Ghosts of Easters Past

I've found myself all over the place in Easter memories today. I have such fond memories of childhood Easters in Horse Creek. We would get up in the cold early morning dark, dress quickly, and drive to the hillside with the white cross, where Dad usually had a nice fire burning. There wasn't usually much of a crowd, but those who found their way to sunrise service were always glad they came. Mom would always give the starting note and we would sing "up from the grave he arose" with all the fun echoes, and "Christ The Lord is risen today, with rolling a-a-aleluias in abundance.
Breakfast in the church basement always consisted of bacon and eggs and all sorts of cinnamon rolls. After the meal, it was time for a quick bath and clothing change into the new flowery Easter dress. Then it was time for church, and the crowded celebration feeling.
I always loved the bouquets of Easter Lilies, and there were always tulips and daffodils blooming in our yard. Spring existed to the it utmost.
The rest of the day consisted of egg hunts for candy in the house, and for those lovely boiled eggs we'd spent so much time coloring the day before. There was always at least one egg that had taken the all night soak as well. The eggs would make colorful salads and sandwiches in the days to come. It never bothered me when the dye leaked through to the edible parts inside. That only made those boiled eggs even more special.
In the years since childhood faded to adulthood, I've spent a good many Easters far from the comforts of my early memories. I will never forget joining friends from The Vine Church in Hong Kong for an Easter lunch of dim sum. My first Easter abroad was a far cry from the norm, and yet the heart of the celebration remained the same.
Then there was Easter in Poland with my old roommate, Naomi. We were amazed by all the monks and nuns walking around, a sight which would have been highly unsual in Czech where we lived. We enjoyed the Marketa, strolled by the Vistula River, and enjoyed the fabulous markets full of colorful wooden eggs.
I could go on, recalling Easter with the Wendels, or Easter in Prague with Marek and Malin, but it is nearing midnight, and I want to post this before Easter ends. Those who want the picture show should check the Aprils of years past. They're highly enjoyable if I do say so myself.
This Easter we had fabulous weather. We didn't make a sunrise service but did get to church, then spent the afternoon redoing most of the store. Perhaps not the most inspiring Easter ever, but being able to relive those past moments, and having a chance to continue working out our future was still a good way to spend this special day.

A Longing That Lingers

Ther's no way to really put my finger on it, but there are moments in life where I am overcome by longing. I wouldn't call it dissatisfaction, or even sorrow, but more of a sudden urge for things that are utterly out of my grasp.

I remember once when a dear friend spent an evening crying in the bathroom. I let her have her space, but when she was ready, I asked what had led to her misery. Her answer, "I was crying about all the goodbyes I am going to have to make in life." We were not at a point in time where a goodbye was close, but she was suddenly struck by the magnitude of the losses she would experience throughout her life time.

The thing is, I have been wildly blessed. I've managed to circle the globe and make friends in so many places that the sun never sets on the ones I love. But such depth of experience comes with a cost. Regardless of all that modern technology has done to make the world a smaller place, distance still exists, and connections do change.

Yesterday, as I drove over the pass above Newberg, I was struck with a deep ache for the lush green peaks and towering concrete, glass, and steel giants of Hong Kong. The gift of Instagram has allowed me to almost taste the succulence of Hong Kong style French toast, and to keep up with the daily sights of life in the city of life, but I am not there. I can't walk up onto my favorite rooftop and watch the twinkling lights, or go downstairs and curl up with a precious infant. I have to drive for miles to get to work, and the Portland skyline just doesn't have a chance.

Today, on my drive through Dundee, the geraniums around a shop transported me to Cesky Krumlov. The new school year is starting, but I have no lessons to plan, nor can I walk to the grocery store for soft herbal cheese and rohliky.

How does one balance the longing with contentment? It's a challenge, and knowing that I have no option to just set down what I'm doing so I can write another chapter in my travel log is hard on a transient like myself.

At the heart of all this struggle is also a lack of personal connection in my current life. Sure, I interact with people on a daily basis, but it's mostly that surface stuff that I quickly tire of when there is nothing of more substance to be acquired. I guess I'm missing long girly talks with all my roomies of old...

Caught Without a Camera

Today witnessed a tragic moment in time. The Transient Drifter was caught without a camera. It's a travesty really. And also quite unsual. I remember one afternoon I went to lunch with some friends in Hong Kong. These friends were not tourists. They were normal Hong Kong residents, as was I at the time. Between the four of us we had at least 5 cameras. Now mind you, this was before people had cameras on their phones. I'm pretty sure they were mostly digital cameras, but still, that's a pretty high average. Today, however, I was left in the lurch. My smart phone is in the US. My iPad was sitting on the charger at home (and I don't generally haul it all over the place because it's a bit too big/nice for that on normal days) and my digital camera? Well, it was in the pocket of another jacket where I had put it when I was trying to get some pictures of a snowy pathway yesterday. Needless to say, I was more than miffed when I went confidently to pull it out of my bag. I ALWAYS have a camera. It's just something I do. It's not like I'm any sort of extreme professional photographer (although I've always dreamed of taking a photography class) but I just love taking pictures and like to be ready when the moment might come. So now that I've shamefacedly confessed to missing the moment, I'll do my best to describe what I should have photographed. The thing is, I know people like blogs to be something they can read quickly at a glance, and don't want to be muddled down with too many words, and since we all know pictures are worth 1,000 they help to keep my average down. This time, however, you're just gonna have to deal with the written variety. One of Mark's best friends works in a restaurant here in Marianske Lazne. We have visited him there several times, including on Christmas Eve, and have had coffee, but never tried the food. Today, however, Aleš treated us to a fantastic meal. He served us lasagna, cut into lovely little circles and topped with a fresh sauce made from pureed garlic, tomato sauce, onions, roasted red peppers, and fresh spices, along with halved cherry tomatoes. The cheese was melted to a nice crust on top, and the italian sausage added a nice flavorful touch to the whole dish. It was lovely and he was all ready to pose right there in the kitchen with it. But, alas and alack, I missed the chance. We ate out in the little glass pavillion overlooking the snowy yard and pond. As Mark pointed out, it felt like we were at some sort of ski resort. Very picturesque, complete with a curious cat that we watched sniffing around and flicking her ears back and forth in the wind. After positively stuffing ourselves with the lasagna, we came inside and were served a "mini cheesecake." There was a delicate buttery graham-crackery crust cup, filled with that luxuriously creamy Czech berry yogurt I talked about before, and drizzled with a raspberry sauce. While there didn't seem to be any of what I would call a traditional cheese cake filling, it still tasted like it was there. Bizarre, I know, but so it was. Just think of all those pretty photo opportunities missed. The plating would have done Robert Irvine or Zdenek Pohlreich proud. (sigh) My apologies to both the readers of this blog as well as to the chef for having no visiual proof except for the fact that I am so full I can hardly move.

Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Food

I missed my cooking lesson today. Oops. I got the run down of the ingredients, so at least I typed it up, but I wasn't there to see how the mixing looks or any of that good stuff. The cake is only half done, however, so tomorrow I get to help with the gelatine and fruit part. Should be interesting. Being a cross cultrual international person is just something that sort of happened to me. I always wanted to travel, but I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be blessed to do so much of it. Especially not with the sort of budget I have. While I firmly believe that people should expose themselves to different cultures whenever possible, I realize my lifestyle is not avialable to most people for one reason or another. Their time is taken up in other ways. That's just the way it is. So I'm not going to say that everyone should travel, because I know that isn't possible. And I won't say that people who travel are better, because that isn't true either. But I know that the traveling I have been blessed to do has changed me in many ways. And one of those ways revolves around food. Today I'm going to talk about something pretty simple. Baguettes and yogurt. These are the sort of things you can get pretty much anywhere in the world. But everywhere you go they're different. I've never been to France, except passing through on a bus ride to London, so I can't speak to the beauty of a true French baguette, but I've had some pretty good ones in my day. I can still remember a time my first summer in Hong Kong, when I went for a little trip to Stanley Market all on my own. I was twenty years old, and so fascinated by being some place so totally foreign and fascinating and beautiful. In my youthful mind I wanted to do something that could be equated to really feeling like a traveler. So I found a little cafe and bought a baguette, then got a bag of the most enormous red grapes you can imagine. I took them to a big concrete barrier near the water, and I climbed on top and sat there watching the waves and the sky and feeling like I was having a very existential sort of moment. I don't remember how the baguette tasted, but I do remember there were huge seeds in the grapes, and that I had a horrible time finding a place to wash them before I ate them. What I really remember is just the feeling of being alive and oh so very present in the moment. I grew up on your basic white wonder style bread. The reason for that was because I refused to try anything more interesting. I loved my mom's homemade bread too, but even there I went for white and fluffy and avoided the crust. It wasn't until my summer in Italy when I was seventeen, that I discovered the beauty of a nice crusty loaf. The bread there was so tough that it took some work to chew, but somehow that made you value the experience all the more. I have now discovered that, in my opinion, a really good baguette should have an almost buttery flavor. The crust should be flaky and crisp but not too tough. Today I ate such a baguette. It was part of my breakfast, and it made a bit of a mess as it flaked away, but it was oh so good. With that baguette, I also had yogurt. Here is where American sensibilities get things wrong. In America, it's all about health. Or someone's idea of what health should look like. Low fat, sugar free, artificial but somehow natural. I've had some good yogurt stateside, but it's nothing like the stuff you can find here. The Czechs, it seems, are not afraid of fat. They aren't afraid to use a nice thick cream, and boy can you tell the difference. The yogurt here is thick and creamy and just all kinds of amazing. So my day started off with a nice crusty baguette and a smooth creamy strawberry yogurt. I'm not really sure where I'm going with all this. I think it's largely due to the fact that I finally finished reading "Julie and Julia" as well as the fact that I've been watching two cooking challenge shows every day all this week. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to turn into one of those people who lives to eat, but it sure is fascinating to watch the people who love to cook get all excited about it. I'm just hoping that one day being faced with the task of preparing a meal for more than myself (since I'm quite happy with another baguette topped with meat and cheese and a nice creamy spread as a meal thank you very much!) won't fill my entire body with dread. Here's to hope says I.

The Slice Saga Continues

Yesterday I let it sit. I avoided water. I kept it safe. I'll confess, I was a wee bit afraid of what I might find if I opened it up. Today, that was no longer an option.
I did my best to cover it for my shower, but in the midst of it all, the water began to leak in. I looked down and suddenly discovered that the little bit of plastic bag I'd taped on was full of blood. Hmmm... definitely not so good.
I tend to pride myself on being pretty tough. I mean, I broke my back when I was thirteen and didn't even cry. That has to count for something. Generally blood isn't a huge issue for me, but every now and then...well, it just is. For instance there was the time in Hong Kong when I was taking a baby to the hospital and things didn't turn out very well. I was doing my best to keep little Tsz Ching quiet and calm while they squeezed individual drops of blood out of her hand, and thought it was going okay. then I started to feel a little woozy. Next thing I knew there were strangers waking me up. To make a long, and rather amusing story short, I passed out and hit the floor so hard that I broke the frame of my glasses into my head and had such a serious concussion that a week later I was still hardly able to do anything but sleep.
Back to this morning, I thought I was doing okay with the sight of the blood, but then I had to deal with actually taking off the bandages. It was not just painful, it was downright disgusting. When you bleed enough to soak through five bandages there's a lot of blood just hanging out. The farther I went the more light headed I got. In the end I can count at least 5 maybe 6 times when I nearly passed out and had to literally curl up in a ball on the floor until the nausea and spinning stars passed.
In the end I did get down to the skin. It was far from pretty, but I think it should heal up all right. Even if I had gone to the doctor I probably would have just gotten a butterfly bandage.
I survived another evening of work, and now we're watching some Cesko Slovenska Ma Talent (Czech and Slovakia have Talent). Good fun. It'll really help to prepare me for being culturally in tune when we head back at the end of next month.

Halfway point

September is halfway done. Seems like only a moment ago that it just started. I remember when I was a kid thinking people were crazy when they would talk about time flying. Christmas was always forever away. Sure, I was able to make my Halloween candy last until I had to throw the last few crusty lollipops and tootsie rolls away for the fresh haul, but waiting for it to be dark enough to go trick-or-treating took AGES.
Now I find myself suddenly one of "those" people. The type that blink and find that a decade has gone by. Not even joking. College was like five seconds ago, right? How is it possible that April marked ten years since graduation. It just doesn't seem possible. But when I think about it, I know it has to be true. There was the mill, then Hong Kong, then Albany, then Hong Kong again...you get the picture.
I suppose living life by the year has something to do with this. There is such a strange balance in my life sometimes. I love to be organized, to have things under control, to know what's going to happen next. But I live on the edge. I make a life plan for a year. Then it tends to get all thrown out of whack as I make the next plan. And that's how time just freakishly evaporates.
Right now it's been the non-stop work thing that's had my days all in a tizzy. Despite still being counted as part-time, I worked so close to 40 hours (over the course of 6 days) last week, that they sent me home earlier than scheduled. Heaven forbid they'd have to be me time and a half on my paltry $7.30 an hour. This week the SRL (stock room lead) has been out sick. That means I've had to step up and fill in her role. It wouldn't be so bad if there wasn't this silly mathematical equation I'm supposed to figure out to calculate how fast everyone is working and if we're up to company standards. In a word: LAME. But otherwise it's kept me ultra busy. Then I get home and another round of demands are made on my time so that suddenly it's bedtime, due to the fact that I've been getting up at 5:40 most mornings in order to ride "the bike" to work.
I like being busy. Don't get me wrong on that point at all. When I lived in Hong Kong I thrived on sleeping as little as possible. Every moment of every day was some how taken up with people and sights and activity and the joy of life. I actually had to block out times to go to Starbucks where I could be alone (amazing how well that works out in a cafe so crowded I generally shared a table with one or two complete strangers) and get my thoughts out.
The real problem when life gets all hectic like this is that I disconnect from things. I get all caught up in a daze and have to fight to focus on anything. And I have so much trouble getting anything actually done because there is so much to do that I can't even get started on anything. (sigh) I know, whine and complain a little more already.
I'm hoping this weekend that I'll have a little time to curl up with myself and reboot. There has been a lot of sickness going around at work, and I can't deny that there are moments when I think it would be a little bit blessed to fall ill and have an excuse to just do nothing. But I know that, in the end, being sick is miserable. I don't want to be sick. I want to have a job, and to do all things well. I just also need to keep that whole balancing act in check. Like those things I wrote a few weeks ago that I'd like to be doing. They're still there, wanting me to get them done.
Perhaps in a couple of months when we head to Czech I'll manage to find a little time to pull myself together, to figure out how we're going to work things out for the next year or so. Since I won't be working, and haven't exactly been able to save anything since we've been here, it's likely that there will be plenty of down time. I guess I just have to work to keep myself all in one piece for now, and wait and see how it's all going to work out. That's the great adventure of life after all. Just take it as it comes.

