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.