MERRY CHRISTMAS

Love, Rudolph 

A less[conceited?!]er child would be hurt by such comments!

Some parents tell their children how beautiful they are. My mom tells me I look like Mickey Mouse. (Not even Minnie?!)

Making this situation worse is the fact that mom hates cartoons.

I reminded her how often she says we look alike, and her response this time? Denial.

FLIPPED PART III

$4 at New2You-- Camper "Twins"

And sold for $45 to a lady in South Africa! 

There's been some other less exciting things sold but I won't bother documenting everything. All told I've earned quite a bit! I've learned that the unusual sells best, that risks are good, and that the best tactic is to bring your cell phone to the thrift store :P

yep

Healthy living is a lifestyle.

faith

Andrea Palpant Dilley:

...In reality, I left the church more because of my own internal discontent than the lure of so-called secular life. When I came back, I still carried that same discontent. I was confused, and still bothered by questions and doubts. I stayed in the back row and didn’t sing or pray. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to be there.

And yet I sat there, Sunday after Sunday, listening to the pastor and the organ pipes and trying to figure out what was going on in my dark, conflicted heart.

Although I never experienced that dramatic reconversion moment, I did come to peace with two slow-growing realizations.

First: My doubt belonged in church.

People who know my story ask what I would have changed about my spiritual journey. Nothing. I had to leave the church to find the church. And when I came back, the return wasn’t clean or conclusive. Since then, I’ve come to believe that my doubts belong inside the space of the sanctuary. My questions belong on the altar as my only offering to God.

With all its faults, I still associate the church with the pursuit of truth and justice, with community and shared humanity. It’s a place to ask the unanswerable questions and a place to be on sojourn. No other institution has given me what the church has: a space to search for God.

Second: My doubt is actually part of my faith.

In Mark 9:24, a man says to Jesus, “I believe, help my unbelief.” The Catholic writer Flannery O’Connor called this the foundation prayer of faith. I pray that prayer often and believe that God honors my honesty.

I also believe God honors my longing. The writer and theologian Frederick Buechner said “Faith is homesickness.” C.S. Lewis called it “Sehnsucht,” a longing for a far-off country. I feel that sense of unshakable yearning. It comes from the deepest part of my heart, a spiritual desire that’s strangely, mysteriously connected to my doubt.

Sitting in church every Sunday, my doubt is my desire – to touch the untouchable, to possess the presence of God.

Flipped Part II

$7.99 at the Salvation Army

I used our dog's brush to comb out the fur and retied the laces. I think I could have sold them for more had I bought some funky laces, but I put them up telling myself I could try better if they didn't sell. But I was happy with the $17 (+ $10 shipping) that they went for. 

$6.99 at the same Salvation Army. 

And sold for $52! 

FLIPPED Feedback

A true eBay gem!

"Hello there,

I have yet to receive the boots, but no worries, packages rarely arrive that quickly. Unless these boots are in very different shape than the pictures, you will be receiving great feedback... These are stunning and will definitely keep me satisfied because I decided using your actual photos. In fact they obssessed me my entire afternoon and evening, as I desperately and finally came up with guilt free justification for them. I never really did justify them in truth, so at the very last second I threw in a bid and left it up to fate Ha-ha!! It was meant to be!! Your e-mails have been quite amusing in places, I hope you are putting your wit to good use somewhere- I have never in over 100 purchases run into a buyer even close to as amusing!

Enjoy the rest of your weekend, (even snowhyte007 is great), J--------"

FLIPPED

I bought these shoes for $12 at Salvation Army. I knew it was an incredible deal-- Frye boots are well made and have a great reputation.

I was pretty excited about my find. I proceeded to march off to school in them but soon had to admit to myself that they were both too small and not really my style.

Cowgirl boots? Rather hard to pull off if you are the farthest thing from country.

Meanwhile, my mom had me list half our household on craigslist. On a whim, I decided to do a 24-hour listing of these boots on e-bay. Saturday night I uploaded photos I'd taken earlier that afternoon. Right away I had several hits and even a few people "watching" it. I started to get a bit excited. I bumped up the starting bid from $69 to $89. By the next morning, I had my first bid.