HK in PDX

Well, I've managed to get in a few minutes of time all alone. Mark is watching Czech TV, my parents are napping, and Julie took the kids to the pool. Seeing as how I'm allergic to chlorine, I only like to go swimming if it's REALLY hot or I'm in the mood. By the time they got out it was so late that paying just didn't seem worth it. It's about 80 degrees (hallelujah at last!) but according to my phone (which supposedly knows all since it's smart) it's going to be in the 90's next week, and I'd rather save my swimming time for days when I really need to beat the heat.
Last weekend I had the amazing chance to catch up with some of my old HK friends. There have been a few transplants to the Portland area, and our friend Ann, who I met up with in Prague shortly before heading stateside, was here on a business kind of trip, so I decided I couldn't miss out on the opportunity to see everyone. Nothing like a nice long road trip to help me mellow out and process life. I was pretty ready to arrive after 7 1/2 hours of driving, but for the most part, I just enjoyed having the time to watch the world fly by and to think about this period in my life, at least when I wasn't singing at the top of my lungs. It's so different traveling alone than it is when you have a passenger. Don't get me wrong, I totally love having the company, and would have been happy to take Mark with me, but he had work he needed to do in a nice quiet house, and so it was just me and the road this time around.
I actually stayed at Jessie's house, which was also lovely. Nice to catch up and see how much her little beauty is growing. Hard to believe she's two and a half already. They grow up so fast. I was also there on Sunday and got to celebrate Father's Day with their family. I didn't feel like I was letting my dad down too much since I'd been up to visit him just the weekend before. It was just nice to have a sort of family time on the day.
Anyhow, on Saturday I got to go and see some other transplants. It was so great to have a chance to be around other people dealing with crossing cultures. One of my friends is currently feeling a little stranded as his wife was detained in Canada and not allowed to continue back to where they're living in Portland. She's Canadian, and they're making them jump through all sorts of hoops in order for her to return to the US. Not fun. In the meantime, it's their two year old who has to deal with all the complications. So frustrating, but he's super cute and it was great to meet little Ethan who was born after I was back in the US.
It's always so surreal to run into people in different countries, out of context with how you originally knew them. I've now spent time with Ann on three continents. How crazy is that? Next time I'm probably going to have to visit her in Australia.
In the afternoon we spent some time looking around Saturday Market. There were various and sundry people wandering around down there. Lots of costumes, including people with tails or furry ears or even wings. Hmmm... But in the midst of the crazies we did find an amazing little Vietnamese restaurant that served some of the best bubble tea I've ever had. While most places provide flavoring in the form of a sugary artificially flavored syrup, this place clearly used real fruit. While it might have only been canned fruit, it was still positively delicious. Yeah for Bubble Tea!


We really made quite a day of it, just wandering around and exploring different things in Portland. We hung out at a mall for a while, and then went to a Mexican Restaurant for dinner. Sadly, my Love is not the biggest fan of Mexican food ever, so I was glad he didn't have to feel miserable as I enjoyed both the flavor, and the messy, gooey, drippy juice that ran down my hands. Okay, so maybe I don't really enjoy being a soggy mess, but you just can't eat tacos with a fork. Totally doesn't work.
Next stop on our list: Voodoo Doughnuts. Apparently this place is legendary. In truth, I'd never even heard of it. But they'd been talking about it all day, so I definitely wanted to give it a try.
The place really is pretty cool. There was a line that twisted through the store and was backed up out the door, despite the fact that it was after 11 PM. It's an all night store, and apparently is always crowded. Going slowly through the line gave us plenty of time to contemplate the bizarre doughnuts and the fascinating decorations.



If you want a large order for a party you can get them delivered in a coffin box. Seriously, how cool is that?

According to the signs on the wall, they even do weddings. Too bad I didn't know that a few months sooner.
After finally making it through the serpentine, we sat on this coffin bench

and enjoyed our Voodoo Dozen.

Thirteen doughnuts that were chosen for us. No worries, we didn't just sit there and eat all thirteen. We just split a few for sampling purposes before heading back to Brooke and Ephraim's place. It was a bit late and they convinced me to stay the night rather than risking an exhausted drive back to Salem.
Everything worked out for the best, and I just had a glorious weekend. Probably can't afford any travels like that again for a bit, but it was great to see old friends and just get out and move around a bit. Now time to enjoy more fun with the nieces.

Short Note on the Passing of an Old Friend

Before anyone gets concerned or teary eyed, this is one of those inanimate friends, so I promise it will be okay.
I don't know exactly when I got the travel bug. It wasn't something I always had. See, as a child I lived in the little town of Horse Creek, CA, WAAAAAAAAY down the Klamath River on HWY 96. Anyone who has ever driven that road knows the meaning of the word "curvaceous." (I was going to say "windy" but as that could be seen two ways I chose otherwise.) We lived about 35 miles from the nearest town, Yreka. Still not much of a town in case you're curious. That meant every time we needed something from the store and didn't want to pay an arm and a leg for it, we had quite a trip to make. My siblings actually got the joy of a bus ride down this incredible road twice a day during their high school years.
I love this drive now. It's a beautiful trip through the mountains along the river, dotted with wildlife and minimal traffic. I know every curve, and used to know the people living in many of the houses as well. As a child, however, it almost always made me queasy. If I looked out the front window, and didn't do anything crazy like trying to read, I could make it okay, but otherwise I was not a fan of the trek.
As time passed, however, I developed an insatiable desire to see more of the world. Perhaps it's precisely because I grew up in such an isolated place. I wanted to know more, to see more, to experience more.
In 1996 I had my first out of country experience. I've always enjoyed history, and been fascinated by all there is out there in the world to see. Traveling to Italy on a mission trip gave me a beautiful opportunity to meet new people, expand my horizons, and see some seriously old stuff. Let me just tell you that standing in the Collesium, and knowing it's the real thing, is awe inspiring.
I was only 17 back then, almost half a life time away, and I gave the camera a big grin that was slapped into a handy little passport. A couple of years later I wanted to put the thing to use once more, and I was blessed with the opportunity to go to Hong Kong for a summer. Wow. What more can I say. I entered into an entirely new world and felt so alive. Giving my life and love to the babies at the orphanage changed me completely. The first night I was there I knew that three months were not nearly enough time. However, passports acquired by minors are only good for five years, so when it came time to head back to Hong Kong after completing college, a new travel book was required.
I can still remember the day I drove down to Kinkos to get my passport photos taken. It was hot. Like seriously hot. Medford, Oregon can be that way. I was dripping by the time I got there, and my hair was short short short. I was a bit deflated from the heat, but I beamed in the photo, knowing that it would soon be my ticket to the world. I was hesitant to mail in my old passport, fearing that it might be lost or not returned, but I had no other options. Away it went and a few weeks later I was given a ten year pass.
Today, it's time is up. With a July 2011 expiration date, there are no more stamps to be had. Granted, they don't stamp passports as readily as they once did. I've visited a number of countries that didn't make their way visually into the book, but it has still become a dear friend. I have carried it literally around the world. There are visas to Hong Kong, Indonesia, China, and the Czech Republic inside, as well as stamps from Korea, Macau, Germany, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and perhaps one or two others from transit points as well. It even has a fat section of beautiful new pages I had to have added when I ran out of visa pages. The visa photos record varying lengths of hair and roundness of face. It's a map, a guide, a journal of sorts. And today it is on it's way to being replaced.
I'm feeling a little squirmy in my stomach thinking about it sitting in an envelope at the post office. I worry again that something might happen to slow its progress, shuffling it off in unknown directions. It has been a source of protection and identification. Without it, I'm stuck, grounded not just on this continent, but in this country. No longer can I even take a quick jaunt up to Canada. I feel as though my legs have been tied.
Despite my worry, I tell myself it will all be okay. The post office won't lose my precious passport. They'll deliver it safely along with the astronomical fee that has nearly doubled in the past ten years. It will arrive and be replaced with a new book with beautiful pages and a new fancy data collection card. And the old passport, now used up and seemingly useless, will have a hole punched through it to show that it is no longer valid for travel. I don't want it to be sad about this change in status, but to feel as though it is time for a well deserved break. It's seen me through a lot of transitions after all. The new photo will have updated hair, but the smile has been removed. For some reason we've also gone over to the somber photo group. Makes me sad really, but at least I don't have those ridiculous corn furrows on my head like I get every now and then.
So there you have it. The entire saga. Now I just have to wait a few long weeks until I have the lovely new little book in my hands and I'll be capable of transit once again.

