Advent Day 1 (well, for me)

So it´s Advent, a season that, when I was Catholic, I loved a lot. I loved the images of light in the dark, I loved the pre-Christmas songs. I loved the joy of the season, because let´s face it... most of the rest of the liturgical year is about how screwed up and nearly irredemable but for Jesus we all are. Anyway, I can´t call myself truly Catholic anymore, but I want to do something for Advent this year.

If you think about it, Advent is just about light and goodness coming into a dark world. Just think of the imagery... dark, cold night in depraved conditions, and BOOM, there´s a warm, fleshy baby Jesus, and suddenly there´s light in the picture (as if stables had electricity in 0 aD)... light radiating from the baby, light from the heavens to the baby, and everyone´s happy. We all need a little light in the dark places of our lives. Well, I can´t content myself to wait for Jesus... Rilke had a nice quote about the birth pangs of the divine, how we all cumulatively bring God into the world. Basically... we should strive for goodness, realize it will be less than comfortable to bring it into being, and try to bring it in anyway.

So for Advent, I want to do one good deed a day, small or big. And the challenge will be that... I´m in a different country. I can´t predict my days, so I just have to be ready, with a mindset to help. I got started today. I was walking toward the city centre to get some passport photos taken for my visa renewal. On the way, I noticed a woman about my age sitting with her back against a building, covered in a blanket, huddled down in a parka and scarf, begging. I´m as skeptical as the next person about beggars. I wonder... are they doing this just to avoid work? Are they going to go buy alcohol? I don´t like giving money. But on the way back from my photos, I stopped in a grocery store to get some things I needed. On the way back, I handed her half my bread. She thanked me. Obviously I didn´t feel that I´d done anything special. In fact, I felt kinda crappy I couldn´t do more. I always wonder if it´s insulting to be handed a piece of bread. I mean, she´s begging, but still... I don´t think 250 calories is going to make much of a dent in her hunger. Well, I´m not in a position to do much more than that. So that´s why I´m trying to start small, with that which I can do. I know that one act changes very little, but maybe someone saw me and will think to do the same somewhere for someone else. Maybe the girl herself will be inspired to action (I´m aware sometimes there is no action to be taken.). Sometimes you can´t do much to change a situation. That doesn´t mean to ignore it. It takes a city.

Granada

Woke up at 9 am in Granada, freezing in my hostel bed. Went downstairs and was the first to help myself to three bowls of corn flakes, coffee, and orange juice for breakfast. I had to wake up to go get it, but if you know me and my need for calories, you know why it was important for me to go.

We rode in on a bus yesterday about noon. After spending all night on the bus, most of us were hungry, dehydrated, and exhausted. This didn´t stop us from splitting into groups, the first of which went to the Alhambra. I was in the first group, so I went. Our other group goes today. It´s one of those moments I wish I knew more about history. I know it was significant in the cutlure clash between Moors and Catholics in the 1300s and 1400s, but beyond that it´s hard to appreciate the significance without knowing more. Nonetheless, it was truly beautiful and we took a lot of pictures. They will appear online when I am back at my apartment as I haven´t brought my camera cable with me here.

Last night we went on a tapas tour around the city, which was good as we were all starving. Aleks and I wound up with a group of Erasmus mostly from Madrid, so we met some new people. A few girls from Sweden and Switzerland. For once, we weren´t the only ¨rubias¨ running around.

The discoteca that we went to first was ¨OK.¨ I love dancing, but I need someone to dance with. They were playing so much salsa and merengue, and it was killing me because it´s like oh come onnnnnnnnnnn, someone PLEASE know how to do this!!!

Most everyone else went on to a second club, but Aleks and I taxied back early because we were kinda bored and tired with it. Maybe we´ll survive longer tonigt. Anyway, we´re headed out to buy a coat for her and snacks for me. Tour of the city on foot starts at 4.30.

Midnight sparrow

Another night--
commiserating with the ceiling
who I´ll be in the morning,
which self I´ll leave
slobbering on the pillow.

And the cars that pass by--
they keep going somewhere,
past the cemetery, past the stop light,
past the self they left,
waving in the driveway.

A stranger´s piano music--
measured in kilobytes
instead of common time,
does its best to ease
this dilemma for the night.

But my soul always sliding--
out that window,
where a midnight sparrow chirps,
takes wing, always double
in a world of singularities.

Every morning you wake up...

¨Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never. In nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force, never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.¨ -Winston Churchill

This quote really resonates with me, because my whole life... I guess I´ve been a bit stubborn on things where I sense an abuse of power or might. I relentlessly petitioned my elementary school teacher for things like excessive demands (as a sixth grader, I tested at a high school senior´s reading level and therefore was only permitted to read books above my maturity level, and I also had to read more than people at lower levels. When I failed to read and test on some one thousand odd pages every month, I had to sit and read in the office, and this happened to several of us), the right to have a Valentine´s Day Party, anything my child self found important.

Now, it´s bigger topics, and I don´t always feel as involved as I could or should be. There´s a lot of protesting going on in my state right now about the Marcellus drilling. I am grateful to those who are protesting and attempting to keep those in charge in check. For my part, however, I haven´t been as involved as I could be maybe. I went to a letter writing event, signed some petitions. On my drive home from Morgantown over the last couple years, I´ve watched the landscape change. What used to be seventy-two miles of the most heart-lifting drive I´ve ever known is now punctuated by drill sites, trucks that are too big for the roads. They´re contaminating our water, ruining our roads, and really... endangering the life of every motorist who uses the road. Like I said, those trucks are just too big. They can´t handle those turns without going left of center, and given all the windy blind turns on Route 7... it´s a death trap. They are talking about putting a plant in close to my home, which would create about two hundred jobs. God knows we need them, but... at what price? I know people are struggling to keep the heat on and food on the table. I´m not too proud to admit that for awhile when my dad´s plant was on strike, we accepted food from a pantry, that the local gym waived our membership fee, that my piano teacher let me come a few times without paying. And I haven´t even felt the brunt of it. I see people I love going without medicine they need, living in the constant anxiety of the heat being shut off, surviving on macaroni and cheese and hot dogs because food that would be more nourishing is too expensive. This is clearly a problem... and not a sob story. I´m talking about people who are willing and able to work, but there just aren´t enough jobs. So this Marcellus drilling plant seems like a good idea, right?... It may be a temporary solution for some people who are on the brink of collapse, but in the long run... it´ll poison our water (and let´s keep in mind that we already can´t eat the fish out of that river), and without water, we´ll eventually be even more bound by this damnable tradition of economic slavery we have in the valley. Our people do back-busting jobs for 12- and 16- hour days, and can still barely make ends meet? Something doesn´t add up here, people...

Then I think about Wall Street and the Occupy movement. I woke up yesterday to news of a police raid happening in the middle of the night. And I think how grateful I am to the people who are there and in the encampments throughout the United States, trying to make a stand for economic justice, because let´s face it... our middle class isn´t just disappearing... it´s already almost entirely gone. The poor are getting poorer while the rich are getting richer. I´m all for a simple life. I don´t need designer tags or long strands of pearls, but I do need to eat, I do need clean water, and I do need enough money to pay rent and medical bills. Anyone working in a free and modern country shouldn´t have to struggle for at least that much. And these protestors are trying to insure that for us. We´ve been talking about the imminence of class warfare for awhile. Well, I think it´s coming... unless enough of us bottom-feeders can link up and actually work together, not punking out when someone comes along and offers to appease us with a few hundred a week... to destroy our own land. Are you kidding me? No, no, no. Because you´re going to get cancer from drinking the water, you´re going to slave away interminable hours of your one and only life, and struggle to make ends meet... to help the enemy.

And on a much smaller scale... people have been telling me forever... Pick your battles, Casie. Well, I do, but it´s just that... every morning you wake up, you´re in for the fight of your life. I feel it in other ways at home, and I fight whenever I´m able. And people tell me to have a beer, relax. But I cannot relax when I feel like people are encroaching on my rights, my independence. The cable company jacks my bill up without warning, I cancel the cable and give them my clear opinion. I´ll figure it out without cable. There are libraries and cafés for internet, and I don´t need to watch TV. I don´t even like it that much. I try to rent a car, but because I´m a week shy of 25, I´m going to have to pay an extra 100 bucks. So I decide, screw it. I´ll drag my junk ass old car to DC. If I break down, I break down. I am told that sometimes I should just accept this sort of thing. I absoultely will not. I know that rules are in place for a reason, statistics namely. However, because I am a good driver and can´t afford the extra price, I refuse to accept this. Someone, somewhere, has to say no. Lately, I´ve been told I´m not going to change a certain situation involving men. I´ve run across a few not-so-charming fellows over here. I´m dancing with my friends, they butt in like they have a right to come enjoy us for the night. I´m at the gym doing my workout, they´re counting my push-ups out loud or trying to swipe the machine I´m using. I´m teaching a friend to swim, they´re piping up like they know better. Just... back off... and I don´t care what´s accepted here or at home. I am not inferior for my sex, and every single time I feel that that´s being challenged, I will stand up to the challenge. I remember my gym class, 8th grade. We were playing wiffle ball of all things. I´d been playing ball for years and wanted to play third base. I didn´t want to stand in the outfield and be bored. In front of the entire class, I was ordered to stand back, go to the outfield. He said girls don´t need to be in the infield, because they´ll get hurt and cry, and her parents will sue him. (Personally, I´d be more worried about a sexual discrimination case.) I stood and explained that I played ball, had taken line drives to my body, and that because I was physically smaller than most males, I had less of a chance of actually being hit by the ball. But this grown man walked up to me and forced me back physically. After class, he employed the help of the high school quarterback to explain to me why women don´t belong in the infield. I informed him I didn´t care what the quarterback thought, slammed the door in his face as hard as I could, and marched off. And I´m not going to stand back here because of my sex either. Period. Would it make my life easier to stand down and go with the flow? Absolutely, but it would make it immensely less bearable as well.