It was pretty thrilling. Especially when the final bid was... get this... $157!!!

Cha-ching!

So I got a bit of the e-bay bug. Monday morning I packaged up the boots snugly and made a beeline back to the Salvation Army. I didn't find any Frye boots, but came out with $40 worth of shoes.

I might have been slightly over-ambitious. I guess this is a learning curve, but I am stubbornly optimistic that it will pan out.

Or maybe I just had beginner's luck. But seriously... $157!

haunting melodies

Lisa Mitchell ~ Valium

Soley ~ Pretty Face

Food Overhaul

An NPR comment in response to this article about the long-term results of bariatric surgery hit home for me.

People have to drastically alter their relationship to food...permanently. We have to choose: indulge in all that excess, worthless food and be fat and very unhealthy (and unhappy), or commit to a permanent, life time, life altering food plan consisting of only healthy nutritious foods, and abstaining from worthless processed "foods" containing refined sugar, corn syrup and highly processed flours, also abstaining from excess quantities and learning appropriate portion sizes with the help of a food scale, and abstaining from eating in between meals. A well balanced, nutritious meal will afford satisfaction and a lack of craving or need for between meal snacks, for at least four to six hours. Breakfast is fuel for the morning, lunch is fuel for the afternoon, and the evening meal is fuel for a night of resting and physical rejuvenation. Food is not intended to be "entertainment." It is meant, along with being enjoyable and satisfying to the palate, to be a "prescription" for health and well-being. Also, everyone needs to drink lots more cold, fresh water every day. Processed, sugary and flour-based foods have a tendency to be highly addictive; there are very helpful 12-step programs for recovery from food addiction; these programs are spiritual...NOT religious...in nature.


Amen. 

Things that terrify me

1. Death
2. A huge asteroid crashing into earth (aka death)
3. Becoming homeless (leading to death)

New Travel Destination List

here!

;)

how neat!

Atheists Against Abortions

Two posts ago I referenced a blog in which a couple decided to have an abortion because their baby was diagnosed with a particularly rough form of cystic fibrosis.

I've thought about that story often. 

I wondered what an atheist response might be. And so I googled it. Apparently there is a collection of "pro-life humanists"who argue, 


Would we kill a two year-old whose father suddenly abandons his unemployed mother, in order to ease the mother’s budget or prevent the child from growing up in poverty?    Would we dismember a young preschooler if there were indications she might grow up in an abusive home?    If the preborn are indeed human beings,  we have a social duty to find compassionate ways to support women, that do not require the death of one in order to solve the problems of the other.

Life is hard-- avoiding conflict does not make it less so. 

Why it's worth it

Why the change of heart-- of direction-- of sciences? 

Because of stories like this:

My most worthwhile moment came on a patient assist call, one that's common among the elderly. Arriving at the apartment, we tried the door, but it was bolted shut. We heard the faint cries of a man inside. With no choice, we pried open the door and followed his voice. He was lying on the floor in his office, surrounded by pictures of his wife, who had died a few years earlier. He explained that every night before bed, he would go to his office and kiss her good night. That night, he had fallen and could not get up. After helping him, we provided a temporary fix to his door and gathered our gear to leave.

I hesitated for a moment in the foyer, out of sight. As I waited, I heard him say, "Good night, sweetie. Good night, honey. I love you." Then he kissed her good night.

Stealing Anne Lamott's words...

[a therapist said] "When an animal has escaped from an attack in the wilds, when, for instance, a wildebeest outruns a lion, afterwards that animal will shake for a while--not in terror, not trembling like we do when we're traumatized, but physically shake hard, to shake it off, to shake off the fight-or-flight chemicals and condition. That is how they begin again, get back to the fullness of their animal selves, in the present, in their bodies, which is life for them, and for us."

I said, "But I'm such a scaredy cat. Not a caribou or a wildebeest." She said I WAS, though, a gazelle with dreadlocks. "But how do I shake it off? How does a human?"