History

Yesterday I began a rather colossal task. I've loved pictures pretty much forever. I've never taken any sort of photography course, and my best photos are generally flukes, but I still love them. And I still keep taking pictures, whether of people, places, or shameless poser self portraits, I've got a massive stockpile of photos that cover life in these United States as well as my international travels.
A few months ago my husband convinced me that we should get new back up hard disks. Part of his reasoning was that my computer would be less slow and annoying to him if I was able to delete some pictures off of it and not be freaked out that they're gone forever. Of course, I do already have tons of pictures downloaded on CDs and flash disks, but even those places worry me a bit. When they're on my computer they're right there, I can see them when I want, and they create lovely little slideshows when my screen saver comes on. (Side note: these slideshows often posed as quizzes for my roommates Naomi and Laura as they got to know my family and friends better through my endless stories.) I don't ever want my computer to be devoid of photos, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt to clean it up a bit.
I'd already put a number of pictures onto the hard disk, but in a sloppy way, just as individual photos without categories. So last night I began to organize those photos, and went on to categorize all the photos still on my computer. Once that was taken care of, I started going through photo CDs. That's when things got a little emotional. Looking at pictures of my life in Hong Kong, all those beautiful friends and babies and the tropical cityscape left me feeling nostalgic and hungry for more. Then I went through all of my pictures from 2008/09 in Czech making me miss my students and remember the way fell in love with my sweet Marecek. I also teared up when I came across the pictures of my visit to Becky and her family, and was reminded of how a lovely life was lost.
And of course there was also laughter.

I still have to find piles of other CDs in order to make my collection complete, not to mention one day taking on the archives of standard film photos that should all be digitized and preserved just because, but it was a good exercise, a good reminder of so many things that are important about this life. There are so many people, so many places that have touched me. It's so easy in my day to day existence to take for granted the wealth of my past. I'm not saying we should live in the past, but neither should we take it for granted. When things become mundane, when the future seems to big and frightening to even contemplate, it's amazing what flipping through some old photos can do.
Now I'm hoping I can find the spider that scared me off my nice comfy chair. I had to type this post sitting on the floor, which is one of those things I really abhor. At least there's carpet...

McWeddings...

Whilst casually flipping through the newest edition of Everyday with Rachel Ray I found a full page ad talking about the newest HK trend. Okay, it might not have hit trend level just yet, but I was still rather astounded by the very thought, and how much my husband would find it desirable. Hard to believe, but true. You can actually book a McDonalds wedding where they even provide things like "themed invitations" and a fabulous wedding "feast." The downside, if there could possibly be one, is that the restaurants are still open to the public, so you might be sitting there in your stunning gown and suddenly find a random person sitting right next to you dripping ice cream everywhere.
I remember when I first moved to HK how strange it was when people you didn't know would join your table at a restaurant. It's the sort of thing that American's with their need for a certain kind of privacy and personal space would never dream of doing. Funny how we think we need this personal body bubble, and yet we'll post things all over facebook... anyhow, I just found the whole thing rather amusing and absurd all at the same time.
My list of jobs applied to, in case your keeping track, now includes FedEx and Safeway. I actually think the Safeway Courtesy Clerk would be a sweet gig. I could bag groceries with a smile, and whisk them out to peoples' cars so I could feel all neighborly and helpful. Anything for a paycheck.
In other news, paperwork is tedious and frustrating because they can't ever just easily tell you exactly what they want on everything. I have become the queen of making coffee (seriously Starbucks, you're missing out!). I need to do laundry and clean out the refrigerator, especially since tomorrow is garbage day. That probably means the dead bird needs to be removed from the front lawn as well. I have achieved more crock pot wonder, but still feel incompetent when it comes to all things kitchen. Walks with the kids are getting me out of bed in the morning, and Rowan's imagination continues to be fabulous.
And finally, while it was a lot of stress and planning and stress, I'm glad I got married in a normal fashion and not in McDonalds...

Making an Impact

I've often found throughout my life that I feel the best when serving in some sort of manner. Not that I always enjoyed serving my mother by doing the dishes or cleaning my room, but isn't it usually the people you're closest to that it's always the hardest to serve. Rather an unfortunate oversight really. But beside the point for my little note of the moment.
So I love to serve, especially when I really feel I'm doing something for God. I'm not, however, so great at the whole evangelism thing. I think it's great that there are people out there who are. But I am just not one of them. It isn't that I'm afraid to share my faith, it's more that I want to share my life with people, and in that way express my belief.
When I was a kid I definitely never thought I would grow up to be a missionary. It just wasn't something that I was able to wrap my head around. I was more than happy to pray for missionaries every night with my dad (especially when we would forget who we were supposed to be praying for and I would leave him to rest his eyes while I went to find the bulletin and creep quietly back into my bed hoping he would stay asleep so I wouldn't have to fall asleep alone) but in general I could never wrap my head around the concept of really "having a heart" (as Christianese is so fond of calling it) for the nations of unknown faces.
God did, however, find a way to give me a love for the nations through relationships with individuals that dot the globe. And in my care for them I support the work they do and the impact they have on the people around them as well. All those people who are so near and dear to my heart as I pointed out in my last post. Most of which I've had to say good-bye to in one way or another for the time being.
It's not surprising, however, that when I headed off on my first mission trip I chose a work team. I was able to serve, to really throw my back and my arms quite literally into it. I always loved travel to, and imaging how those abstract faces in foreign places lived, and this was a great opportunity.
Mother's Choice was another easy fit for my personality. What better way to serve than to dote on beautiful little babies awaiting their forever families? Totally perfect. And I've seen the results in such positive ways as the years have gone by, especially with the likes of my sweet Caleb (Chaska) who God blessed with the perfect family that I prayed so hard would come and take him home.
There are a lot of people out there with a very skewed idea of what a missionary really is. They think of the privileged white man going to the natives and trying to turn them into little clones. Or even worse, of tragic episodes in religious history like the Crusades when people were forced to claim Christ or die. Can we say ridiculous and totally counter intuitive? While the church has come a long way from these age old stereotypes, there is still a lot of pressure for "converts." Especially when the mission field is far from home. This is partly because these same people ignore the fact that we are called to be the love of Christ to whatever people God places in our paths, regardless of where we live at the moment. That's right, folks. You CAN be a missionary in your office. But this is also rather a tangential sidetrack from what I really want to write about.
As an English teacher in the Czech Republic, I didn't come with any sort of hidden agenda. I wasn't out to blind side my students with scripture verses in class, or force them into uncomfortable theological discussions. I came to care about them. I came to teach them English. I came to learn about them as people and to take part in their culture. Sure there is always the great hope that through conversation I would be able to stir their hearts towards the things of God, but as I'm about to leave the country after more than three years I have no radically changed lives to mark down in any ledger. Does that make me a failure as the "missionary" I was sent out to be? I think not, and here is a little glimpse as to why.
Last Tuesday, the day before my birthday, I went to Cheb in order to see Laura who was there for a couple of days as a part of her yearly visit to Central Europe. When arranging lodgings with Tammy, she informed me that she was going to be substitute teaching for a class at Winfield because the Czech teacher was in a meeting. I put two and two together in my head (a bit slower than I might have liked, which is sadly often the case!) and realized that it was likely one of my old classes. I asked if she would mind if I tagged along, and she agreed.
I arrived in Cheb early and had a chance to see how much Winfield has changed. It has now merged with a language school for children, and was definitely a different place, but still, just being in the building brought back a lot of good memories. I met the new guy, who now teaches the class I was about to visit, and it was so strange to know that he now had the chance to spend time with this amazing group of people.


