silver afternoon

2012-01-21T01:40:00.003-05:00

I passed the car ahead of me, and as I crossed the center line back onto the right side of the road, the snow caught me and I lost control. There was an on-coming vehicle approaching, which is why I attempted to get back in my lane more quickly than was apparently safe. I started swerving and then I was spinning in circles. I am trying to remember exactly what happened: what I was thinking, how I reacted, how my car moved, how many times I spun, but it all happened so quickly. I do know that thoughts of needing to steer into the skid crossed my mind. But I didn't know exactly what that meant, and which way was I skidding anyway? I remember seeing white out the windshield - snow and headlights as I spun. I did not scream. I asked God to protect me and to not let me hit the on-coming car or the car I had just passed. I stepped on a pedal, I believe it was the clutch because I think I also changed gears - either downshifted or put it in neutral. I may have braked a little. But whatever I did, I did very little to guide the car so gracefully off the shoulder and into the ditch. I was on the right side of the road, still headed in the same direction when I landed, so I know I spun a complete 360 at least once. I don't remember my heart racing, but I'm sure it was. I remained surprisingly calm. Dad said, looking at my tracks, that I veered gradually off the shoulder and into the ditch. I came to rest beside a plowed field. The shoulder of the road was about level with the roof of my car. The ditch was steep, and had I hit the shoulder at a different angle, I probably would have rolled my car. Had I gone off a bit further down the road, I would have went off an eight or nine foot drop, and I may have hit a mailbox or a post. I could have easily hit the car on-coming, or caused either car to also lose control in trying to avoid me. As it was, I was pretty lucky. I hit absolutely nothing, and my car did not flip, which would certainly have caused damage, to myself or at least to my car. I am thankful. I am sure God had his hand on my car, directing it just so. Because it was definitely out of my control.

2011-12-17T00:09:00.003-05:00

I have taken to buying used books. In the past, I never really felt the need to buy books, as new books are expensive, and I always just borrowed them from other people or from libraries. Makes sense to not spend money, right? Especially since most books are only ever read once anyway. I never even looked at the book sections of my favourite thrift stores. But more recently I have discovered the pleasure of buying second hand books. I have begun to love searching through the shelves of books for titles and authors I know or have heard about. Today at Value Village I found a book that I read a few years ago, for which I have been keeping an eye out, but had not yet come across it until today. It made me very happy. I also picked up a couple other books that I have not read, but by authors whose writing I love. I can't wait to dig into them. And there's something lovely about buying used books. Sometimes they contain traces of previous owners and readers. At first it would bother me to discover marks and writing in a book I just bought. But now I like it. I like finding phone numbers scrawled inside the back cover. The previous owner's name scratched out on the first page. Pages folded over, sentences underlined, a bookmark forgotten. Now the books are mine. I can add them to my (currently non-existent) bookshelf. I am building my collection. I can re-read my favourites. I can lend them to other people who I know will enjoy them. Oh how I love to read a good book.

2011-10-18T23:19:00.017-04:00

Three years ago today, Rachel and Riki helped me dread my hair. My dreadlocks have come a long way in three years, and because they sometimes do some crazy things and seem to have a mind of their own, I thought it would be sort of fun to post some pictures from along the way. It feels a bit narcissistic, but I'm going to do it anyway. But I won't go so far as to wish them a happy birthday. They're just hair, after all.

So to start off, a picture from today. Three-year-old dreads:This next picture is of my hair shortly before dreading it. It was almost at my shoulders, and I was growing out bangs.

My lovely friend Riki created my very first dread (of this batch. This is not actually the first time I've had dreads. The first batch happened about four years prior to this, and only lasted 8 months).
Rachel backcombs too.
It took us about four hours to put them all in. I made a couple of them myself, but Riki and Rach did all the rest. This picture is taken the day after. They are very soft and puffy. Notice the undreaded growing-out bangs? I decided to just leave them because I didn't want to have one silly little short one right at the front. I could always dread it later when it grew longer. Turns out I never did.
For about the first half year, they were a huge mess and I mostly just wore them in a ponytail all the time. A bunch of them started growing together in the back from the roots, and I had to sit down every once in a while and rip them apart and work the loose hair back into the proper dread. The ends also needed extra backcombing, as they kept coming undone (I didn't use wax). I gotta say, dreads are a lot of work for the first several months, and it takes a lot of patience and perseverance, but they do eventually get awesome. They're not yet awesome in this photo. Taken at maybe three or four months.
At about five months, I thought it would be fun to dye some of them orange. I was a little worried about not properly rinsing out all of the bleach and hair dye, as I heard this can be a problem with dreads. But it seemed to work out okay. Also by this point, they had acquired a few beads.