She said, "Shake with laughter. Walk as fast as you can. Dance and shake around the living room to the Rolling Stones. Cry if you need to--cry as hard as you can. Eat with gusto, like Julia Child. Drink a LOT of water. Shake it off in prayer, by crying out from the heart, not your poor old mind. Ride your bike as fast as a kid; like you used to; like the wind. Shake it off, honey." 

On life and death...

and abortions. 

I don't have a definite opinion on abortions. I know they're often kept secret like miscarriages and both are grieved in silence. This article made me feel uncomfortable and sad. I don't agree with the author's choice, but I can easily empathize with her. 

I thought one commenter summed it up best, 

"I'm 33 and have CF.  I'm an attorney, married, and living an incredibly full life.  The world is better for witnessing those who live with and overcome challenges, or respond and accept those who need help.  There is no way any prenatal care team could predict life outcomes by mutation alone.  Period.  Life can be hard and challenging.  It is not made fuller by avoiding potential hardship."

While I can't claim to know as much about CF as the author, I do have a new perspective from the genetics class I'm currently taking-- and from my A&P professor, who told us about the exciting new work being done that involves inserting a virus into the lungs of a person affected with CF. The virus is able to re-code an affected individual's DNA so that the cells don't produce the mucus they are supposed to. With technology like this, how can the author be certain of a child's early death?

Life can be hard and challenging.  It is not made fuller by avoiding potential hardship.

None of us know the days or hours or minutes we have left. Maybe Annie would have died early. Maybe she would have lived to ninety-nine. Maybe she would have been killed in a car crash on the weekend of her fourteenth birthday. 

Her parents mourned her loss either way. 

Overcoming addiction

I've found the best way to get a song out of my head is to listen to it.

The best way to "diet" is to eat a small portion of what you're craving.

What is the best way to stop thinking about someone?


ahhh... I thought I was over all this nonsense.

Mistake #1: I will never stop being ridiculous!

C does not = PA

she's talking to me.

This gave me chills

On Writing

When I read works by awful authors I am inspired to write better ones. But when I read great writing I despair. 

Not much need to continue blogging with the likes of this one floating around. 

Dear Boomers:

Apology accepted?

A materialistic post

Oh so many pretty things!

The loveliest coat 

The classiest jacket

The best bargain headphones

The fun alternative to rain boots 

Fun Doc Martens here and here

And my top favorite rain boots: here and here.


Sighhhh...


money is so stupid.

So am I, for wanting.

If only we listened.

It's just a ride.

To the guy who told me today, "Meaning no disrespect, but you're _______" and to all other men who have ever commented on a stranger's appearance:

Amen. 

HAPPY SATURDAY!!!

Today's brightness brought to you by my new tube of toothpaste! All mine! No more sharing a trial size with my sister!!! 

It's the little luxuries. 

for the man who sits behind me

How do you unravel a life
breaking down its components
into xs and ys?

Can experience be separated
from the perceiver
--is alteration reversible
or suffering redeemable?

Does heartache shape
or tear down
your definition of meaning?
--is a life lost
ever found?

In Response To Miley Cyrus' "Wrecking Ball" "Music Video"

Most construction workers wear hard hats and steel-toed boots. Miley prefers nothing at all.


Good thoughts from The Guardian


Also, why is no one commenting on the Sinead O'Connor ripoff?

100th Post Celebration!

Spent my evening working on a construction site. My boss just turned four. I could tell he was especially pleased when he jumped up and down. He did this a lot. I wish my previous employers had been so enthusiastic about my job performance. My coworker is two. He didn't say much. Mostly he just undid whatever I had done. Maybe that's why Bossman was so ecstatic with my effort.

things to consider

This is a super long article, I didn't even read the whole thing myself.

Spark notes: Blah blah blah white people are ignorant cultural thieves.

I have more thoughts but I just wanted to give a loud applause to Terry , who left perhaps the most insightful response I've ever read.

Mostly this post is for me to collect inspiration from later. But if you find your mind edified-- well, de nada.

Spineless!

This girl!

food for thought

Nearly literally.