I´m fighting right now for my damn bike of all things. I signed a contract when I moved into these apartments, and nowhere was it mentioned that I couldn´t have my bike in my room. So I´ve been keeping it here in my room. It´s protected from weather and thieves in my room. Then a few nights ago, a man follows me to my room and demands that I take my bike to the common lock-up room. I´m furious, of course, because I´m earning this apartment by teaching for the university, and I´m told I can´t have my bike in here... And where I mentioned above that bottom feeders need to hang together, I felt like he could have so easily just looked the other way. I took it down for him, because I appreciate his position. With the unemployment rate what it is here in Spain, and maybe he has a family to take care of... I get it. Like I said, I took donation food for awhile. But man, was that a hard walk downstairs, knowing I respected him and his position, but that he had none for me. I don´t know how many times I´ve said to people, ¨I didn´t hear that. I didn´t see that.¨ Sometimes the enforcement of rules is really just badgering people out of their rights, especially if the rule isn´t explicitly written down somewhere. So, I could accept it for what it is, and if I was a person who could do that, yeah, my life would be easier. But because I have never been able to overlook an abuse of power in any circumstance, I´m talking with the boss of the apartments about this. I´m explaining that this should have been written down and that I have a right to protect my property, because... I´m angry. Am I screaming in someone´s face and acting like a lunatic? No. There is a way to make your voice heard without acting like an asshole. I don´t always win, but I don´t always lose, either.

A couple days ago I was talking with a girl who was outraged by androgynous hair styles and dress for both men and women, saying that there should be a difference. It´s wrong, she said, just wrong. Didn´t I agree? I told her I didn´t. I told her why, calmly, rationally... but I didn´t gloss it over, either. And you know what? She (and she´s an opinionated woman) said, maybe you´re right. I hadn´t thought about it like that.

I´ve been hearing a lot here about how people from the US are a bunch of imperialists. No, it´s not everyone saying that, but enough that I´m concerned. Am I proud of everything my country´s every done? Absolutely not. We have our dark periods in history like any other country. But what really gets my blood boiling is when I hear someone say we´re all imperialists, because... like I discussed above, that´s not the case. There are probably some in the government who would like to dominate the entire world by force. But I don´t believe that´s true of the majority, and it´s certainly not true of the common person, not true of the poor person who would love for the tyranny to stop so he could just feel secure that food and healthcare would be there. So when my lit professor started in on some German girls yesterday for eating in class (in Spain, this is very disrespectul), I was already getting irritated. I felt like it would have been so easy for him to wait until after class or to walk up to them and address them more subtly. He chose to put them on display and humiliate them. He said it was like putting your feet up on the table, which was very American... suddenly he remembered he had an American student in the class, and asked me if he wasn´t right. I had no chance to take the edge out of my voice, and I let him know very clearly, that no, it was a very rude thing to do. Sure, some people may do it in their homes, but in a classroom, never. Everyone began to laugh. I think they were a little shocked, because this professor really enjoys throwing his weight around over his students. I could list several examples, but it would distract from my point. I wasn´t glaring at him because I hate him. I was glaring because if I didn´t focus, I was going to explode. I wake up in the morning and read about my people being beaten with police batons and being sprayed with pepper spray in the middle of the night, and then I´m supposed to agree with a humiliating rhetorical question about them? He could tell I was upset, and after class he waited for me. He said he didn´t mean to bother anyone. I guess that was his best attempt at an apology, even though it wasn´t an apology. I didn´t know what to say. I basically said, ok, and I understand. What am I going to say?... Oh, that´s alright? Ugh. I plan to go talk to him privately next week, not to make waves, I want to say I´m sorry for not being able to hear him when he was talking to me after class. Because I am. I am all for fighting the good fight, but I am also for mercy. If someone attempts to address the issue, I like to at least be able to hear them. I don´t have to say it´s OK, but it is possible to forgive without approving what has occurred.

There are simply some things that I can´t just ¨go with the flow¨ on.
If you´re discriminating based on sex or gender, I´ll challenge you.
If you´re discriminating based on race, I´ll challenge you.
If you´re discriminating based on creed, I´ll challenge you.
If you´re discriminating based on nationality, I´ll challenge you.
If you are trying to take away my personal rights or saying things that indicate you would like to take away someone else´s rights, I will challenge you.
Now, that sounds like someone who´s all fists and no heart. But I assure you, it is of the utmost importance to forgive, to be gentle. Challenging someone for holding unfair ideas doesn´t mean you don´t love the person. It just means... you refuse to let them go on discrimintating in your presence, at least without a fight.

I´ll never be someone who can let these things go. So I´ll fight every day. I feel better about fighting every day and having moments of anger or frustration than I would about seeing wrongs going on and doing nothing about it. Sometimes you have to put on your big girl panties and have at it.

This is disorganized. I´m talking about ten things at once. The point is, whether in the macro or the micro, it is important that we all challenge injustice and stand up to it.

The Night I Accidentally Became a Rebellious Hippy

It´s that awkward moment... when you realize what you thought was going to be a chill bikeride with a friend and several of his... turns out to be a 200-people strong manifestation for cyclists´ rights.

On Friday night, I hopped on my bike (after carrying it down the stairs and sneaking as quickly and smoothly out the front door as possible because they give me crap for keeping my bike inside here) and began pedaling against the wind toward the city centre, La Plaza Mayor. I was going to meet a friend, as he´d asked me to join him and some of his friends on a bike tour through the town. I thought that sounded like an acceptable and welcome alternative to the endless nights of partying in clubs, so I said yes. As I wove through a chaotic swarm of pedestrians in the plaza, I saw a small group of cyclists starting to form. Their bikes were adorned with flashing lights, and I asked myself, is this a parade?

My friend wasn´t there when I arrived, so I sat at the base of a statue and called him up. He was running late, so I sat there on the statue watching more and more bikes with flashing lights arrive. I started to get the clue that this wasn´t just a casual group of friends. When my friend finally showed up, he joined me at the statue, and I asked him why there were so many people and what this was all about. He informed me that there were so many people because it was the organization´s tenth anniversary. I asked what organization, and he told me it was the organization that fights for the rights of cyclists in Valladolid. ¨Oh, so I´m part of a fight now?¨ I asked. He laughed and responded in the affirmative but said that tonight wasn´t really about anything. OK. He also said that riding your bike in the street is illegal, and that riding without those flashing lights at night is also illegal. Cool. This is when I realized I was going to spend the evening breaking laws, in a foreign country, without a passport on hand, as part of a manifestation (that we called a party so that the cops wouldn´t get upset). People were wearing wigs and flying flags on the backs of their bikes. Most people had bells on their bikes that they were ringing, and one guy even had a boombox strapped to the back of his bike. No, this was not going to attract any attention at all. I was going to slide right under the radar.

Ten minutes later, we´re stopped at a red light. My friend and I are up at the front of the pack, and behind us are about 200 other cyclists, filling both lanes of traffic, blocking cars. Drivers behind us are going crazy, and the guy beside me wearing two hats and mascara is blowing a whistle. People are waving at us and clapping. Some just stare on, confused. Nope, we have gained no attention. Green light. Go.

I didn´t think to wear gloves. Not only were my hands cold, but everytime I moved my hands against the handlebars, I could feel it tingling all the way up to my elbows. I thought this might not be a good sign. I kept pedaling.

Also, I´m claustrophobic. Even when I ride bikes with John, I usually demand that we ride single file with two bikes´ distance between us. Now, here I am in a hoard of bell-ringing, whistle-blowing, screaming, fist thrusting protesters, all on bikes, crammed together about as close as the Tour de France riders... and I´m just riding along taking pictures of the new parts of the city I´m seeing as I go. I´m thinking how cool this is that everyone´s all pals and helping stand up for bikers´ rights.

Honestly, while it might seem a minor issue, if we´re going to make the leap from cars to non-motorized transit, bikes are the way to go. They´re faster than walking, and in crowded cities, they´re also faster than cars... that´s true even in Morgantown... but when motorists don´t respect you and you don´t have a legal right to be on the road, and when pedestrians don´t respect you and you have to share their sidewalks... well, the situation could just be improved. How about a narrow lane tagged onto the sidewalk? I know in Morgantown it´s technially not permissible to ride your bike on the sidewalk. However, motorists go past angrily shouting at you to do so, but then if you do get on the sidewalk... with the hills and turns and all... if you run into a pedestrian and have to dodge into the street to get out of their way, well, that could be your life. And when the motorists say mean things to me like that, all I can think is, I´m out here using my legs while you spike the price of gasoline (obviously it´s not that simple, I realize). Instead of blowing your horn at me and shouting inflammatory remarks, you should be waiting for me at the top of this hill with a bag of cookies. Of course, there are times when it is more practical to go in a car, but let´s knock the road rage down a little and not risk cyclists´ lives because following them for one street might make us one minute later to wherever we´re going. If you want cyclists off the roads, join the fight and help them get a safe space of their own.