These photos were taken during our last class in June. Two students were missing that night, but you can at least get a little feel.
So 5 o'clock rolled around and I followed Tammy into the classroom. Actually, the two missing from the photo were the two that were there when I first walked in, along with two new ladies I'd never seen before. The eyes of my former students grew wide, and smiles spread across their faces. This was a good sign. They were happy to see me. Two more students came and the looks on their faces were priceless. That sweet mixture of shock and pleasure that never fails to make a person really feel welcome. Finally the last two arrived, I like to call them "the Happy Couple" and they were as exuberant as ever at my presence.
Well, class quickly became a catch up session. They were all very curious about how things were going for me and when I would be leaving the country. It was so great to be able to share with them what was going on in my life, and how all the plans I've been working on for ages now were finally coming together. It was like an hour and a half long warm fuzzy hug really. I was amazed to feel myself slip so confidently back into my teacher voice. Even the way I moved had that familiar teachery motion to it. And I don't think the new ladies were horribly offended by it all. They laughed at the appropriate moments, and even shared a thought and question or two as well. It was definitely a highlight of my time spent as a teacher, right up there with, after deciding not to return after my second year, I changed my mind and people were suddenly telling me what a great teacher I was and how thankful they were that I was staying.
We talked a lot about the upcoming future and my move into farm country. I can't say I'm fully prepared for what life will be like on a burgeoning farm with a horse, two sheep, a handful of chickens, two cats and 5 dogs, but it was a great opportunity to teach them male, female, and baby animal names. Not a chance you just get every day. Did I mention it was a great night?
It was hard to close things down at the end. I felt so at home with these people I'd taught for two years. It seemed so right to be there with them again. As they left there were hugs and handshakes, and one sweet lady even got a bit teary as she hugged me. It was what I needed. It showed me that the hours I invested did make an impact. And not because of who I am, but because of Christ in me. I didn't always want to go in and teach, but through His strength I entered class every day with a genuine smile. Through His grace I was able to really care about these people who come from a world and a history so different from my own. What an incredible gift.
When everyone had left I went with Tammy back to the office, all aglow with the pleasure of the experience. Then, to make it all even better, one of the ladies had to come back to get her umbrella and as she passed by the office she said how good it had been to see me, how I always had such a positive attitude and brought so much joy to the class, and how they'd all been talking about how wonderful it was to have me back that night.
I've spent a lot of years thinking of myself as a pessimist. There have been long lists of dark days when I've hung my head low and bemoaned this or that about my existence. What a revelation to hear that people find me positive, that my presence is uplifting to them. As I said before, I KNOW that is only through the grace of God.
I'm leaving the Czech Republic on Monday. Embarking on the next massive phase in life. I don't know exactly what my acts of service will look like in Moscow, Idaho, but my prayer is that wherever I am I'll continue to let God work through me, to turn me into a positive light, and to impact the people around me. It truly is the greatest blessing around.

A Dose of Dostoyevsky

Night has come and a hush is falling over the flat. It is a place that goes to sleep a bit earlier than I am accustomed to, or at least settles down before I cease to be alert. I've been writing a lot today. Not only is this my second blog today, but I've been working on a story and am close to hitting the 100 page point. It's been a long time since I've produced so much. An encouraging thing if writing still resides in my soul.
As mentioned before I've also been reading a lot. The last book I finished clocked in at about 827 pages if I recall correctly. Sadly, it wasn't so much worth the reading. Rather funny to note, part of the reason I pressed on was because it was a massive book and Karina had carted it all the way across the globe so I figured there must be some value in it. When I returned the book to her this weekend, however, I learned that she hadn't even read it yet herself.
Well, at least the book I'm reading now has proved to get me thinking already. I've taken on the rather daunting task of reading The Brother's Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. To finish it will be no small feat at 718 pages with very small print, but I'll do my best to make it through as I ponder the insights I find therein as well.
There have been some challenges for me this past year. This being a public forum I won't go into great detail, but I'll be honest. I have struggled. I want to be a loving person. I want to be the kind of person that, upon spending time with me, people feel as though their life has been bettered in some way. Not because I myself make them better, but because they experience the love of God through me. I know that I, of myself, am far from being a loving and considerate person. It is work for me. While there are ever so many people that I love dearly, there are equally as many, and no doubt exponentially more, that drive me batty. They get under my skin for one reason or another and being kind to them, let alone loving, is not my first thought. But this is not what I want from my life, and not what God wants from me either.
Let us look now at some wise words written by Dostoyevsky:

"That's the chief question-my most agonizing question. I shut my eyes and ask myself, 'would you persevere long on that path? And if the patient whose wounds you are washing did not meet you with gratitude, but worried you with his whims, without valuing or remarking your charitable services, began abusing you and rudely commanding you, and complaining to the superior authorities of you (which often happens when people are in great suffering)-what then? Would you persevere in you love, or not?' And do you know, I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love to humanity, it would be ingratitude. In short, I am a hired servant, I expect my payment at once-that is, praise, and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving anyone."

I've read this passage several times now, and every time I am struck by how much I can see of myself in this. It is so easy to love people in theory. So easy to care about their souls. But when they don't care a whit about me? Well, it's suddenly not so easy. It's not even so much about expecting them to do the same things that I do. I don't expect that. But what I've grown to see so clearly this year is that I do respect a certain element of respect. I expect people to follow the golden rule. If I treat them kindly and with respect, I want to be treated the same way. And when I'm not...where is the love?
I think in some ways it is a lot easier to accept this sort of treatment from people who do not believe in God. I've long seen the beauty in the adage that we must "love the sinner, hate the sin." I think as a Christian it is important to realize that I cannot hold non-Christians to the same standards that I seek to live my life by. They don't follow the same moral code. The things that are not acceptable to me, might be completely acceptable to them, and therefore, I have no place to tell them where they are doing the wrong thing.
I'm not talking about absolutes, like saying, "well, you don't know any better so it's really okay for you to go out and shoot your neighbor because you want to steal his car." I'm talking about the moral codes that I chose to live by because of my faith. And because I have spent a long time contemplating this sort of issue, it isn't so difficult for me to accept when people who are not Christians don't agree with my beliefs, or when they see the world differently.
However, it's a lot easier to become judgmental of others who I feel should be on the same page. We are called to unity in Christ. We are called to accept one another, to love one another, to pray with and for one another. One of the greatest blessings in my life is that I have been able to live in three countries, in cities of all different shapes and sizes, and to experience humanity in general and Christians in particular in all three locales. The churches I have attended have varied greatly, but in each and every one that I have been in, I have found people who love Jesus with all their hearts, souls, minds and strength. They worship in different ways, they praise in different ways, they even serve others in different ways, but I have seen Jesus in them, I have felt accepted by them, and I have grown in my faith through contact with them. I might not always agree with them on every point of debate over the word of God, but I can love and accept them because I have seen their hearts.
Why then do I find myself coming in judgment of others when the thing they don't seem to agree about is me as a person? Is my love so shallow that a mere act of ingratitude is enough to shake it entirely, to cause me to withdraw it. In truth, just as the woman said of those suffering patients, people who are in pain, or have issues of one kind or another, often lash out at those who are trying to help them, or fail to see the value in what is being offered them because of their own misfortunes.
I know that I am weak and frail, that I do not love the way I ought or serve as much as I could. I know that I fall and fall and sometimes before I can even get back on my feet from one disaster I'm back on my face again. It's like the year after I got a concussion in a Hong Kong hospital. I couldn't seem to keep my balance. Over and over and over I found myself on the ground when normal people were perfectly capable of remaining vertical. But in those cases I did my best to brush it off and jump back up, sometimes before the people around me had fully become aware of the fact that I was down on the ground for the hundredth time. If only I could learn to be more resilient when it comes to hurt feelings. If only I could manage to grasp the truth that I am not the one sent to judge the world, but to love it. "For how can I love God whom I have not seen if I can't love my brother who I have seen?" (my own paraphrase of I John 4:19 I think) No matter how many times I have read those words I find that I still slip back into my old ways, longing to do to others as they HAVE done to me, rather than as I wish they would do.
I must confess, it's been a really long time since I've written a paper. Obviously this is not a paper, but it feels a bit like some sort of discourse and as though there should be some nice little conclusion to wrap things up. Something to pull it all together and make it, if not more pleasant, at least somehow resolved. But this isn't the sort of thing I really know how to resolve. It's something I'm still trying to hash out for myself. So rather than tying it off with a sweet little bow of repentance and forgiveness, I leave it as it is, something I need to keep working out with fear and trembling and will hopefully learn to do better with as God gives me chance and circumstance in the days to come.