My favorite poem

To Dorothy

You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
and a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
of a windy night, it brushes the wall
and sweeps away the day till we sleep.

A child said it, and it seemed true:
"Things that are lost are all equal."
But it isn't true. If I lost you,
the air wouldn't move, nor the trees grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn't be yours. If I lost you,
I'd have to ask the grass to let me sleep.

--Marvin Bell 

Back in time

"Dear Mrs. Mobley, this is where I lost my book. I found it again, and lost it. I know, it sounds like I am making this all up but I honestly am not. I will keep on looking for it, though." --7th grade Hannah, in regards to a half-finished book report (for which I curiously received full credit).

Alternating between cringing and laughing as I go through boxes of old stuff.

Fake Poor

I've mentioned before the unpleasantness of living under "fake poverty". I view my situation as fake because I have an out-- I could run home, tail between my legs, and my parents would quite gladly accept me under their wing. They would feed and shelter me and I would not have to feel guilty about more than just the fat content of eating peanut butter. At ninety-five lempiras, peanut butter is a ridiculous luxury that I've indulged in too many times (and always suffered for it later).

Yet while my situation is artificial, it has afforded me a glimpse into the frustrations of actual poverty.

It seems I can't catch a break. A long cycle began before this past week; a repeat of the same scenario with different details subbed in.

I ran out of internet because I was watching (and following along with) exercise videos on Youtube.

I had to then pay extra for internet-- 40 lempiras a day.

Next a student stole my internet modem.

I had to pay 500 lempiras for a new modem. (It was another 500 lempiras for a month of internet, but I decided to go the per-day route in case my internet modem was found.)

The internet modem was found. The student still hasn't paid me back.

The school didn't pay all the money I was owed. (This has since been resolved.)

And now I find out that (potentially) I will be working nearly a month without pay, as today supposedly marks my last pay date.

Some words have been written and hopefully this situation will also be resolved.


These are just the broad strokes-- they don't recount the small indignities of being poor. Of feeling guilty for putting so little into the church offering. Of eating the same foods for breakfast, lunch and dinner several days in a row because only lentils and pea soup are in your price range. Of weighing which is the greater offense-- not showing up to a baby shower or attending with the only gift you can afford--clothes hangers. Even though you are legitimately poor, you realize that others automatically equate the shade of your skin with wealth and judge your actions accordingly. And you despise this fact, not for being "judged" but for leaving them with a poor impression of your country without having the opportunity to explain your circumstances.

Another Thing that Does Not Work in Honduras: Humor

Or at least my version of it.


Examples:


Student looking at my MacBook:

"Miss! Something just jumped!"
"I know. It's happy."
*Confused expression*

or


"Hello, Miss Whyte! What is my daughter like in your class?"
"Oh, _________ is a horrible student."
*Alarmed expression*

(Ok, I see where that one may have gone wrong.)



TBC... I wish I could remember more examples!

Struggling faith

this helps:

All: We believe that God is present
in the darkness before dawn;
In the waiting and uncertainty
where fear and courage join hands,
Conflict and caring link arms
And the sun rises over barbed wire.
We believe in a with-us God
Who sits down in our midst
To share our humanity,
A feasting God.*
We affirm a faith,
That takes us beyond a safe place
Into action, into vulnerability,
Into the streets.
We commit ourselves to work for change
And put ourselves on the line;
To bear responsibility, to take risks,
Live powerfully and face humiliation;
To stand with those on the edge;
To choose life
And be used by the Spirit
For God’s new community of Hope. Amen.
(from Iona Abbey Worship Book by The Iona Community)

Things That No Longer Work in my Apartment (A little TMI for your Monday):

1. One half of my (dual) plug-in burner

2. The light above the kitchenette

3. The light in my second room/ walk-in closet (so now 2/4 lights are burnt out)

4. The fan

5. My DVD player
6. The shower head (OK, barely works. Only sustains a small drizzle...)

And, most recently: 

7. The toilet. 

What am I going to do to fix it? 

The same thing I did with all the others. Nothing. Four more weeks, right? I think I can make it.

Keeping a bucket by the bathroom... 

