. I carry on really incredibly basic conversations that usually have to do with the weather, Morocco being pretty, and me stating that I'm going for a walk. I make a lot of confused faces and say "oor fhmh" ("I don't understand) on a fairly regular basis. My community is pretty big, so it feels a bit overwhelming to have so many people out there to meet and to eventually get to know. I'm getting a little more comfortable everyday, but it does take a lot of energy to put myself out there over and over and over. It can be frustrating, especially when people compare my demeanor or activities or language abilities to those of the volunteer I replaced. Overall, though, I have some lovely people around me and the area is beautiful, so I know a lot of what I'm feeling is a result of having been in a totally new place with totally new people for only three weeks. It's not the easiest thing in the world. It's certainly not the hardest, though. And of course when I really need an escape, there's always my room and my computer where I can watch The Office or Arrested Development or FRIENDS, any number of movies, or listen to the week's offerings of my beloved NPR podcasts. My room is my haven. An unventilated one that's too close to the living room, but a haven nonetheless.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >I went to a wedding in Agadir last weekend with my host parents. We got there at three in the afternoon and left at nine the next morning. I drank tea at 1:30 in the morning, ate a meal at three and at five shared a sleeping cushion with an old lady that I don't know. Quite different from the last wedding I attended back home.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >And for the record, I had to resume typing this after This American Life was finished. My brain was, in fact, about to explode.</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-59047657222876820102008-05-26T08:54:00.000-07:002008-05-30T03:51:00.882-07:00i would like to buy a vowel...<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >But I can't. I've got other things to spend my money on (like chocolate). Also, there are no vowels available for purchase. Tashelheet has successfully eradicated the vowel altogether.<br /><br />Okay, no. But there aren't many to be had. Shoving a whole lot of consonants together to make a word is fun, but I sometimes feel like it would be nice to have a vowel, just as a buffer, so my brain could have that extra moment to figure out what consonant comes next and how on earth I'm supposed to pronounce it.<br /><br />It may not need to be said, but Tashelheet and I are still </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >struggling</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" > along. Getting to know each other more and more each day. I often wonder if I'll ever be able to speak/understand it and I have to remind myself (and everyone else) that I'm still learning. And if there was ever a time to do it, now is it. Because I kind of have to. It's in the job description. I really do love learning new languages, so I'm not resentful of the task, just speechless quite often.<br /><br />I've been an official volunteer for a week now. It's exciting and intimidating all rolled into one. My new host family is wonderful and prove to be a comforting pillow to fall back on when the world outside their door seems a little scary.<br /><br />It feels like life is about to be drastically different. I, along with the four other new volunteers in Tiznit province, have a meeting with the delegue of the Ministry of Health for the region tomorrow morning in the regional capital. He'll hand us our "note de service" and I'll be an official something or other for the government of Morocco. This seems a bit heavy to me. I've been hanging close to the host family the past five days, but once that document is in my hands, it's onwards and upwards. Meeting with the local government officials in my town, meeting with the landlord for the apartment I will potentially be renting when August rolls around. I'll be getting to know the staff down at the sbitar (health center) and making my presence as a health worker known in the community. Yes, this still feels heavy.<br /><br />But this is my life now. And I think I'm ready to live it. Maybe not </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >prepared</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:130%;" >, but ready. I'm blown away by the peace I have about it all. That in the midst of all things crazy and new, there is calm.<br /><br />I realize there's a whole chunk of my life that has been left out in the past month and a half or so on here, but that's fine. I'd like to say I'll catch up, but I probably won't. I'll just keep going from here...now that I'll have plenty of time to sit and ruminate about life and my existence. </span><br /></span></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-27828996805319495452008-04-13T08:37:00.000-07:002008-05-30T03:49:44.826-07:00the salinas valley is in northern california...<span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >I feel like a pretty big jerk for how I treated John Steinbeck when I only read the first two chapters of <em>Grapes of Wrath</em> junior year of high school. <em>East of Eden </em>is amazing. I'm so thankful John gave me another chance.