Of Visas, Prophets and Forecasting Lies...

No, I haven't jut been listening to too much Pedro the Lion. But his song, referenced above in my title (of minor prophets and prostitute wives - for those not in the know) is truly one of my favorites. It's a song all about love and redemption on oh so many levels. It was actually the opening page of a journal of mine once, way back in the day. The story of how we so often don't see the value of God in our lives. But in the end, despite all the horrible things we do, He's still right there, calling us back home into His arms of forgiveness. Definitely a song well worth listening to and pondering. But far from my topic really...well, except for the fact that I always need a reminder that God is the One who truly loves me, who loves us all...
Anyhow, I'm deep in the process of visa paperwork. For all of those who have processed visas for me in the past, I thank you. When I think of all the work Amy (Stephens) Strachan had to do in order to get me back to Hong Kong, I'm truly in awe of her tenacity. And whatever magic had to be worked to get me into Czech with an on time Visa, knowing how often teacher visas are late here, is still greatly appreciated. Now that it's my turn to go through it all, I just have to go back to the fact that God is the One in control. As always, it is only through His grace that I can even stand, let alone hope that everything is going to process smoothly. I know it's all important, and obviously there need to be rules and restrictions on people traveling back and forth between countries, but I really pray that they'll see how in love we are and that everything is just go fast fast FAST.
As far as prophets go, I've just started listening to a new 180 series about the prophet Daniel. It really is amazing to be able to stay connected to what is going on in Hong Kong, and I'm already intrigued to see what all we will be learning through this series.
And last, and definitely the most depressing, is the weather. Well, I suppose I can't say that the forecasters have been lying. In truth, they spoke the truth. They said rain, and here it is. I guess the lie was more the beauty of the past week that made me think Spring could possibly be here to stay. Instead I'm stuck inside on a gloomy Monday. Perhaps it was for the best, because I had to work on the Visa stuff, but still, I miss the sunny stuff. I never was much of one for "liquid" sunshine. Ah well.
In other news, Julie will be here in less than two weeks! I'm super excited that she is able to come, and can't wait to help her experience Europe :) It's been nearly 20 years since she was here with her high school groups, so I know she's pretty pumped as well. Still working on itinerary plans, but it should be great all the same :)

A good ache

For a couple hours yesterday and several hours this morning I joined Mark at his parents cottage/garden. It's a work in progress and we were helping them move piles of rock and dirt from one place to another. Sounds simple enough, but it was pretty serious. Brought back memories of trying to create a yard from a hillside at Mom and Dad's place a couple summers ago. I've a feeling I'm going to sleep REEEEALLLLYYY well tonight. There's nothing like some seriously hard work to make me feel like I've accomplished something. Even if the pile did seem to be eternally growing bigger, rather than shrinking, it was so fulfilling to know that I was making progress.
I really wish more things in life were like that. That you could actually see the progress you're making. That everything you're doing would look like it counts for something. Sometimes, when Mark was pushing the wheelbarrow and I was alone by the pile, I would attack it with a spade to loosen things up. When he would come back it would almost look as though all the work we'd been doing was for nothing. The loosened dirt would completely fill the space we'd just cleaned out, but as we kept out it we could tell we really were helping out the situation, cleaning things up. Sadly life isn't really like that. We can clean one day and three days later it's as though we'd never done a thing. We can reach out to people over and over, and find that they are still just as resistant to our help or friendship. So often it feels as though nothing we do really has any impact on those around us at all.
I was listening to a pod cast from my church in Hong Kong yesterday and the message was about taking time out to listen to what God is saying to us. I know that I often end up making my life so busy that I don't take the time to really listen to what He's saying, to see the situations around me where I can be making more of a difference. She said also how, when we want to reach out to people it's easy to see the sheer number of people who need love, who need a savior, and to be overwhelmed by it all. And when we look out and see how much there is to do, like when we see the mountain that just keeps growing rather than shrinking, it's easy to become so exhausted that we quit trying all together. A better way to do it is to think of one person, or maybe two, and to really concentrate on them. To see what God is asking us to do to make their lives better, and to meet them where they are. I can't expect them to be comfortable in the same places where I am comfortable, but must honestly reach out to them in their own places of need. It encouraged me. Sometimes I find myself wondering what purpose I'm really serving here in the Czech Republic. Am I really serving the people God is bringing into my life? That's the question.
So tonight, I'm going to sleep well. In the morning I'll wake up with that good ache. The one that says I've done something productive. And as I take each pain filled step I want to be thinking of how I can reach out to that person or two, how I can meet them where they are and make a difference. It might not be huge, I might not see the mountain move, but all I can do is listen to God's voice and do my best to follow where He leads me.

A Reason

There's a very good reason that I don't live alone. It's because I go crazy when left alone with myself for too long. Three days is just way too much. Okay, if I have a good purpose for alone time it's one thing, but when I'm alone just because no one else is around...just not healthy.
I remember when I spent a few days alone at Bethany House on Cheung Chau. It was really wonderful. So refreshing to have time to just be on my own, to think, to pray, to walk around the beautiful island, doing my best to avoid the spiders . Unfortunately if you look at the link there isn't really any context for just how huge these things are, but believe me, when you look up and suddenly realize there are webs larger than your body hanging everywhere around you, with spiders that have bodies about 5 inches long, you really understand how disconcerting these frightening things can be. But when I was there I had a purpose. I also had lovely warm weather. I was alone because I wanted to be alone.
This week I've been alone for far longer than is healthy for me. I've been able to keep myself busy enough, but I really need human interaction to be healthy. I actually feel like I have a cold coming on, and I blame it directly on being alone. Normally people get sick from being around too many people, but despite illnesses flowing through my house frequently all year, I've only had one small cold all year. And yet now, when I'm alone, I feel like it's catching up with me. Horrible timing considering that my parents will be here tomorrow! I'm definitely ready for them to arrive and for some exciting things to take place.
I guess part of the problem is that when I sit around alone for too long I start to feel sorry for myself. I think about how everyone else is with other people. I think of how on my last two spring breaks I went on fantastic trips to London and Berlin. And then I start spending way too much time on facebook and dreaming of distant destinations and all the people I haven't seen in ages.
sigh
Clearly I need to get out of time and have a little excitement soon soon soon!
Okay, enough ranting. Time to try to motivate myself to find something to do with my time. Maybe I should start looking for jobs in Idaho...and maybe not...

Spring is in the air...