(to force-flush).

A bedtime story.

In the center of the main room in my apartment lies my bed. I chose this strategic location so that I might feel any stray breeze from the ceiling fan above. I've already lamented that this fan is more than ten feet above my head, thus rather ineffective.

This detail is important to reiterate, because when I felt something brush against my shoulder at one in the morning, I knew it couldn't be an errant air current. 

I knew it had to be something else. 

Something alive. 

Something creepy. 

Something crawly. 

I jumped out of bed and flicked on the light. Sure enough, a creepy-crawly-cockroach was attempting to snuggle in beside me. 

I bashed his brains out with a book and ran to bring back toilet paper to properly dispose of him. 

When I came back, I noticed something amiss. HE WAS NOT DEAD! In fact, he flipped himself over and attempted escape. More bashing ensued. 

I threw him in the trash and threw the trash out the door. He was absolutely not going to pull another Evel Knievel on me (or would Houdini be a more appropriate reference?). Then I changed my sheets and determined that tomorrow, I really was absolutely without-a-doubt for sure going to do a royal cleaning of my apartment. 

I will now let you imagine a happily-ever-after ending. 

Goodnight, kids! 

HI!!!!!!!!!

I've been gone. Lo siento.

I thought about random things I could report in between, but none of it seemed worth your time.


So here are all the random things together.

Still not worth your time.



Since April 18 I...

Went to Guatemala:

Got sick, came home early.



had a birthday (happy 23!):

photographed Superdog Lucky (ever on the alert):

Hiked up to Jesus:

(seriously, it was a LONG climb!)

while witnessing cuteness defined: 

And treated to a birds-eye view of Catacamas:

Attended a culture show, complete with adorable children:

Entertained dusk:

And made a new friend.

All in all, a successful month!

ONLY FOUR MORE WEEKS LEFT!

Meanwhile back home...

Looks like Grand Rapids may soon live up to its name!

drip drip drop little april showers... (please!)

Yesterday the temperature was 103. 

Today felt ten times hotter as there was no electricity all day long... meaning the fans didn't run, I couldn't splash water on my face, and the students were cranky as all get-out. (Ok, maybe I was the cranky one...) 

but seriously

ahhhhhhh


still melting tonight.

When I moved into Eric's apartment (P.S. that was six months ago) his fan did not work and I've yet to replace it. I pulled my bed right underneath the ceiling fan. I used to think it was neat how high the ceilings were, but now I'm rather unimpressed by the ineffective fan ten feet above my head.

Even though I've told my students I'm 73, I know this is not due to any hot flashes.

Apparently we're due for another rainy season soon. This morning I was awoken by a torrent... it sounded SUPER loud... but didn't do much to cool things down.

Brokeback Mountain

This morning I lay in bed calculating all the different possibilities my remaining fifty-six lempiras ($2.88) presented:

Two Butterfingers and six mangos 
One Butterfinger and twenty-two mangos 
No Butterfinger and thirty-seven mangos 
One Butterfinger, one slice of banana bread and sixteen mangos... 

The first thing I’m going to do when I get back to the United States is to clean off my laptop screen.

The second thing I’m going to do is to buy a boatload of Butterfinger candy bars.

And the third thing I’m going to do is regret that decision. 

agua, or lack thereof.

I swear the landlady is holding out on us. It's like a reverse siege, what with her keeping all the water for herself...

Yesterday evening I came home and she was using the hose-- so I thought, "Wonderful! Our drought has ended!" Sure enough, water ran freely... for a few hours. It hasn't come back on since. We're the only ones without h20, everyone else that I've talked to is flowing with the good stuff.

I do have a jug of (fast depleting) drinking water, but am desperate for a shower.


whinging over.

xoxo

me

Please, Josh Ritter-- will you marry me?

I thought about posting that on Facebook but considered you'd write me off as just another fan girl. Not true. This is REAL LOVE, guys.

:P


Anyway, let me recount some other ridiculousness.

I've spent about three days with no water, save for my jug of drinking water. Simple actions such as flushing the toilet required filling up a gigantic bucket and carting it up treacherous stairs in order to force-flush the commode.