Orange was fun, but it faded fast, and I was left with that awful fake blonde that I hate. I hadn't really considered that, though the dye will fade, the bleach won't, and I'll be stuck with that blonde forever (I don't have much hair dying experience). I still kinda regret that. This one is from about eight or nine months in, and there's that lovely fake blonde. Also around this time, my dreads started developing crazy loops and folds as they continued their process of tightening and dreading, which you can see in this picture.
And a back view of the same thing. See the wonky loops?
To deal with the colour, I dyed the blonde ones black, which worked out fairly well and faded to close to my natural colour (after a while those blonde ends returned, but I'm too lazy to do anything about them). Freshly dyed black ones:I was beginning to be more happy with how they look on a regular basis by this point, and they were finally quite nice and dreaded. This is at one year. They had spent most of the first year getting shorter (or so it seemed) and tighter, so they gained very little length. As time went on, they began requiring less and less maintenance, only needing to work in loose hairs now and again. By two years, they were getting more and more awesome all the time, and finally starting to grow longer:And by three years, they are longer and awesomer than ever, and require next to zero maintenance.
I really love having dreads, and I love where they are at by this point. I've been planning from the beginning to grow them really long. But sometimes I feel like chopping them off just for something different, just to shock people. I'm usually pretty impulsive with my hair, and three years of the same is a long time for me. I grow it long, I chop it short, I cut bangs (and then hate them). Mostly I just get tired of the same and want something different. I know I'd regret cutting my dreads though. It's been a lot of work getting them to this point, and it's not something that can be done over night. And I know too that the longer I have them, the harder it will be to cut them. But for now, I won't worry about it, and I'll just continue to enjoy them.

2011-09-27T23:00:00.002-04:00

I laid on my back looking up into the tree, little leaves hanging on, some still green, most varying shades of yellow brown. Through the tree into the sky. Wispy clouds against the blue. Sun on my skin. I laid in the crunchy little brown leaves. My hair wound into a bun at the back of my head a perfect custom-sized pillow. I stretched out my legs. I stretched out my arms. I lifted my legs and looked at my toes against the leaves and the sky. I regretted the nail polish I applied weeks ago that is now chipped and mostlybutnotquite gone. I only get the urge to paint my toes once every year or two. Keeping an eye on a large spider carefully picking its way across the bricks, resisting the urge to move farther away from it because I was already at a reasonable distance. All of this to put off working on my assignments and paper and quizzes that I must get done on my days off. Today, along with laying for a long time on the deck, I also drank tea, checked facebook compulsively (waiting for something exciting to happen, though nothing ever does), read postings on our class message board, downloaded some music, listened to music, thought about Sufjan Stevens, ate green grapes, made cinnamon toast, had a short nap, looked a my textbooks, read a couple articles, and generally didn't get much done. It seems I can't sit down and actually get any writing done until about 10pm, even though I try all day. I feel like I should be better at homework by now. Sigh.

2011-09-22T23:12:00.009-04:00

1. Camping like it's the seventies.
2. Diving off of rafts.
3. Cartwheels in the sand.
4. Generally acting like children when we are grown adults.
3. Strong coffee.
4. Mikalation.
5. Getting caught in the rain. A small hand in mine. (Everyone should get caught in a downpour now and again.)
6. Smokey hair.
7. Lonely drives through some beautiful country.
8. Changing leaves.
9. Mist hovering.
10. Sitting on the steps with ex-housemates. Laughing a lot.
11. Evening swims.
12. Watching the sky turn while standing waist deep in water, trying not to shiver.
13. Laying on the dock in the dark. The quiet eerie. The water glass. The stillness unbelievable.
14. Crispness.
15. Sweaters, boots, pashmina scarves.
16. A mattress on the floor.
17. Greasy breakfasts.

2011-07-26T23:31:00.011-04:00

While wedged between Josiah and his sister, some of my dreads brushed against him and he told me he doesn't like how they feel. They are hard, he said. Like a wrecking ball. I almost died. Where does he come up with this stuff?