Which means it's snowing again. Ugh. I was definitely done with snow. And today, to make it all even more special, it was snowing out of clear blue sky. How does that possibly make sense? But such is life.
I've been dreaming more and more of Hong Kong lately. I know, probably not the best/healthiest thing to do. Especially when it's all cold and dreary here. Maybe it's partly because my parents are coming and the last time they visited me I lived in Hong Kong. That's right, it's been like 6 years since my parents last visited me. Okay, that might not be totally fair. They did stop by my place in Salem, which was only like 5 years ago. :)
Anyhow, I have my students all set up to make lovely travel brochures for them. It will give them a chance to do something a bit different with their English skills, and will create something nice for my parents. This way I don't have to freshen up on everything in order to be a stellar travel guide. At least that's the hope. To help them with ideas I created my own brochure of Hong Kong. I think it was very persuasive, and going through pictures of HK on the internet definitely added to the nostalgia. I really miss that place. I wonder if some day I'll pine for Cheb. Somehow I rather doubt it. But one never really knows about such things.
The main reason I decided to write this blog today, however, wasn't to talk about Spring (or the lack thereof) or to bemoan the fact that I'm not in HK at the moment. It was to share a selection of pictures of the new and improved me. Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch, but I did get my hair done yesterday. I figured that the coming of my parents was a good time to update the do. Generally speaking, an international visit from the parents means there will be a myriad of photos taken, and I wanted to be sure not to have the hrosny vlasy (that's horrible hair in Czech, the very words my hair stylist used when looking at my hair and thinking I wouldn't understand that much or the language) that I've been suffering with for the past several months. I knew it was bad, I just wasn't quite sure how to fix it. Ah well.
There's been a marked improvement made for the time being. Granted, dye usually starts to fade within the first week on my hair, but hopefully it'll stick around for a while. Jarmila thinks I just need to stop washing it so much. But I have such a hard time doing that. I did, however, put a plastic bag over my head so I could still have a shower and yet maintain the stylists hard work this morning. It was a red and white striped bag by the way. Yes. Yes I did look like a pirate. But the final picture shows that it mostly worked out okay.


And, yes, I agree with you all. I might not be quite up to the responsibility of owning a digital camera. Where did I ever become such a blasted poser? I blame Hong Kong...

SUUUUUUNNNNNSHIIIIINNNNE!!!!!!

It's a beautiful day! I'm not even kidding. Sure the streets are littered in chunky snow piles that are rapidly showing how many people allowed their dogs to "foul in public place" under cover of snow, but there is blue sky! And I'm talking BLUE. With some fluffy white clouds and everything. I'm super duper excited about it, and definitely planning an afternoon walk to take as much advantage of this moment as possible.
In other highly happy news, I have a place for my parents to stay in town for free, which only means a slight amount of inconvenience, rather than the large expense it would have been otherwise, and Mark found some open castles! Things are definitely looking to be on the brighter side, and of this I'm ever so glad.
Yesterday I had a little free time in the afternoon and I was looking over a story I started writing whilst in Alaska. It's based around Mother's Choice and connected activities, and I found myself smack dab in the middle of memory lane. I could almost feel the little infant bodies, all soft and sweet in my arms. I'm not sure if I'll be able to bring myself to work more on it, or if the nostalgia will be too much for me to handle. The Czech Republic has clearly made a huge impact on my life, and I really enjoy the time I've spent here and the people I met, especially one particular young man ;) but Hong Kong will always have a home spot in my life. It's the place where I really grew up. Where I discovered what it was like to be me on my own in a big big world. Even as I enjoyed the slight warmth from the sun on my walk to work this morning, I was thinking how much I miss that tropic touch. I was remembering when Mom and Dad visited HK and the sort of climate they had to deal with that time. Quite a contrast.
Anyhow, all this to say, I liked seeing what I had written. It had the feeling of reality that a truly good story needs, but at the same time it was so tied to another era in my life that it's hard to know if I can really continue it, or if other people would be so attached to the thoughts contained therein. Tough to say, but I really want to finish re-reading it to see if I can come up with a plan that can take it on to completion.
Well, I'm not just going to sit here all day. Instead I'm going to get some things done and take a walk. Definitely must not let this glorious weather go to waste. I figure it might need some encouragement to stick around, and far be it from me to deny the sun what it needs :)