Trying to wash my face and chest would have been comical to watch as I attempted to pour water over my body with a drinking bottle.... it went everywhere. Then my soap went flying.


Water is back on... for now.


Better head to bed now while Josh Ritter is dodging my proposals.

xoxo

H

I love love I love being in love

with my e-reader!

Ten reasons pourquoi: 

1. Ease-- so small, so simple, so lightweight! A traveler's dream! No more backpacks weighed down with more books than clothes!

[that was about four reasons in one so let us proceed accordingly]

5. Reasonably priced.

6. Easy word look-up... this is perhaps my favorite feature. I can't get over how COOL it is just to tap on any word I'm unfamiliar with and find an instant definition.

7. Concealment-- ever been embarrassed to be reading a certain title? No longer.

8. Access to thousands of free books via my local library (perhaps I should write a separate KDL love-page).

9. Can read at night without bothering others.

10. I fly through books now.

Real love

This is what teachers live for!

Or at least, why they put up with all the snark from other students...

The students had been trying to figure out my first name for ages... and were never quite sure even when they suspected. Unfortunately my e-mail attaches my name, so after e-mailing this student her grades, the cat was out of the bag.

love letters from my students

Such a charmer, that one. 

Forgive my [now hidden] last post

For many others have written far more articulate thoughts on the subject.

But I do not ask forgiveness for the thoughts.

Subtle hints your students no longer like you...

9th grade:

I used to (daily) get compared to this:

I never understood it.

But today, it was-- "Miss, I will tell you something. You know who you look like? Have you seen that Princess movie? You know? With the hair? And Anne Hathaway?"

I thought this was where they were going--

but no.

It was this:

Mission Accomplished

10 Signs It's Time To Quit Your Job

And I fit every one.

how to be unproductive

1. Call in sick-- 4 days in a row

2. Get short of breath eating 

3. Stop eating 

4. Get faint

5. Run out of water

6. Procrastinate in getting more water because the jug weighs too much and you don't want to collapse in the street.

7. Go online to look up how long it takes to sanitize water via boiling, only to get distracted by everything else on the internet. 

8. Become suspicious of the cloudy boiled water and finally get the real water. Attempt to tell the lady when she asks that you want the OTHER (cheaper) water, but get charged for the regular water anyway. 

9. Convince yourself to wash the floor, a slow process involving heating water on a burner and pouring it into a bigger bucket to wash with. Start the process only to have the power go out. No more heated water.  

10. Start on another unfinished project...

What's a few missing letters? 

(10.5) Give up and go online again. 

Crap. The power's back on now... motivation to finish washing the floor = 0. 

yesterday was golden.

The morning felt disjointed. I read this blog and cried until my eyes were puffy and a toilet paper roll ran shriveled beside be. I never knew Natasha Meyer-Turner, but she left a beautiful legacy for her daughter.

And then I found myself out in the hot Honduran sun, waiting for the ride who arrived nearly an hour after the designated time. I passed the minutes by flipping through my dictionary and pretending I was not reading a dictionary whenever anyone passed by. I learned that there must be 30 families living in the house next to my apartment (slight exaggeration) and that I am really, really bad at speaking Spanish (evidenced by attempting to tell a distraught little boy that his mom was across the street).

Finally my student arrived, and we were off!

Not quite. We went back to her house twice, picked up her older brother "Ohh! Miss Whyte!" and cousin, picked up and dropped off food, met more relatives and I was invited to a birthday party.

THEN we were off. To the caves!

The cave smelled like clay and was lit by floodlights. As you can see, a walkway directed our path throughout the public access areas--- but just in case, we also had a guide. The guide pointed out interesting things, like the fact that it takes 50-100 years for the stalactites to grow one centimeter. 

He also pointed out some not-so interesting things, like formations resembling a dog and the map of Honduras... I felt like I was cloud-gazing. Never did "see" the dog, but then again I can never find Waldo either. 