Take home point: You may want to get the details of events before agreeing to participate in them. It´s not that I would have said no; I just would have brought my passport along, just in case... because when those cops threw on their lights behind us, I was nervous. I was relieved, as I could tell many others were, also, when they drove on past. Sometimes when you think you´re going for a little bike ride, you are going on a protest. That´s OK. Just keep pedaling.

(Also, if you want to see more pictures of the event, they are available on my facebook profile, in the album titled Valladolid. At this point, they are the last 7 pictures in the album.)

The Woeful Tale of a Wayward Library Patron

Well, after twenty years of abusing libraries, I have finally learned my lesson.

It was raining today. I´d been running, showered. I was enjoying my disgusting cup of instant coffee as much as one CAN enjoy a disgusting cup of instant coffee, and chuckling to myself at the blatant sarcasm of John Locke in his essay ¨On Human Understanding.¨ I was taking notes, preparing to write a response essay to it later. I got tired, took a nap, went to school, and then I went to the library...

I informed the librarian I´d forgotten to bring the book back due to the recent short vacation. I supposed there would be a penalty. I´m used to paying fines for my library books, as I never bring them back on time. Frankly, it´s frequently cheaper to pay the fine than it is to drive back to the library and turn in the book. Well, this man did not want my money. No. What he wanted was the FULL REVOCATION of my library privileges until a period of two days for every one day the book was late had passed. The horror! I was planning to go home with that book tonight and make myself some rooibos chamomile tea and continue reading. But the book was physically removed from my hands. I felt violated. My evening plans, my weekend plans, had just been pulled out of my hands. All I could do was stand there pathetically asking, ¨Seriously?¨

And that´s when I realized... this is what they needed to do to get me to bring my books back all those years. I have transgressed at every library I have ever patronized. I have acquired something of a record. My books are always returned late or damaged. To further exemplify my point, I will tell you of some perversions of library usage that will make you shudder.

Age 5. My parents both worked full time jobs. Mom was all day shift. Dad was a shiftworker. So I stayed at my grandma´s house a lot. Luckily for me, she lived close to the Paden City Public Library. I flippantly charged through the neighbor´s yards and church parking lots instead of using the streets on my way to the library. Sometimes I even snuck out without telling my grandma where I was going. Yeah, I was a hard roller like that. I couldn´t be distracted from my goal, which was to get to the library, march defiantly to the empty plastic gallon jug painted to look like a face with a mouth, out of which came recycled grocery bags. I would then greedily fill the bag with eight books, which was the library´s maximum and storm back to my grandmother´s house. She always wanted to know how many books I had, because my mother had instructed me not to get so many anymore since I always lost them. I lied, of course, and ran away and hid the books. When my mother came to pick me up from my grandmother´s house at the end of the day, I would wait until they were engrossed in conversation and run to the van as fast as I could to hide the books under the seats so she wouldn´t catch on to my disobedience. Four weeks later, though, she´d get a call from the librarian, who unfortuately also went to our church. (I had to be reminded of my crimes while looking at Jesus every Sunday.) Suddenly, my mother was standing in the doorway of my bedroom. ¨Casie, I just got a call from the library.¨ My five-year-old brain was racing, searching for lies and excuses before I could remember if I even had any books from the library. Oh, but there was the corner of ¨Frog and Toad Together¨ peeking out at me from under the bed, and I knew I was sunk. I´ve never been a good liar, perhaps due to the overwhelming panic I always feel at being caught at something, or perhaps due to the guilt only a helplessly repeat offender of library crimes such as myself could possibly ever know. Seeing the guilt spread across my face, my mother, who could sometimes be decent despite her efforts to cap my avarice for more and more library books, would enter what appeared to be a teddy bear, doll baby, and random stuffed animal drunken orgy, and help me search for the books. We figured 6 outta 8 wasn´t bad, and she´d take me to the library, make me walk in with my sack full, but not as full as it should have been, of books, and hand them to the library, explaining that I still had to check my backpack, cubby at school, and grandma´s house for the remaining two. For awhile I´d be embarrassed. I´d be sorry for the lack of Wet´n´Wild nail polish that I bought every week with my allowance, which was now being withheld to pay off my library debt. I´d go home, clean my room, try to convince my parents I could be trusted with library books again and to reinstate my allowance, but within days I would inevitably be back to my old tricks. ¨Mam-maw, me and Erica are going to the library, OK?... No, I won´t get more than three.. YES!!! I promise!!!¨ I was sincere, of course. What sort of sociopathic kindergartener could lie to her dear, sweet Mam-maw? But when I got to the library I was like a gambling addict in a casino. I fought myself hard. I laid all the books I wanted to take home with me out on a table and commiserated for MINUTES over which ones I would check out. I knew I couldn´t show up with eight again, not that soon, but maybe, no... surely, my compassionate grandmother would understand that I could not possibly leave these extra two behind. If I did, someone else might have them checked out when I came to look for them again. And then I´d come back a few weeks later, and SOMEONE ELSE would have them. Good God- this could go on FOREVER! Yes, my Mam-maw would understand.

By the fourth grade, I had yet to change my ways. Two of my great passions at that age were riding in the back of my dad´s truck and reading the Little House on the Prairie series. So one day I was just riding in the back of the truck, reading my book, when suddenly I felt the bump and tumble of the gravel driveway. CHIPS AHOY! If I didn´t get inside soon my little sister would beat me to them! So I jumped from the bed of the truck and sprinted in the house, forgetting all about my book. My dad was on the midnight shift that night. At about 11:45, just as he should have been arriving at the plant, it began to rain. I worried for my book. I thought about telling my mother, maybe we had time to drive up the river and rescue my book before it was ruined. It had a laminated library cover, so that should offer some protection, right? But I couldn´t expose my shame, or more accurately, terror. So half an hour later, I forgot all about it, went to bed, and woke the next morning with not a single thought of my lost book. That book stayed there for two months. The school librarian asked me about it when it was three weeks overdue, but by this time I´d forgotten about the truck incident and therefore spent hours searching for it at all my relatives´ houses and in the VORTEX OF HELL, which was my bedroom. One day I was just wallering around on the floor watching the morning sitcoms on TBS when my mom walked in the living room. ¨I found your book,¨ she stated flatly and smilelessly. ¨What book?¨ She held it up for me, soggy and moldy. I took it to the school librarian the next day after failed attempts at resucitating it with a blowdryer. She gave me a dirty look, made me pay 10 dollars in damages... I shudder to think how many bottles of Wet´n´Wild I had to sacrifice to pay that one off... but she STILL let me have more books.

I didn´t get better in high school. My report card was withheld more than once due to overdue library books or outstanding fines. In college, I failed to return movies and books on time, and when I did return them, they were frequently coffee stained. I always set the books on the return table and walked away as quickly as possible. Frankly, I was embarrassed of myself by that age. I could hear scolding librarians´ voices in my head: Overdue... again?! Coffee stains?! Do you really have NO respect for this library??? Every time I took a book a home, I promised myself... THIS time, I´d bring it back on time, I´d keep it clean, I wouldn´t dog ear the pages, I wouldn´t dig my nail into the pages as I followed along in the text. THIS time I was gonna get my shit together. It didn´t matter that I LOVED libraries, the overwhelming smell of musty pages every time I walked in the door, the fact that this was one institution I could actually get on board with, one that let me read books for FREE... I even sometimes donated my old books to try to burn off some old bad library karma... I just couldn´t get it together.

Then tonight I realized... if they wanted their books back, on time and undamaged, all they had to do was refuse to let me have any more. As I stood there in shock with no more book, I was completely bereft. Nothing was going to make this better, not another book, not learning my lesson, and definitely not the damn DIGITAL version! From here on out, I will be a good library patron (I hope). I will return my books undamaged (insofar as I am capable) and on time (if I remember).



(Parts of this may have been embellished. Or maybe I´m just saying that to save face... you decide.)

Erasums Workout

So, as I promised about a month and a half ago... here is my weighted back pack workout. (You need to fill your backpack with heavy stuff. I filled bottles with fluid, stuffed in textbooks, etc.) I just did it for the first time, and here are my initial thoughts: the weight in the backpack is definitely sufficient to overload smaller muscle groups such as biceps and deltoids. For larger muscles groups, like quads, glutes, hams, and back, this is more of a muscular endurance workout than a raw strength workout. It is definitely adequate to fatigue all your muscles, but I think I would recommend it as more of a once a week or once every other week workout to supplement what you´re already doing as opposed to being your only or your main workout. Some of the exercises in this workout don´t use the pack, mainly because I couldn´t think of a safe way to carry the load. I set this workout up as a circuit workout, because due to the fact that the load is lighter, I needed to get my heartrate up to make the intensity, well... intense enough. OK, so let´s get started.