</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >We returned from our second CBT yesterday. I don't feel like a complete alien there anymore, which I think is positive. My host sister Jamila put henna on my hands and feet my second night there. It's fun to look at, but the process leaves a bit to be desired. I ate dinner before the family that night and Jamila rested my hands and feet on pillows on my bed, applied the mudlike paste to my feet and then my hands, tucked my fully clothed self into bed, turned the lights out, and left the room. This was around 9.30. I sat in the pitch black with my hands and feet raised --wide awake-- for at least a couple of hours. It was the most interesting night of waking, sleeping, and positioning of my entire life. My heart jumped with joy at the sound of the 4.30am prayer call because it let me know that the sun was on its way. At the first sign of light at around 6, I shuffled to the bit l-ma (bathroom) and scrubbed like heck for 20 minutes.</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >We head back out to CBT on Thursday for another week. I think Soufiane has a broken arm which no one seems to be too concerned about. This complicates my frisbee plans. I have a practice language proficiency interview tomorrow morning. I hope to leave my interviewer awestruck. I also do not expect this to happen. At least not in a way that is of any benefit to me. Tash is not easy, but I am enjoying learning it. </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >All is well. The sun is hot. It will only get hotter.</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-47446540818273659522008-04-04T07:03:00.000-07:002008-05-26T09:48:05.620-07:00twist and shout...<span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >I washed my clothes yesterday. By hand. In a bucket. And then I dried them on a clothesline.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >It's okay if you want to be impressed. While I was doing it, I was thinking how utterly inconvenient it was to have to wash my clothes by hand in a bucket and how I couldn't wait to be done. I had to laugh because it was only at that point that it occured to be that I'm going to be washing my clothes by hand and in a bucket for the next 26 months of my life. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >We're heading back out to CBT tomorrow for 7 nights. I want to play frisbee with Soufiane. I also want to make bread with my host mother. I watched her make it last time I was there. The oven is clay and dome shaped with an opening at the top. You build a fire at the bottom of the oven with branches (that I watched my little-bit-of-a-thing host mother break on her knees like it was no big deal) and when the coals (or whatev) are ready, you smack a big circle of homemade bread dough against the inside wall of the oven. It's a pretty intense process and fairly impressive to watch. So, that's the goal for this next week. Oh, and maybe to be able to say at least a sentence to one of the members of my host family.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >Also, Edam cheese and avocado sandwiches with dijon mustard should win some sort of an award. </span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-21816016896568191832008-03-22T11:09:00.000-07:002008-05-26T09:48:34.888-07:00imik s imik...<span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;">The past 6 days/nights were spent away at our CBT sites (community based training). There are 5 of us in my group - Whitney, Emmy, Eli, Andy - and we have an LCF (language and culture facilitator) named Samira, who is pretty much fantastic. We each stayed with a host family and came together every day for school aka crash course in TashLheet. We'll return to our CBT 3 more times over the next two months. Which is good, because I baby step it into relationships with people and I know there's a lot of potential with my host family.<br /><br />My host brother is 12. His name is Soufiane, which is pronounced like "Sufjan," which is amazing, if you know what I mean... We count together in three different languages.<br /><br />My TashLheet is rocky. Like the Grand Canyon. Give it time, give it time... I <em>have </em>only been studying it for a week.<br /><br />It feels so good to laugh as hard and as often as we do here.<br /><br />I'm happy to be back with the big group for a few days. It's crazy that we've only been here for 3 weeks. It feels like months already. I love the people I am with. I'm so thankful to be here.<br /><br />I want to write love poetry to my Chacos. They inspire.<br /><br /><strong>Faith never knows where it is being led, but it loves and knows the One who is leading. The life of faith is not a life of mounting up with wings, but a life of walking and not fainting.</strong></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-89466746184134527692008-03-14T06:48:00.000-07:002008-05-26T09:49:08.602-07:00the shoes make the woman<span style="font-size:100%;">I don't think I gave cargo pants a fair shake before. I quite like these things.<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >So. Morocco. I kind of love this place. I kind of love my new Chacos. <br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >Who is this cargo pant, Chaco wearing person? Different clothes. Same me. Kind of liberating.<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >"My Humps" was just playing in the internet place. Oh, Fergie... Never leave me. <br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >I'm going to be learning the Berber dialect, Tashelheet. Found that out yesterday. I'm excited. These next two years are going to be a triiip. Everything is going really well thus far. I really <em>really</em></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" > enjoy all of my fellow health trainees and I've had a lot of fun getting to know the town where we're doing our training.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >The typhoid vaccine, however, is one unfriendly fellow.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >We finally had couscous today!</span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-65493294367266372602008-02-29T14:03:00.000-08:002008-05-26T09:52:25.851-07:00come on, baby, do the locomotion...