The tour finished up at a museum where a reconstruction of the skulls that had been taken out was on display. I have no problems with the concept of reconstruction... but in this case, to imitate the iridescence of the cave, someone had the brilliant idea of painting the skulls with glitter glue! It looked like a really cheesy Halloween prop. 

The vessels in the museum were original and rather fascinating-- dating from (supposedly) 500-40 years B.C. 

Next we ate at a nearby restaurant. My students' mom ordered a hamburger and fries for me and a plate of typical food for the rest of the table. The hamburger was the last thing I wanted to eat and was more than a little relieved when we agreed to share it. (And by "share" I mean I had a few fries!)

The drive home was probably my favorite part. Against his sister's protest, my other student blared mariachi music and we visited his father's farm as the sun was drenching the countryside in gold. It was absolutely beautiful. The windows were down, the mountains were surrounding us and cherry blossoms arched over our pathway. Ok--maybe they weren't cherry blossoms-- but they were beautiful, whatever they were! It was so wonderful. I wanted him to drive slower so that I could take it all in-- it was all rushing by so fast. (Incidentally, his mother also wanted him to drive slower! :P)

They dropped me off and I promptly headed out to satisfy my sugar fix. It was getting really dark but I really wanted to try a new pastry shop I'd heard about across town. So off I sped, passing Hondurans left and right... I might as well have been running. The entire trip I kept having the devastating thought that maybe the shop had already closed-- but I was not to worry. Desserts were purchased and I was returning-- only to have a car pull up beside me and slow down. CREEPY! Except then the windows rolled down and I heard, "Hannah! What are you doing?!?" And then I only had to lift my bag to show off the desserts and Elba died laughing. She says I am getting drunk/ addicted off of these desserts. It may be true.

They drove me home and I capped off my night with delicious desserts. 

And now I need to start my Productivity Day!

(LONG blog!!! Sorry, I've had way too much verbal diarrhea lately!)

for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand

A friend's facebook status led me to this poem by W. B. Yeats:

The Stolen Child

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.

And I wondered what the author intended the poem to be about. So a few internet searches later, I learned that Yeats was fascinated by Irish folklore, and thus this poem is supposedly based on the idea of faeries stealing children.

Which I suppose is rather obvious given the title and the content.

Yet I didn't think it was about faeries at all. To me, it has death written all over it.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. 

How true these lines ring.

Xiomara told me about young children who dig around in the trash looking for things to recycle so they can earn a little money. Only these children often get cut, and their cuts get infected. Medical care is neither extensive nor all-encompassing, so instead they are given injection after injection, trying to combat the countless infections.

Little children who can't afford to go to school.

I see them selling fruit outside of the fence and my heart aches. They stand there, a stoic look on their face, while their peers kick soccer balls and whine about grammar class being boring.


For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. 

The mother of one of my students had me in tears yesterday. Her son is in seventh grade and the sweetest little boy you've ever met. His mega-watt smile never ceases to compel a mirror reaction. Focusing isn't a strength of his, and he can often be found constructing little side-projects on his desk (like taping together bottle caps to a pencil to make a car) instead of working on the exercises I've assigned. Yet one reminder from me and he is back on track (only to inevitably drift off a few minutes later... :P) For some inexplicable reason, the other students don't like him. And not only do they dislike him, the attempt to avoid and shun him at every opportunity. I've seen it in the classroom, but it apparently isn't limited to that environment. His mom told me that one day he was supposed to meet with his classmates to play together, but they never showed up. He stayed over an hour and was in tears when he returned home. We both despaired over this gentle soul being treated so cruelly-- and how we never wanted his beautiful nature to be lost but worried that life would inevitably toughen him.

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. 

I think about the eight young men who were shot dead playing soccer a few weeks after I came. And one of my favorite students' sisters, who was killed by her husband while living in the States. And my own sister and father. And hundreds of other similar stories of lives ripped out and the people left in their wake, trying to piece together the missing holes.


For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. 

I used to think I was unique in suffering. The older I get, the more I realize how truly everyone experiences heartaches-- more than one and at multiple levels. I am nowhere near unique. I can only stretch out my arms and say that I am here, for now.