Circuit 1:
1. 30 Alternating Rear Lunges
2. 15 Push Ups
3. 20 Bent Over Rows
The first thing to keep in mind is that these repetitions are simply how many I felt comfortable doing. Your number of repetitions may vary depending on your fitness level and how much the stuff you shove in your backpack weighs.
For the rear lunges, hang the backpack off the front of your body, emulating the form of a pregnant woman with the backpack. Be careful. This is an unnatural way to carry the load for resistance training (although it will give you a greater appreciation for the pregnant woman and mothers in your life). Engage your abdominal muscles so that you pull your pelvis directly underneath your ribcage. Your butt shouldn´t stick out too much. (Why? Because it keeps the pressure off your lumbar spine and helps take the demand off the small muscles of the lowback.) If you feel too much pressure in your low back, ditch the backpack and continue without it. You´ve done a good rep if your hips and knees have continued facing forward, your pelvis stayed under your ribs, and your back knee touched the floor.
The push ups are fairly self-explanatory, but just some reminders on form. Your butt shouldn´t be up in the air, and you shouldn´t go sway back (like a mule). Neutral spine all the way, and you should be able to touch your nose to the floor (or close... if you feel very weary, don´t attempt the nose to the floor, because you may wind up with a bloody nose.) Depending on your strength level, you may choose to do these on your knees to make them easier, add more repetitions if you´re stronger, or even do decline push ups if you really want to wreck yourself.
The bent over rows are a little tricky with the backpack. It´s necessary to have your legs wider than normal. Grip the straps of the pack, bend your knees slightly, and pivot from the hips so that your chest spills over as you bend (as opposed to just hanging your chest over... your back should be pretty straight, almost parallel to the floor). Then pull the pack in as far as possible to your body, and repeat. To make it a little harder (the pack didn´t provide quite enough resistance for me), hold for a second at the top.
Rest for 30 to 60 seconds between circuits, and go through three times.

Circuit 2:
1. Wall sit with the pack
2. Tricep push up (10ish)
3. Pilates 100
A word of caution on the wall sit: as I mentioned, the pack is a bit of an unnatural load, so be careful. I found it useful to have a chair nearby to sit the pack on before I stood back up so as not to put a weird strain on my back. You can also do the wall sit without the pack. Just put your back against a wall, slide down until your femur (big bone in your thigh) is parallel to the floor and ceiling. Hold until you can´t anymore. Keep your pelvis under your ribs.
Tricep push ups, for those who may be unsure, are like regular push-ups, except that when you lower your body, your elbows go straight back. These are harder than regular push-ups, because you are relying pretty exclusively on your triceps to do the work. Since your elbows aren´t flaring out, your chest is no longer involved. You may want to do these on your knees, but if you have the strength, go ahead and do them regular.
Pilates Hundred... there are too many variations of this to explain them all right now. Either Youtube it or substitue your own favorite abs exercise. Go to failure, not just until you feel the burn.

Circuit 3:
1. Jump Squats, 10
2. Bicep curls
3. Upright row
For the jump squats, come into a squat position. Hold until you start to feel your butt and legs, then jump up as high as you can, reaching for the ceiling. Land SOFTLY in a squat position. Repeat ten times.
Bicep curls: Grip your back pack with both hands on the handle that´s on top. Again, because the load is weird, pay extra attention to your spinal position. Pelvis beneath your ribs, abs engaged, chest lifted. Perform 12ish repetitions... that´s what I was able to do anyway. Do more or fewer as you´re able.
Upright row: You need to change your grip for this one. If you keep the same grip you had for the bicep curls, you´ll be targeting your trapezius muscles more than your shoulders. This was probably the most awkward grip of the whole thing. Hold the backpack by only one strap, one hand on each side of the strap. As your perform the row, you may notice that it feels harder for one side of your body than the other. This is because, in all likelihood, the majority of the pack´s weight is positioned in the bottom of the pack. Compensate for this by changing sides on the next set, and for the last set, perform half your repetitions on one side, half on the other.

CORE:
I like to finish all my workouts with some extra core work. This one wasn´t a circuit. I just did it once, but if you´re feeling froggy, you can do it all three times.
1. Forearm plank... however long you can hold it, until failure.
2. Sweeps (on your back, start by pulling your knees into your chest with your arms. Simultaneously shoot your legs and arms out in opposite directions. To finish one rep, pull your knees into your chest while sweeping your arms out to the side of your body in a circle and finally pulling your knees into your chest with your arms again. This is a fairly advanced move... repeat 10-15 times.)
3. Superman... lie prone, feet apart. Squeeze your butt tight to protect your lowback. Arms are out overhead in a V-shape. Slowly raise arms and legs at the same time to work your back. Note: You don´t have to come up high for this. Work within a sensible and safe range of motion.

OK. Good job. In about 50 minutes you´ve worked all your major muscle groups. Have a cookie, er... I mean, a nice healthy fruit, yogurt and granola parfait... ok, yeah right... cookie.

A little self scrutiny does a soul good.

Last night I had an experience that gave me pause. It was an exact inverse reflection of something that had happened to me in Bolivia.

I was walking to Carrefour last night night. I wanted to recharge my telephone (put more minutes on it) and buy a pair of gloves. From the shadows, a little boy of about 10 or 12 approached me talking quick, confusing Spanish. It was obvious that he was trying to sell me something, but I had to ask him to speak a little more slowly for me. He explained that he was selling raffle tickets for the Third World. I didn´t know exactly what facet of the third world his proceeds were going ot help. I just knew it was a child trying to make a difference, and I wanted to help. To be honest, I didn´t feel like I was helping the third world at all by buying that ticket, but maybe in some small and nonmemorable way, I helped a child to believe in the power of helping. I bought a ticket for 3€ and felt a little happy about it. I like kids. I like their innocence, the way they want to help. I walked away with a slight smile.

As I walked on, I remembered the inverse situation happening to me in Bolivia, and how my response was vastly different at that time. It was on a day when I found myself down for the count with a migraine. The rest of my group had gone together to the market. I, on the other hand, tied a small towel around my head for the comfort of the pressure, lay in bed, and finally waddled up to the pharmacy. On the way back, a young boy of about 12 or 14 approached me. He walked right up in my face and held his open palm out. I was frightened, and probably stupidly so. The child was obviously high on glue or some other substance. His eyes were glassed over, and he wasn´t communicating verbally. Still, I knew he wanted money. He was probably hungry. Bolivian street kids sometimes huff glue to kill the hunger. But instead of feeling compassion, what I felt immediately was fear. Did he have a knife in his pocket? In his high, would he try to push me or hit me? I side stepped him and walked away quickly.

Now I´m thinking... in both situations, money was being solicited to help someone in the third world. Why was I more willing to give the money to a child in the first world, instead of straight into the hands of a hungry child in the third world? It makes me frustrated with myself, to know I let fear get the best of me, to know that when I was in no way whatsoever forced to actually see the horror of the third world, I was willing to give money. I don´t feel like my reactions in either situation were uncommon. I think they were highly normal. That doesn´t excuse me. It doesn´t make me feel better. It makes me feel concern.

And so I challenge myself today, to step back, assess, make internal changes, so that the next time I can hopefully react differently. The next time someone approaches me and my first reaction is fear, I hope I can swallow it a little better and decide to respond with love instead of that instinctual fear. And I would hope that we could all do that, because, it´s easy to see orphans and starving elderly on tv and want to send a check. And it´s good to send the check. These organizations need money to fund their work. But then... more than sending the check, we do twice the work towards global goodness by analyzing ourselves, checking for prejudice, and working to delete it within ourselves. It´s like José Martí said in Nuestra America, ¨Pensar es servir.¨ To think is to serve. We have to look at ourselves scrutinously sometimes and perform self soul surgery. Because... there´s a little God in each of those little boys I met, and in one instance I walked away and in another instance I tried to help. It would have been better if I had acted in reverse, and I hope by self-reflection I can make the appropriate changes.

Madrid, Peñafield, etc.

It´s been a bit since I´ve posted for a number of reasons. I´ve been running around all crazy like trying to get several things taken care of like registration, bank accounts, visa, and I also went to both Madrid and Peñafiel these last six days. So I´ve been moving. Some parts have been great, others more challenging.

So Madrid was fun and expensive. I started a post about it previously, like right after the trip, but I wound up trying to tell too much and got tired before I could finish. Anyway, Aleks and I took a train from here (Valladolid) to Madrid last weekend, Saturday. We stayed in a hostel and took advantage of the opportunity to just sort of walk around and shop and see the city. I saw some bizarre and beautiful things. I watched a homeless man get physically kicked out of McDonald´s. I ate a chocolate truffle in the market, figured out the Metro system (so much easier than the one in DC by the way), drank 5 drinks in the diner, only paid for two (foreign chicks get lucky on this count), and bought a jacket for the winter. I´d say more about Madrid generally, but I am not a fan of unfounded generalizations and don´t find myself to be an expert after only 36 hours in the city. Plaza Mayor at night is quite beautiful, and I enjoyed the street performers, especially the stringed quartet and the Hindu band.