<span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><b style="font-family:times new roman;"><i><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Trainees would do well to remove any facial piercings and cover any tattoos as these prevent them from adapting well to their communities.</span><br /><br /></span></i></b></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Blah.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Dan In Real Life</span> was the in-flight movie from Phoenix to Philly. My row was one of the only two on the plane whose audio didn't work. I had to close my eyes and force myself to sleep. I would've been far more fussy about it had there been someone there to complain to.<br /><br />I think I must've been overly tired on my way to the airport this morning because I heard something about J-Lo and her twins...(I guess I've been living under a rock, because apparently they were born three weeks ago. Who was gonna tell me?!)...and I almost started bawling. Weird. Still tired. Awaiting the arrival of my Philly roommate. The first stranger out of a series of strangers to come...<br /><br />Tomorrow will be good. I can't believe this is finally here.<br /><br />ps - the GRE is a big, fat jerk.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:Times New Roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family: verdana;font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" ></span><b><i><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></i></b></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-13446187723822443132008-02-26T09:57:00.000-08:002008-05-26T09:50:20.611-07:00everybody's free to wear sunscreen...<span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><em>Don't go overboard. There is no reason for you to spend a lot of money packing for the Peace Corps. Brand-name outdoor gear will not make you a more effective or happy Volunteer.</em><br /><em></em><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >When it comes to packing, "overboard" is all I know how to do. This is a practice in self-control and discernment and it feels suspiciously similar to shopping for a kid from one of those angel trees at Christmas. I know it's a boy and he's 7. Period. My understanding of what I should be bringing can be described as vague at best. Yesterday, I went shopping for a pair of shoes. I came home with six shirts and a pair of pants. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >I lack focus.<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >I'm taking the GRE Thursday morning. 24 hours before my flight leaves for Philadelphia.<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><strong>Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >I found a pile of cds I've been looking for. Just in time.<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1586922528437173763.post-53493153785302472882008-02-24T14:18:00.000-08:002008-05-26T09:49:55.680-07:00countdown to what?<span style="font-size:85%;"></span><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;font-size:100%;" >The GRE?<br />Tax time?<br />Part 1 of the Project Runway finale?<br />Staging in Philadelphia?<br />Oh wait, what? Morocco?<br /><br />My flight to Morocco leaves in approximately 8 days. And somehow, that's like...last...on my list of things to do. I've had months to sign up for the GRE and here I am annoyed that the registration website is down for scheduled maintenance because I need to sign up for it at least three days in advance and I leave Phoenix on Friday morning, so... That window of opportunity that was once wide open seems to have slid down and now is only open just a sliver. I like how I say "slid down" as if the window did it on its own. Have I not had access to ETS.org for the past...however long ago it was that I decided that I want to take the GRE before I leave for Morocco? I feel like the GRE is that person in the room I don't want to talk to so I just keep avoiding eye contact...<br /><br />And then I remember that I have to file my taxes within the next five days and it seems that there are actually two people in the room that I don't want to talk to... I forget that tax filing season even exists until it shows up again year after year. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I usually have until midnight on April 15. And you better believe that I wait until at least 11:57 to click "Submit" on TurboTax.com. Not this year. I'm filing them early. And not at all because I am disciplined. For all intents and purposes, today might as well be April 11.<br /><br />As for Project Runway, all I can say is that I consider it a personal affront that Part 2 of the finale is airing 48 hours after my flight leaves for a land that Bravo doesn't reach.<br /><br />I'm getting pretty excited for my staging in Philadelphia. For one thing, I haven't spent any time there before and like going to new places, even if it is only for three nights. Also, I was pretty much summer camp obsessed when I was a kid and I kind of feel like I'm about to go to big kid summer camp. I'm going to be meeting 60 new people in Philly and going through training sessions like "Crossing Cultures" and "<em>A Slice of Life: Coping with Unwanted Attention</em>". I mean, they have the potential to be just as fun and productive as like, I don't know, campfire building and arts and crafts, right? However, I think I'd prefer a swimming test to the 5 vaccinations I have coming my way.<br /><br />And then, oh yeah, I'm moving to Morocco. And although I have a very limited idea as to what <em>that's</em> going to entail, I really am incredibly excited. </span>hannekehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09909530450181015977noreply@blogger.com0