I love dancing on the beach at sunset in a twirly airy skirt with the kids and my sister. I love burrowing my feet into the sand at the bottom of the lake. I love eating watermelon (with seeds in it! It's been ages since I've seen a watermelon with seeds in it.) on a blanket on the sand and seeing who can shoot the slippery seeds the furthest by pinching them between our fingers.

I found a small round smooth stone at the beach in Port Elgin. It is lovely and perfect for keeping in a pocket to feel when necessary.
A perfect size - small.
A perfect shape - round.
A perfect texture - smooth.

The cottage is built on the side of a hill among a forest of cedars. The tall slender trunks sway perpetually in the wind. Back and forth. The early evening sunlight reaches into the kitchen from across the lake, slanting among the branches of those tall swaying cedars, casting playful shadows and sending flecks of light dancing softly and silently across the deck, the floors, the kitchen table. The light of summer. Nostalgic memories. Playing to the tune of Coldplay's Parachutes. All that I know, there's nothing here to run from. 'Cause yeah, everybody here's got somebody to lean on. We live in a beautiful world. Yeah we do, yeah we do.

Rain pounded on the roof, directly under which I am laying in bed up in the loft. Thunder in the distance. I was hoping for an overhead storm, whose lightning I could watch through those cedar branches. No such luck, and I fell asleep quickly, despite the drumming above my head.

This morning I wanted to go for an early morning swim by myself at the dock. Though it wasn't actually very early, it was the first thing I did when I got up. I mentioned this to Dad as I was leaving the cottage, and he insisted on coming with me, saying I shouldn't swim alone. I was kind of annoyed, because I'm not a child, and I WANTED to swim alone. I was looking forward to the solitude. I'm not a terribly strong swimmer, but I'm confident I can look after myself. It's a small lake with calm waters, not very deep by the dock. But come with me he did, and when I coaxed him to feel how warm the water was in contrast to the cool windy air, he decided to jump in as well. In his shorts and underpants. It made me giggle, and in the end I was happy that I got to share a quick swim with my dad in the chilly morning.

Amanda tossed a pebble at the turtle sunning himself on a rock, because we wanted to see him move. Her aim was a little too good (or not very good, depending on how you look at it), and she nailed him precisely on the top of his shell. He immediately moved off the rock and slid beneath the green sludge on the surface and we all laughed because we were trying only to startle the turtle, not actually hit him.

2011-07-12T21:35:00.002-04:00

Two sisters curled up next to each other on the bed. The older in labour, the younger a comforting presence, holding her hand, whispering encouragement in her ear. It's the middle of the night, the lights are low. The midwives are sipping coffee.

A newly made father unable to speak, turning away as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

A woman on the mattress in the corner, her back arched, arms over her head, hands against the wall for resistance as she pushes down the bed to birth her baby. Her face contorted with the effort, her body an astonishing and awe-inspiring picture of sheer power. "I am woman, hear me roar." It's the first time I've seen someone use her arms and the wall like that for pushing.

Three sleepy older siblings coming into the room while wiping sleep from their eyes, awakened in the wee hours to greet their brandnew brother.

Eyes lit up at the sound of that first listen to the heart beat. The rhythm quick, transmitted through flesh and gel and plastic by doppler. Months before anyone will meet this little person.

These are glimpses. It's moments like this that remind me why I want to do this. When I am feeling discouraged and incompetent and inadequate and exhausted and wondering if it's all really worth it and if I'm really cut out for this work.

I sometimes feel like I'm intruding on intimate moments, like I have no right to be there. I am an outsider. But birth is beautiful, women are strong, and I want to be a part of it. How is it that I get to be a part of this and bear witness to such wonderful moments?