On Wednesday, it was a national holiday, which meant no school and an ESN trip to Peñafiel. Peñafiel is an old city that still has a castle on top of the hill. We toured that, which was basically only cool for taking pictures and just thinking hmmm... this is really old. The tour guide to tourists ratio was too small to hear anything she was saying. I did ask, though, and found out the castle was built in the 15 century. So that was cool to know. The touring of the bodegas was a little flat. It seemed to be the general consensus that everyone thought we´d be touring wine fields, not the dark, dank basements of wineries, and con copas en las manos. Anyway, it was a good experience. Aleks and I ran into an English guy and a couple Spanish dudes at a coffee shop who were making a wine documentary. They followed us to the bodegas and filmed themselves jumping into wine barrels. Finally, at the end, they gave us some wine. Somehow this did not satisfy Aleks´s and my need for wine, so we took other undisclosed measures.

That night after we got back, we went to her place, and I met her roommates a little more personally. They mostly seem cool. I must have had more to drink than I thought, because the next thing I know, I´m whipping up a sauce for her Italian roommate like I know what I´m doing. I say a bunch of stupid things in butchered Italian, he feeds us all, they go out, Aleks and I go to a bar and then...

we realize keys have been forgotten. Anotherrrrrr taxi is called (I am so over riding in and paying for taxis right now), we make it to her place, and I sit outside with her for about an hour hoping that her roommates come back or that someone at least is entering the apartments to let her in the warm part to sit. It becomes apparent that this isn´t going to happen, so she calls me a cab, I leave her my fleece, and go home to sleep. ¡Qué horror!

Y más horrores hoy... met Aleks in front of this school this am. We took a cab to the immigration office. So that cost us. Then we were both turned away rudely for different reasons... and idk. It´s just so frustrating, because there is really no reason to be rude or treat us like we´re stupid. Of course we don´t know everything, because people don´t tell us. Please don´t extrapolate this and think it is like this all over Spain, because I really have no idea. I just know I have run into a lot of frustration and wasted time and money trying to get official things taken care of so far. I went to the bank this am to pay for my registration, but they wouldn´t take my money because I didn´t have a particular receipt. I really miss being able to just pay online or even... send a check. But to walk to a bank, hand someone 60€, and have them say, ¨Thanks, but no thanks,¨ is just beyond frustrating, because that means I have to search through everything looking for a receipt I didn´t know I needed, possibly go back to the University Office of International Relations to get a new one, which will involve multiple trips and rejections, and then walk back to the bank again. And I have to do this before I can take ANOTHER cab to GO BACK to immigration to TRY AGAIN for my visa extension, because she won´t file it until I´ve paid for registration. Wtf? I think we were both on the verge of tears today.

Annnnnnnnnnddd my f------ computer crashed. My worst nightmare about coming to Spain was that something would happen to my computer. John is really excellent with computers. On the other hand, I am a raging disaster. I lose and break phones like someone´s paying me to do it. I don´t necessarily ruin computers, but when issues do come up, I am helpless to resolve them. So when my computer started spontaneously crashing and then refused to charge, I lost my mind and had a full on meltdown of tears and bawling. I was a) angry with myself for probably ruining the charge port by sitting the damn computer up on its end to listen to music, b) pissed off at the universe for letting this happen *now*^, and c) generally panicked about the inability to communicate with anyone and the need to purchase a new one... for a high price. Nonetheless, I am proud of myself, probably too much so considering the simplicity of the task I´ve completed, for purchasing a computer and then downloading and installing the programs I wanted to make it functional for my needs. That´s something I´ve never done and something I definitely wouldn´t have done for myself if I was at home.

Right now I find myself wanting to go to the gym and lift. However, I am a bit germaphobic (yeah, I have a lot of weird hang-ups) and am worried that due to the cuts on my hand that I might wind up contracting MRSA if I go. So maybe I´ll just run again today instead. My body will not waste away for skipping one workout, and MRSA just freaks me out.

Even spazzes can make pie!

Nothing too much has happened today, so I thought I'd bust out this post that I've been saving for about a month now, since before I left Morgantown. This one is about baking... a mixed berry cobbler.

When I'm in the kitchen, I tend not to follow recipes, for the same reason I don't assemble things from a box: I have no patience. Neither do I write my recipes down, but here's some of what you need to get started:



Crisco, flour, rolling pin, ice water, sugar, berries, a mixing bowl (but a certain naughty wifey BROKE my bowl, so I had to use the pot instead), tapioca, and a pan to put it all in. I also wound up using lemon juice, but anyway...

So first, mix up your dough. I would tell you how to do this, but I tend to just through unmeasured quantities of flour and Crisco into a bowl (pot) and commence mashing it up with my fists. (Normally my ratio is 2:1 flour to Crisco, and since I make a thick crust, I'd say 4ish cups and 2ish.) In my opinion, trying to mix it with a spoon or mashed potato masher is a waste of time. Eventually, you will have to get your hands dirty anyway, so might as well plunge right in. Once your dough is mixed, (don't forget to add 8 tbsp of ICE water once it's mixed... this is crucial) it's time to roll it out. First, divide it into two sections. What you have to remember is, one of the sections is going to be the top crust, and one is going to be the bottom. Since the bottom crust has to cover more surface area (has to go up the sides of the pan), you should appropriate a greater volume of the dough for the bottom crust.



The trickiest part of this whole process is probably rolling out the crusts. Let's keep in mind that what we've essentially made here is a giant blob of adhesive. It likes to stick to stuff. Keeping in mind that flour sticks to water, clean your counter or table off first and be sure it is CoMpLeTeLy dry before you proceed. Then cover your hands in flour, cover the dough blob in flour, hoist it up over your head and slam that sucker down with as much force as possible. (You think I'm trying to be funny here, but I'm serious. Spheres, when smashed, make circles, and since we're trying to make a circular crust here... this is a good first step.) Pat the once spherical blob and make a circle. When you can't get it to spread out anymore, pick it up, reflour the table, reflour the blob (as my great grandma used to say, don't be afraid to use your flour. It keeps stuff from sticking.), and begin again. Eventually patting won't work, and you'll have to move to the rolling pin. Keep in mind that as you're patting and rolling, you are also inadvertently applying pressure to the dough, which is making it so on the underside, the area you just covered with flour is becoming less and less, and more Crisco-rich stuff is now starting to stick to the table. In other words, don't roll or pat too much on one side before flipping it over. Once you're done with that, the absolutest hardest part is next: the table to pan transfer. At this point your crust is large and thin. Dough residue is sticking to the table. Your crust has absorbed more flour, so it's dryer now, easier to crack. So, in whatever fashion you can manage, peel the crust from the table and place it in the pan.

If it cracks or breaks in half, no worries, you can use your pie band-aids. I always keep a small amount of dough back and hold it off to the side so that when I, most likely, break the crust, I can make a band-aid for it. If you need to make a band-aid, just pinch off some dough, stick your finger in the ice water, rub the part of the crust that's broken with your wet finger, and stick on the patch. Voila!

Normally, I keep things simple and use a pre-made pie filling from Cracker Barrel. I like the blackberry one and refuse to eat peach, apple, or cherry pie. Also, pumpkin pie is disgusting. Anyway... having tried other brands' berry filling in the past, I knew it wouldn't suffice and so set off to have a go at making my own. This was a first for me, but it worked out fine. So don't be afraid to try it.

Here's what I did:


Put in whatever berries you like. I have in this pot fresh blackberries, fresh blue berries, and frozen strawberries and raspberries. So... I was going to make an all fresh blackberry cobbler, but then when I was picking out my hair dye at WalMart, I spilled half of them on the floor. I paid for what I spilled but didn't feel like going all the way back to the fruit section just to have the same thing happen again. I figured I'd just go home and find a way to manage. So, the berries are in the pot. Then I put some water in the pot... like a centimeter deep... not too much or it'll get runny. Stew the fruits down. It'll start to get runny. Don't panic. You have to put flower, sugar, and tapioca in the filling anyway and that thickens it right up. Just stick with it 'til you get the right consistency. I don't know if people *normally* put lemon juice in their pie filling, but when I did the stick-my-finger-in-the-pot-and-taste test, it seemed too sweet. So I squirted lemon juice in it. OK, so now you have everything... crust, filling. So put the filling in the crust, ding dong.



Roll out your top crust. Throw it on top. Smoosh the edges together. You can choose to make pretty little thumb prints or not. Then use a knife and poke holes in the top crust to vent the pie. Now, don't go getting too stab happy and puncture your bottom crust as well. I'm thinking that might make things stick. No good!!! Put some sugar on top to make it pretty and just to reassure everyone you really don't care what this is doing to your butt and throw it in the oven at 425 degrees. Leave it at that temp for about 20 min, then cut it back by about 50 and leave in for another half hour, approximately. Don't just set a timer and walk away, because you need to watch for when the crust is brown. And now you have a delicious homemade cobbler. Yay, you! Important: you must now brew coffee and bust out the French vanilla ice cream and serve it a la mode. :)

I'll be honest... a little culture shock

Something I've always prided myself in is my general adaptability. Usually, I can function in a lot of diverse situations. I don't feel like expanding, so you'll have to take my word for it. However, I feel like I've been challenged by coming here to Spain. I made it through Jamaica and Bolivia without any culture shock and really... without any travel sickness. We're talking third world countries that I was just dandy with. Then I get here, Europe, all modern and updated, and I'm up at three in the morning with travel sickness and I'm experiencing a lot of culture shock. I just haven't been very adaptable, and I have to ask myself why. (This may be lengthy and introspective, so if that bores you, you may want to stop reading now.) I think the main difference is I didn't have any real expectations about Jamaica or Bolivia, just that they would be different from what I was used to. By contrast, I think I expected Spain to be a lot more similar to what I am used to, just because it is a first world country and very modernized. So when things were less similar than I thought they would be, I started to subconsciously dig my heels in... a lot.