An American Breakfast

Few people who know me well would do more than laugh at the thought of me being a cook type person. I'm just not. It's not in my nature. Partly because of perfectionist tendencies. If I've never made something before the probability of a massive FAIL is just to high. We're talking astronomical. There are people who like to say if you can read you can cook. Perhaps there is something to be said for that, but there is also much to be said on the side of, say, natural talent. Not to mention interest.
There was a brief phase in 7th grade when Mom thought it could be...interesting...maybe beneficial, for me to join her on forays in the kitchen. I think it lasted 2 or 3 Friday nights. I mostly remember the time we made pizza from scratch. Did I mention my mom's a wizard in the kitchen? Um, cause she is. And that partly led to the end of these little ventures. You see, it was a whole lot easier for her to make the masterpiece without the meddling little apprentice there to screw the whole thing up. Do you all recall what happened to Mickey when the wizard left him untended for a moment? Yeah. So.
I had to enter the world of domesticity when in Hong Kong. In fact, my first attempt at feeding 15 people involved that same homemade pizza. I told myself over and over that it was true, if you can read, you can cook. I followed Mom's recipe to the best of my abilities. Now, I suppose I should give myself a few honest excuses. Hong Kong and Horse Creek exist in totally alternate realities. There is little comparison between one of the largest, most densely populated cities in the world and Horse Creek, CA population 115 on a good day when all the livestock has had a good breeding season. Hong Kong is located in a tropical climate and is rather ridiculously high on the humidity chart in the middle of summer when this little disaster took place. Horse Creek is located in a mountainous region of Northern California. Through the winter months the sun never shines on the little nook where our house and church nestled up against the mountains. They just aren't the same, and, believe it or not, that causes differences in the ways that cooking happens. There's a reason that there are elevation charts in cook books. All this to say, the crust that was supposed to spread out enough to feed 15 people scarcely covered one and a half pans...
It is true that, in the nearly three years that I lived in Hong Kong my skills got better. I learned how to chop veggies and fruit which led to some truly delightful salads ;) I also mastered the art of vegetarian spaghetti, tacos, French toast, and my mother's biscuits. All rather awe inspiring when you consider the half hour it took me to make 15 minute rice in my Redding apartment because I had to read the instructions so many times. Add rice to bottom of pot. Add twice as much water. Add a little salt. Boil. Keep boiling. Boil some more. When water is gone you're done. Tough people. Seriously tough. (And I'm pretty sure Jessie is still laughing at me 8 years later! Ha!)
Since leaving Hong Kong I've not done much to develop my culinary skills. I became the master of cheese, crackers, and those famous chopped veggies. Not to mention my mean Asian noodle boiling skills. Wild. Simply wild.
Those who've been following my blog for some time know that this summer my family took it upon themselves to improve my domestic qualities. There was a blackberry pie, orange and cinnamon rolls, and numerous dinner helping occasions. Funny how a man comes into your life and suddenly you're expected to be a woman of all things. I mean, I'd always managed to skip out of the womanly duties at family events. Granted, I can clean with the best of them. See, cleaning you can't really screw up. Water, soap, and elbow grease. These are things I can understand. I mean, I was a maid for several summers. (Two to be exact, with an extra month thrown in for bad measure just to remind me that it's a job I'll not likely do again unless the recession means that it's a choice between that, cleaning grease vats, or cleaning out the sewer.) But enough of the asides. I was thrown into the oven, and came out lightly browned on top...well, not exactly.
Basically, after the summer of preparations I came back and haven't done a whole lot with these recently brushed up skills. Sure, I've cooked for Mark a few times, but not enough to really make it look like I've at long last become the cook type person that my mother may of dreamed that I could be. Instead, we've eaten out a lot, or had my now famous open-faced sandwiches (shades of Great Harvest).
This week, however, I've had a little extra time. You see, last week my colleague decided that it was perfectly all right for him to ditch out on a week of school. Yes, that's right. Just two weeks after our Christmas holiday he took off for a week to ski in the Alps with a couple of students. Now, perhaps this would be all right at a normal school. You know, one in which there are a full staff of teachers who can wiggle their schedules around and fill in a class or two here and there. But at are school there are 3 full time teachers. That's right, 3! So when one of those is missing that means the other two of us have a LOT of slack to pick up. We even had to call in some extra help, which is scarcely heard of in a country where they don't have substitute teacher hot lines. (One more side note: I have to confess that it's nearly impossible to help students figured out compound nouns. The truth of the matter is, were it not for spell check I'd constantly make errors. Sure, I know that fire engine has to be two separate words, but fire man and fireman both look perfectly all right to me. The only way I know that it really is just one word absolutely for certain is the fact that when I type in fireman there is no squiggly line underneath it, unlike when I just typed in hotline as one word and there was one. End Side note.)
So this week Jonathan has to fill in some extra morning hours for me. That meant time for my mind to think again on the culinary arts. The result? I made mint chocolate chip cookies for Mark on Monday. Well, I mixed up the dough Monday afternoon and then cooked them up Tuesday morning so they'd be ready in the afternoon when I went to see him in his town. They turned out fabulous this time. Quite a relief after the disaster cookies I tried to make my students last year. Those ones ended up puddles. Seriously, it was not a pretty picture. I ended up shoving the rest of that dough into a pie pan and trying to convince them that it was now a bar cookie and they really should give it a try. Ugh! But this time they came out beautifully. Sadly I didn't get a picture, but I saved some of the dough and plan to cook up some more so we can have fresh hot ones with our team time tonight so maybe I'll snap a picture of those.
After this baking high note, I felt prepared for the next step. You see, unbeknownst to me my colleagues decided that today, Wednesday the 27th of January, would make a lovely day for a ski trip. I. Don't. Ski. Period. Yeah, I tried it. Once. Last year. And it's going to stay at once thank you very much. So they decided, again this was ALL done without me, that I could do something with the students who weren't interested in skiing. They'd offered up swimming. Um. It's January people! And I don't really swim either. Allergic to chlorine, remember? But at least it sounded a bit better than skiing.
I, on the other hand, thought up an alternate activity. So on Friday, when trying to sell the idea of watching a movie with me and being nice and warm, rather than freezing cold (consequently today is the coldest day of the year so far. Jarmila informed me it was -20 C on her farm this morning. That's cold. We're talking snot freezing cold.) I added that I would also take them to my house for the movie, and would serve an American breakfast. (So I accidentally just wrote sever instead of serve. Good thing I caught it since spell check would have been okie dokie with that little slip up.)
Now I didn't win over the whole crowd, but once the words had come out of my mouth, those who didn't want to ski sunk their claws into them and I was stuck in the promise. And so, today, I pulled out my mom's award winning biscuit recipe. Okay, so she never actually entered her biscuits into a county fair, but she could have. These biscuits are the reason I didn't starve as a child at potlucks. To say that I was picky as a child would be the understatement of the new millennium. Many apologies to all the people whose homes I entered only to turn my nose up at their gracious edible offerings. I think sometimes I was the bane of my parents existence at social calls. Here people invited the pastor and his family over to dinner only to have their adorable little girl turn into a demon at the table. At least I never threw up at other peoples' houses...
Anywho...I was an olive on every finger, deviled egg, and jello eater at potlucks. Good for the figure I suppose, but when you're 5 no one really thinks about that. They're more concerned that you aren't getting your four food groups. Thankfully Mom's biscuits always came to the rescue. She'd usually slip out of church just as we were all singing "Bless be the tie that binds..." and hurry to the house to throw the biscuits in the oven. She'd bring them down, piping hot, and be rushed by the frenzy. There were never any left over. Truth be told, they seldom even made it to the food table. People rushed to get at them and devour every last golden morsel. They were rather like the manna that rained down from Heaven. At least the first few days when the Israelites were still being thankful. Truly a blessing.
So I pulled out the recipe this morning, as I said before, and set about making these show stopping favorites. I mixed up the dough and then had to go to school to pick up my students. I didn't want to cook them in advance, since fresh is DEFINITELY the way to go. I rushed through the cold, watching my breath turn my hair gray as it froze immediately, after leaving my biscuit dough in the closet which is substantially colder than the rest of our flat.
I collected a grand total of three students. Honestly, that was the sort of number I was hoping for. My house isn't exactly designed for crowds. We headed back to my house with a disappointing stop at the not yet open video store. I had three L1s in tow, that means three people who really don't speak English. They're getting a lot better, but for the most part I had to scrape together what I know of Czech to follow what they were saying as we walked. Not that it was all that hard. I'm sure most people who speak English and not Czech would be able to figure out that "autobus" and "taxi" relate to modes of transport other than feet. Clearly the ten minute walk was not to their liking in this Antarctic climate. But we did make it, and I made them fruit tea to warm them up while the biscuits were cooking. The closet did it's work and kept it from turning into a fluffy monster whilst I was away. Twenty or so minutes later I had them seated at my table with a glorious spread.




Delightful!
Mom's biscuits did it yet again. They all sang the praises, and I knew it was the excellent recipe and not any ability of mine that could have pulled it off. We then watched Twilight which one of my other students had brought to me a couple months ago, because it was the only DVD I had with Czech subtitles. They seemed to enjoy that as well, so it all worked out.
American Breakfast.
Success!

Snow

Okay, I know, talk about a lack of originality. But it seems the best title for this particular entry. You see, snow has descended on this land in which I live. In a rather serious way really. There is snow pretty much everywhere.
It's a different kind of snow than I'm generally used to. Growing up in Northern California we would get these massive heavy flakes that would fall fast and build up in big puffy waves. It was a dense sort of snow, great for building snowmen and sledding down the hill behind our house. Dad and I made a snowman that was more than 6 feet tall once. He stood in the parking lot by the church for weeks, propped up on an old wooden shovel handle as his heavy body slowly began to slump and shrivel. It was also excessively cold there, so we had years when the snowfall was short, but the frost would grow inches in the background, causing a white Christmas regardless of actual precipitation.
In Oregon the snow was always wet. We didn't get a lot of it, and it usually just froze over making the roads impassable. We'd have school cancellations on account of an inch of snow covered in sheets of icy treachery.
Can't say there was any snow to speak of in Hong Kong. Apologies to my friend Derek who commented on his facebook page the other day that it was bitterly cold in Hong Kong. Even when the temperature got as low as 4 degrees Celsius (about 40 Fahrenheit) it wasn't exactly bone chilling. Main problem there was that it never got warm in our house, so we were as cold indoors as out.
Alaska...there's another story all together. The snow was also generally pretty heavy in my way of looking at it. The flakes were often quite large, and fell quick fast and in a hurry like. Contrary to Oregonian precedents, two feet of snow weren't enough to get schools to even have a delay.
Here in Czech, the snow is really dry. I know that sounds strange, but it's of a totally different quality than snow I've experienced in other places. Now I'm not like an Eskimo with 40+ words for snow, but this is definitely snow of a different caliber. The flakes tend to be smaller, and swirl about in the slightest of breezes. It can really pile up, but it isn't really the sort of snow that's ideal for making snowmen. In fact, you can kick this snow. I know, I know, that sounds really bizarre, but it's true. Just kick and scatter it. Walking in it is more like walking in sand. It sticks to you and pulls your feet down. It's the strangest stuff.
After a few days of constant foot traffic it turns into the muckiest slush you can imagine. It does begin to get wet then, and turns brown and muddy, almost like a snowy paste. So while it makes the trees and rooftops all peaceful and romantic looking, the paths which I must tread are just plain nasty.
This past weekend I had to go into Prague for a CA meeting and to do some mid-year reflections. The Mid-years are really one of my absolutely favorite parts about being a CA. They're a time when I can really sit down and get to know the people in my team, and try to encourage them as they process what they've experienced thus far and what their future plans are going to be. Anyhow, it was snowing when I arrived in Prague on Friday night, and it proceeded to snow the whole time I was there. I'd seen a skiff of snow over the city a couple of times in winters past, but nothing in comparison to this. I'm always amazed by how the entire landscape changes in it's wintry coat of white fluff. I took great delight in my chances to run around taking photos of the grand structures of this magnificent city in their winter finery.






I'll end now with a little something to warm you all up on these bleak January days...