For one thing, I expected that I would be teaching right off the bat. That's sort of what I was most excited to do, that, and to just talk to people in Spanish. My main purpose here is to improve my spoken Spanish. As it went, the most important thing for me to do when I got here was to register for classes. I knew I'd be taking some, but I didn't know it was going to be quite this much. And it's not like the work load is heavy; it's just... well, I was thinking in class today of something a poet friend once said to me at Baristas about terminating his formal education after two masters degrees (and I think a doctorate as well): "It came to a point where school was getting in the way of my learning." That's sort of how I've been feeling, like I'm here to learn Spanish, learn to SPEAK it well. I can usually understand whatever is said to me, and I can read and write OK, but my speech is really lacking. I can't really talk in class, because... another culture shock for me... there isn't much discourse in the classes. The student's role is to sit and listen, take notes, absorb knowledge. Everything in me is raging against that whole idea while I sit there and try not to get myself all whipped into an outraged frenzy (for those who don't know me super, super well... I tend to be angry a lot even though I act pretty mellow). I'm thinking: I want to give my opinion now! How do you know if we're learning if you don't ask questions... that you don't answer yourself two seconds later?! Why am I in a first year class when I'm working on my master's degree?! Why isn't there a textbook?! I don't believe it just because you say it! I want references! Basically: I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND AND MY BRAIN IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!! So the whole lack of text books, the reliance on what the professor says, and student silence have been shockers to me. (By the end, I'm going to get to why this is all OK, so hang with me while I expound a little more of what's been burning up my neurons.)

The internet has been making me just... totally insane. Maybe I'm spoiled; I don't know. But I'm used to when the internet goes down, someone is working on it stat, because we all know how important it is to keep customers satisfied and thinking we've got things under control. Here, it goes out for two days at a time. I get on the wireless, and things keep timing out while pages are loading. The first night I got here, I was already desperately freaking out and homesick and walked to the store in the dark... my first night... and got a cable so I could log on. As soon as I was able to be on the internet, see my friends still on facebook, talk to John, I felt soothed, calmed. It's like John said, it's become a lifeline. And in my life, it's been something I could count on to be consistently available. A lot of my life revolves around the internet, so it's been a shocker to me not to be able to get online sometimes. Well, what else am I going to do with my time?...

I don't have my drums here. I don't have my piano here. I don't even have my Zumba music or hand weights. There's no oven, so I can't bake. And if you know me, you know I'm like psychotically active. Trying to entertain myself without any of my toys, when there is no internet, and I'm lonely... it's not pretty. I bought myself a sketchpad and some pencils at the Wal-mart equivalent here, and that's helped some. But it's just an example of how different... my personal life... is here.

And then there's John. And our life together. I miss him, of course. I'm a very difficult to live with, difficult to deal with, anal creature of habit. This is what I am used to: wake up to John waking me up because I can't get up on my own (have to now). Roll around in pain because of my back and whine for him to make me coffee. (That doesn't work now.) Refuse to get out of bed until I at least hear the coffee percolating. Waller around being a general mess in the morning, until it's time to leave. Then John drops me off at school, and I fly out of the car, hair going crazy, spilling my coffee, dropping papers into the street, trying to pick them up without flashing my underwear to everyone, and making it to wherever I'm going just 30 seconds before I'm actually late, and totally disheveled. As well as I think I deal with stress in the big picture... like... I'll plod on forever no matter how much stuff sucks... from moment to moment I tend to just be a total spaz. Freaking out. Most of the time. But because John's in town, and we both have phones, I just call him and tell him what's going on, and he says, it'll be OK, Cat. No, you're not stupid. And then I feel better and move on with my day. Then after the day is done, I meet him at Brooks Hall, and we walk to his car, and we go home together. We do our individual "evening activities," which might be me going to the gym or teaching Zumba or running while he works on his thesis or cleans (because he's my wifey and he likes it) or goes on a jog at the Rail Trail. And finally, we go to bed, and I have someone to rub my back and just... be attentive to me. So, now it's all different. I have to depend on myself (which is probably good for awhile) a lot more, do more "self-soothing" instead of waiting for John to make me think it's all fine or just making hideous faces at me until I forget what inane thing I was pointlessly panicking over and just start laughing hysterically and chasing him around the trailer trying to hit him... or wrestling. I have to tuck my own stupid self into bed (before you judge this, please be aware that I do have a lot of chronic back pain and like to just get into a tolerable position for the night and then let someone else put the blankets on me so I don't tangle myself up and have to spend 20 minutes readjusting... which... I really do.), although I do still get my story sometimes, when Skype is working. Damn, I really demand a lot of attention. Like I said, I'm not easy to be/deal with.

And for all that... the energy absorption thing that I do... I've also always really loved to help other people. And in some facet of my daily life, I've almost always been able to do that. But I'm kind of experiencing a little bit of what I felt my freshman year of college, when I was overwhelmed (I know this sounds so stupid, but...) by the lack of chores. When I did my laundry, it was literally MY laundry. My dad's work pants weren't in the mix. Mom's dishtowels. Carly's stuff. Running the laundry no longer helped anyone but me. And when I went to college, like coming here, I also had to scale back on teaching fitness. Both in high school and later on in college, I got used to being able to share that aspect of wellness and vibrancy with people, and that really meant something to me. But freshman year, like now... I was working out by myself. No one was benefiting but me, and that was bothersome. And since I'm not teaching fitness now, and I'm not teaching academically now... I'm like... how can I perform service? I don't know where I got the idea that I should do that, but I feel like... it's just always been part of me. I've always found it incredibly difficult to imagine a life of just focusing on what I want out of life. My question has always been more, what SHOULD I do with my life? What can I do that will benefit everyone the most? But I am in no position to help anyone with anything right now. And it just feels... strange. I get excited over stupid things (by the way, I was never actually *excited* about coming here, glad, maybe, but not excited. I only get excited over little things.) like taking the garbage out because my roommate has a broken foot and is crutching around, and I like to think it helps her. I met up with a guy today to practice our languages. He's from here, and he's trying to improve his English. Even though he was helping me, too, I was just so pumped up I could help him for like 40 minutes with his English. That's how bizarre I feel over here really just taking care of me, myself, and I, and not really having anyone else to consider. It's strange/hard for me to handle all this time just focusing on myself, but I do think it's important at the moment.

So there are a lot of other shocking things, too... professors being 45 minutes late to pre-arranged meetings, administration totally ignoring my emails, not getting important details... oh, and parties that go on til 7 am. This might sound ridiculous to people who naturally like to party, but I am actually working with myself to go out, stay out, and engage in conversation with people. Generally, I go where I'm going, look around, have a drink, dance a bit, go home. If I don't already know people, I'm not much of a social butterfly. That's *probably* why my spoken Spanish is so lacking. So I'm trying. I'm going to parties. I'm talking to folks. And I'm even having fun with it.

Overall, I feel like I'm coming to terms with the culture-shock portion of this venture. I mean, there are still a lot of things I'm not used to, but I think after sleeping well last night and acquiring some medicine for my cold today at the pharmacy, I'm generally feeling better and more ready to handle things. I'm even maybe *finally* excited for this adventure (I wasn't before I came, but then me being me, I wouldn't be). I'm meeting cool people. I am getting a lot of language experience. And I'm adjusting to the way classes work. I have gotten back into a regular fitness routine. I go to the gym on Tuesday and Thursday or Friday. I run at least three times a week, and generally... I'm starting to get a handle on things. This weekend I think I'm going to Madrid for a night with a new friend I made here, so... all in all, I think it's good I've experienced this brain crash. I'll build new mental structures and be stronger for it.

Spanish update

Having coffee, laundry's in upstairs. While I wait on the laundry, I thought I'd do an update on my life in Spain.

Well, I survived my first week of classes. My schedule is set up in such a way that I am frequently on campus for twelve hours a day. But I'm taking classes that I find interesting for the most part, so instead of trying to switch it all around, I'll just utilize my time downtown to read in the library and try to avoid homework on the weekends. Classes I'm taking include Anthropology I, Philosophical Texts in English, Universal Comparative Literature, Italian, and Latin. Anthropology seems like it will be interesting. I already like Italian from taking a course in it at home. Latin is hard to follow, because everything is lecture-based here instead of reading-based. By that I mean, I don't have a text book. I just listen to the professor... and since it's in my second language, that leads to some occasional confusion. That and the professor, although quite sweet, talks so softly and in a monotone that I have trouble catching everything. My comp. lit. professor is interesting but intimidating. On the first day of class I was sick with a head cold (which I still have), so when my Latin class ended right at 5, I went to the bathroom to get some tissues. Well, lit started at 5, and by the time I got back with my tissues and entered the room, he gave me a what-for in front of the entire class about how he doesn't permit tardiness and will lock people out. Then he locked the door, didn't let anyone else in, and proceeded to refer to those trying to get in as "los estupidos." I guess I've only taught in that sense for a year, but I do get that it's annoying to have people come in late. However, I don't see the use in dressing people down like that. I feel like all it does is create fear. It doesn't help those who were on time, either. Everyone is different and can do things their own way, but I would just write it down and dock points as was appropriate. And if someone came to my step or Zumba classes late... well, that was just their own tough luck... I hoped they didn't injure themselves, could figure out what was going on, and kept my attention with the majority. I'm also kind of having trouble caring about classes. They won't count for anything when I get back. And I'm 25 in classes with people who are mostly 5-7 years younger than me, and I'm just... over school. I thought I was going to be teaching immediately when I got here, and I didn't realize quite the volume of classes I would have to attend. I mean, it's whatever. I'm here improving my Spanish and having fun doing it, and that's the goal... but pffft, it's hard to have a really studious attitude about something I know I'm not taking beyond these 16ish weeks. I'm happy to learn and soak up what I can... I've always liked learning things. But I am so far from being in the mood to jump through hoops for grades.

Also, I've been going out a fair amount. It isn't the sloppy drunk shit show of Morgantown, though, so don't think I'm over here being a raging alcoholic. I usually go out, have a drink or two, and dance a lot. It's been fun.

This afternoon I'm leaving with Erasmus for a weekend trip just outside of town. It's supposed to be a getting-to-know-you thing in which we all hang out together and sleep in bunk beds for the weekend. Well, why not? So I'm trying to get my laundry all done here and ready to go. Will post more upon my return.

Chaos in the Kitchen

This is nothing exciting. It was meant for yesterday, but then my internet went out and I couldn't post. This is about last night's dinner...

For lunch, I am eating an original concoction and hoping it doesn't give me food poisoning. It tastes good, though, and I'm pretty sure it's cooked well enough.

Sometimes I think it's fun to just throw some stuff in a pan and make something up. My roommate came in while I was cooking and said it smelled good. I told her I hoped so, because I was basically just throwing stuff in a pan. So here's what I did:

*Boiled a cup of rice in two cups of water
*Hacked up a zucchini and stir-fried that mother in sunflower oil and Kikoman's sauce
*Dumped the rice in on top of the zucchini
*Cracked 2 eggs and dumped them on top of everything else
*Fried everything for at least 7-8 minutes to make sure the eggs got well done
*Stuck a bowlful in the microwave for 2 minutes to just make extra sure the eggs were done (I tend to be more than a little phobic of undercooked food.)

Now I'm eating it, and it has a nice, mild flavor and thick texture. I like it because I'm getting a full serving of vegetables, whole grains, and protein. Also, all these ingredients are really close to the earth for those looking to avoid a lot of preservatives (I know I used some Kikoman's for flavoring, but it was moderate.) In fact, the eggs I bought here are so fresh they actually have feathers on them (which freaks me out a little bit... I always try to pick the one with the fewest feathers possible, which is ridiculous because by the end of the dozen I'm still going to have to use the ones with feathers.)

Anyway, so that was fun and creative, and now I've had a healthy lunch. Everyone go have fun in the kitchen now! :)

Slowly open.

I didn't know what I was going to get into tonight, because I'm basically in a country where I still know next to no one and nothing. I've gone out the past two nights, but tonight I decided to stay put. My roommate was generous enough to give me permission to use her colored pencils, so I bought a sketchbook today at the store. I've spent the evening loafing, listening to classical music, and drawing. (This will have a point by the end, I promise.)

First, I was thinking about autumn at home, the leaves changing colors, the way the sky always looks more deeply blue in October. I googled images of West Virginia in autumn, and I decided to draw that. I started just by working at the blue of the sky. I was ready to start working on trees and leaves when I looked down and saw a picture of a tulip on my journal. All of a sudden I didn't want to draw mountains and trees anymore. I wanted to draw a tulip. So I used the same background I was using; it made a perfect sky, and went on to draw a tulip. I started out working on one thing, changed directions, wound up doing something else, but... no time was wasted.

It's a strange notion to me that if we start working at one thing and change directions, change our minds, that the time was wasted. Perhaps it's presumptuous of someone in her 20's to say so, but I think that's part of the reason mid-life crises are such a big deal. You have a person in their 40s, 50s, and all of a sudden, what they've been doing the last 20 or 30 years isn't what they want to do anymore. We say they just never knew who they were, never figured out what they wanted. But who says growth has to stop, that at a certain age, a certain point in our lives we have to decide what we want to do and continue down that path unhesitatingly until we retire? That doesn't compute to me. I think with all the infinite possibilities of the human mind it's only natural to want to continue probing our potential. I mean, who doesn't know someone who's changed careers half way through their lives? It doesn't mean that what they did before doesn't matter anymore. Maybe they were just painting coloring in their sky before and suddenly realized they wanted to fill it with something else. Or maybe they want a whole new sky, and why not?

I suppose I lean toward this type of thinking because I've been all over the place myself. I'm studying Spanish now. I'm sitting in my apartment in Spain, waiting for classes to start on Monday. But I still believe everything leading up to this point, even and perhaps especially the stuff that seems like it had nothing to do with me coming here, mattered. We have seasons. The rest of winter is important to the growth of spring and summer.

Idk, I'm everywhere with this tonight. But even though I don't have a conclusion, I enjoyed sitting here and thinking. Maybe the fact that I did will yield a future result, maybe not. Sometimes there aren't any conclusions, and it's enough to just exist and be part of a mystery, not forcing it to unfold too quickly.

Thoughts on International Peace Day and Day of Unconditional Love Day over Lunch

I haven't done much today. In fact, I have yet to get dressed or take a shower. I wrote for about two hours this morning,and now I'm having a sandwich and some orange juice and so thought I might as well write some more.

So yesterday I saw some posts online about International Peace Day and Day of Unconditional Love, which basically seem to be about the same thing to me. It seems to be just about awareness of humans' sensitivity to and need for love and non-judgment. What strikes me most about this is that we still need "Days" for these things. It seems so obvious to me. Of course everyone longs for love and freedom from judgment. What confuses me is when and why people refuse or fail to give these simple things. And yet, it's what we do...

(When I say "you" in the next paragraphs, I don't mean you personally or cumulatively, this is not accusatory, just the most natural way for me to write this.)

Maybe you meet someone and it's your instinct to like them, (because I think that's the most instinctual thing... to naturally like the people you meet) but then your social circle disapproves and you shun the person, even though you really connected, even though you enjoyed their company initially. Now you're without a person who you enjoyed yourself with, but you still have your entire old circle. How does that circle of friends make you feel? Are they really your friends, or just people who you hang out with? I don't think it's enough to just run around with people; people need something that ties them together. Do you miss the conversations you had with the friend you turned away from? How do you think your friend feels? I feel like this is a pretty common situation, that folks turn their back on someone for fear-based reasons, afraid to lose the comfort of old approval. And I just wonder how much more peace and how much more love we could all let in and create if we just let the need for approval go, or if we gave and received approval without the prerequisite of conformity. It just strikes me as sad that we are all so desperate for love (and don't let yourself say you aren't, because even if you have real love in your life already, you're still desperate... because if that love left... you'd be miserable... we just weren't set up to be this high-functioning need-no-one individuals that society seems to tell us we should be) and yet so full of the love that everyone around us needs so desperately. Why do we hoard our love? Let it go...

The illustration at the top of this post is a representation of the heart chakra, and whether you believe in wheels of energy along the spine or not, it still has emblematic significance. The heart chakra is the center from which compassion radiates, and whether you connect with that via a belief in a wheel of energy, or connection to a higher being, or just the general notion of the golden rule, it really doesn't matter. The important thing is that we are full of love, and we can choose to let it go. But when our love goes out to others... it doesn't just transform them (and sometimes it isn't well received at all and does the intended recipient no good whatsoever) but us also. When you give love, you grow your own, but I think the fear is that if you give love, you'll be depleted. People will use you up.

I'll be real for a moment and admit that it isn't so easy. There have been times when I've given love only to get burned. And probably there have been times when someone's given me love and I burned them. I've had fear-based reactions that have caused me to keep people at arm's length. It's something we have to work at daily, keep peeling back those layers of fear and mistrust. And we have to check ourselves, too, make sure we aren't giving anyone a reason to fear or mistrust us. It would be an error to think that we could all just wake up tomorrow and decide to live in peace. We have so much to both relearn and unlearn first. It's like we're all suffering a cumulative stroke that has rendered a very essential part of our being damaged. Healing isn't sudden. It isn't miraculous. It takes work, patience through the set backs and frustrations. But I hope that, since I'm a day late on this, that everyone did take a moment to think about peace and love yesterday, to give a little extra, let a little extra in.

Think about this: What is it, really, that holds you separate from the rest of the world? SKIN. Skin and only skin. About 2 tiny mm of flesh hold your blood and bones and organs back from the rest of the world. But are you your blood and bones and organs? Or are you something more? And if you believe you're something more... can that something more really be contained by 2mm of skin? We aren't as separate as we imagine. We're in an open system here. Whether we like it or not, we're in an open system physically and spiritually. Physically, we take in food, water, air, and put out waste, carbon dioxide, physical warmth. Spiritually, we take in attitudes and thoughts, transform them a bit inside, and put something else back out into the world. I'm focusing on the spiritual here. We may not have a lot of control on what we take in or the inevitability of putting something else back out, but we are transformers. We control the middle process. We can take what we're given and change it according to what we want to see, to what the world needs.

Remember... a candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.

Una mezcla

21 September 2011

So, I'm slowly getting things figured out over here. It's confusing, but I felt a lot more myself last night after finding my way into the student weight lifting gym and working out there. I am not going into a lot of details about it for various reasons, but suffice it to say that it wasn't what I expected and I am some kind of veritable anomaly. The caretaker basically tried to tell me 'girls don't go here,' and a group of guys actually counted my push-ups out loud. Yes, I can do decline push-ups and still have long, blood-red fingernails. Anyway, it's a place to work out. I think I will make friends there eventually, because it seems very small and like only the same regulars frequent the place. Also, they play songs I know. That's good, because I normally like to dance between sets. Lol... as if I need another way to make myself look like a psycho... I remember this summer going to the Rec with some girlfriends, being in the "meat-head's" weight room and always toting around my little brightly-colored Coach bag at the same time. Whatever. I'm half mental. So what? Shit, I'd have to be to tear off to Spain without someone to meet me in the airport, not knowing what dorm I was even supposed to go to, and having no real clue about the bus system. Whatever. I'm here.

Getting my schedule ironed out here has been confusing. For those of you who are familiar with the United States universities' scheduling systems... this is way different. Putting together a functioning schedule takes hours, because... the same class can be at different times on different days. For example, the class I went to this morning at noon is also held on Mondays from 11-1 and Thursdays 11-12. So... try to find five classes that don't conflict with each other on a schedule like that. >:(

That said, I really like my apartment here. It's pretty nice for university living. It's me and another girl, Juana, who has turned out to be a superb roommate, living in a space with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. So we have plenty of space, which is nice.

Yesterday was my birthday. I'm 25 now. Something about that number has a weird weight to it that I can't decide if I like or not. I think here it's OK to be irresponsible and party-crazy longer, so I guess I don't have to feel like too much of a moron if I go out for a night... lol, if I can even hang. I'm a bit of a cantankerous old woman in spirit. When I wake up in the morning, I promptly waddle stiff-backed to the percolator (coffee pot at home), take a hot shower to iron out the kinks in my back, groan through breakfast, and go to bed by midnight. These 4-7 am party marathons have me a little intimidated. I haven't done that since I was about 18 or 19 and running around with some crazy half-Catholic breed known as "Camp Tygart counselors." It was kind of a bummer to be here on my bday, just because I don't have any of my friends or family around. But my roommate and two of her friends were so sweet to me. They got me a dessert shots cake, put candles on it, and sang happy birthday to me. That made me a little emotional, as I tend to be sometimes.

Anyway, I have scheduling things to tend to and a run to go on. Sorry for not being too good about posting lately. I've been a little overwhelmed.

First Run in Valladolid

This evening I went for my first run around Valladolid. I ran about 45 minutes and did a 3 minute walking cool down back to the apartment, so I would say I got a fair amount of cardio. I located the weight training area, but I'm a little nervous that according to the sign it's only open for forty-five minutes and just one day a week. However, a guy I ran into in the kickboxing club facility (I just jogged right in) told me that they are open more frequently than that. I hope so, because if I have class or something else at the time the facility is open, I'll never get to lift. That, and since I normally work out for about an hour and a half on weights, three times a week... that means I'm down to 1/6 of my usual volume. I'm have a fitness-freak freak out. Nonetheless, I am working on plans for me not to lose strength and muscle while I'm here. On the plane rides to get here, I picked up a copy of the most recent Shape magazine, and there are some good, quick strength and cardio circuits in there that I can do right here in the apartment. Tonight after my run, I came back and repeated the following circuit twice through:

50 alternating back lunges
20 push ups (I've really lost volume in this area since I've given up my goal of doing 100 in a row.)
50 crunches with my legs up a chair

Fairly balanced, I got some upper and lower body, core. The most mentally challenging part of figuring out exercises to do here without much equipment is upper back. I can do a million push ups if I want, but that's not going to get upper back. I need to be pulling something, and while I can push off the floor, there's really no good way to pull on it. That's OK. I think I have an idea that will be reminiscent of days playing farmgirl on my dad's Wheel Horse. Check back tomorrow for my "weighted backpack" routine. ;)

Good health and happiness to all!

Made it

I haven't posted for awhile because my interwebs got disconnected a few days before I left for Spain. Speaking of Spain, I'm here now. Getting here was stressful, I'm not going to lie. The short layovers and just the sheer size and layout of the Madrid airport really threw me for a loop. I'm missing John and Jupiter but trying to remind myself I'm lucky to have love at home instead of just dwelling on the fact that I'm far away now. In a few days, I believe it will be fine. I will have a roommate tomorrow; tonight I'm alone. My first real act in the apartment was to take a bath. Epic fail. The water pressure is super high, and since the shower runs through one of those nursing home style hoses, it got loose, fell to the ground, and shot water up my nose. That's why I gave up and just filled the tub. But the spigot for the tub shot out orange water, even after I let it run for several minutes, so I just held onto the hose thing and filled up that way. I'm really tired and don't feel like recounting every detail of a stressful trip. The point is, it was rough, I did it, I'm here. I hiked to the market and bought an ethernet cord, and now I have interwebs. It's amazing how much you can suddenly miss things like a phone and internet. After multiple failed attempts at calling home, all I wanted was internet and skype. Who knew it would be so difficult to get it? Anyway, I should go to bed. After being awake for somewhere between 36 and 48 hours, I'm too exhausted to clean just now. Want to have things straightened up when my roommate gets here tomorrow. Sigh, I just feel so much better having John closeby with Skype and Facebook. We all get a little sucked into technology sometimes, but it's making my life easier right now.

Like Maple Trees

Ten years ago today I was in eighth grade. I was sitting in algebra class. The seniors in the back row were probably preparing spit wads to launch at me through cafeteria straws. I was working out the values of multi-variable equations, and as usual Mr. Vanscoy was watching the news. I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around me. We were free to work or not work in that class; our ex-military instructor was nearing retirement and was burned out on trying. I usually worked. Absorption in a textbook was a less hostile environment for a nerdy eighth grader than trying to communicate with upperclassmen. So I was absorbed in my work, probably plotting the slope of a line or something... anyway, I remember looking up at the tv and seeing some tall things smoking. Since we lived on the Ohio River, I figured it was footage of some smoke stacks at the local plants to demonstrate the economic power of America. I was disinterested and continued plotting graphs. Later that day at lunch, a few kids were going home early per their parents' demands. I was confused but still not incredibly interested. I stayed the whole day, ending with band practice. My band teacher, who was younger then than I am now, caught me in the hall after school and burst into a fit of hot tears. Her face turned lobster-pink, and she was going on and on about people she knew in New York and something about high blood pressure. By the end of the day I finally had it figured out what had happened. Like many Americans, I suppose, for a good while after the attacks, every time a plane went over head, I shuddered. I was afraid. I was not unaffected, and yet...

there's a lot of hype going on today, and I'm not sure what to make of it. I don't know how to put together all the disparate pieces of information I'm receiving. "God bless America, prayers for my country..." "Well... I was proud to be an American before we turned a disaster into propaganda and launched a fear-based crusade against the middle eastern countries..." I don't know what to believe, and it's such a hot potato topic. People get angry at each other for believing one way or the other, either that America was the victim but rose up strong in its own defense and the defense of others or that it's a conspiracy and that the proliferation of 9-11 footage is little more than propaganda. I never believe anything I hear on the news just because it's on the news, but I don't immediately discredit it either. I feel there is no way to know the truth, no way to fashion an appropriate posture toward the events and how they should be remembered. But I think that for all of us the best answer is just simple kindness. Sow seeds of love- prepare a meal for someone, call your grandma, hold a door for somebody, smile at someone who looks sad. That's our best security in this world, human kindness, not armed defenses, but it's not easy to come by. Human kindness has to be planted, and tended to, until it gradually starts growing up all around. People have to be able to trust that their acts of kindness aren't going to ultimately be taken for acts of foolishness. And it's hard to take that first step, be the one to start a chain reaction that might fizzle out, might not mean much, hard to be a person who gives out good and has no idea what they'll receive in return, whether goodness in kind or a kick in the back.

The thing is, what matters most, is planting the seeds. Think of a maple tree, all the seeds it produces year after year to hopefully, possibly, yield just one or two more trees reaching up towards the heavens. The reality is, the majority of those seeds do fall and perish. But sometimes, when the winds and soil are just right, a tree starts to grow, and from the Earth it reaches skyward... a little reminder to each of us of the rewards of persistence.

Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule.
-Buddha