2011-06-11T20:18:00.006-04:00

Recent things:

1. Pretty orange four dollar throw pillows made in India
2. Pretty little sundresses
3. Aviator sunglasses
4. Waiting in line at the relief sale
5. Fresh warm donuts and apple cider on the very top bench of the grandstand
6. Strawberry daiquiris
7. Curried chicken and iced Vietnamese coffee and good conversation between home visits with a midwife who is not actually my preceptor
8. Second hand books
9. Having time to read novels without feeling guilty
10. Brandnewborn skin and baby cuddles
11. Driving around the block on account of all the one way streets
12. Keeping socks and a toothbrush always in my purse
13. Sharing a blueberry muffin after rescuing a new friend who locked her keys upstairs
14. Pistachios
15. A bowl full of pistachio shells
16. The crazy mountain in the middle of this city and the view from the top that catches me off guard every time
17. Friendly nurses
18. Making pizza and having drinks on the patio with new friends
19. Strobe lights in the sky and pouring rain against my window
20. Parallel parking on a hill with a standard
21. Melty peanut butter

2011-04-26T17:22:00.004-04:00

The candlelit communion service on Friday night was quiet and intimate and meaningful and good. It was easy to feel connected to Christ and his body. To contemplate the extent of his sacrifice - the spilling of his blood and the breaking of his body.

The sunrise service down by the lake on Easter Sunday morning was also lovely. There's something very special about that time of day when the dawn breaks. Something sacred. Especially on Easter morning. Maybe it's because most of us rarely see it. It is so glorious, but so often passes unnoticed. A new day. The earth turns. The promise of hope. Something beautiful.

I am feeling drained. Drained of tears. Drained of emotion. Drained of motivation.

I think God is currently trying to teach me a lesson in humility and in vulnerability. In plans and how they change and don't always go how we expect them to. Sometimes learning lessons is hard.

I am working on processing and accepting this change of plans. I am feeling tired and ready to be done, and now the end point will be more than a month later than I expected.

I am thankful for people in my life who listen. People who let me cry, who pray for me and give me hugs and send me encouraging words. People who help me realize this is not the end of the world, nor even the end of my journey into midwifery. That it could be a lot worse. In the long run, what's a few more weeks, really? It's an opportunity to practice, to gain more experience, to work on those areas I need to improve, to learn from other midwives. That can only be good, right?

2011-04-04T23:16:00.004-04:00

There was a boy reaching out the open second storey window to stroke the cat standing on the sill. He sneezed as I walked past. The curtain was red. The yellow light spilled into the night. The crisp-air-filled spring night. Another photograph.

2011-03-25T13:01:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, while driving down Concession Street, I saw a man using a pay phone on the outside of a convenience store. He was wearing jeans and a black sweater with the hood pulled over his head. He was leaning nonchalantly against the booth, the cord hanging down. It seemed so normal, yet so ancient. It was like a photograph. I don't know why it made me so happy.

2011-03-23T19:54:00.003-04:00

Buying jeans that are already broken in is my favourite. They are obviously worn. They are not just like new - all stiff and dark. They are softer, and already comfortable. They are a little frayed at the hem around the back. They were once loved by someone else, and they are now mine to enjoy.

One thing I am coming to love about this work is spending time in other people's homes. Not just for births, as only a small fraction of our births occur at home. But for prenatal visits if she is planning a home birth. To scope out the place, to anticipate and plan for the big day. And for home visits for every client after the baby is born. I love seeing where she lives, what her home is like. I prefer the feel of being on the woman's turf, in her own environment, where she is most comfortable. It's lovely.

Sometimes when I need to go to the clinic outside of office hours, I feel like I'm breaking in and sneaking around. Even though I have keys to the building and a code to turn off the alarm. I feel like I'm stealing when I stock up on gloves or other supplies, or pick up a chart on the way to a birth. No one else is around, the lights are off, it's very quiet.

2011-02-11T21:52:00.000-05:00

Things:

coloured tights
pretty flower pots
paint chips
the beach ball of doom
peeing with the door open
bits of dough stuck in my ring the day after baking pretzels
kicking a piece of ice down the snow-covered sidewalk
successful blood draws (breaking the skin, watching the blood fill the tube in the vacutainer and feeling the warmth of it in my hand)
maple dipped creme-filled doughnuts
stove top tea kettles
changing words and names to make them funnier
tiny jars of spices
all of Muirgen's nicknames
minty lip balm that makes your lips tingle
the earthy way that beets taste
babies at the breast
dancing alone in the kitchen to The Killers
stepping over the ridge of plowed snow at the curb
hippie curry
the smell of hair
puddles of melted snow under your boots
dangley earrings
counting fetal heart rates
detaching dreads that are growing together
the pile of clothes on the floor
xylophones
conversations with strangers via text message
leaving the curtains open after it's dark outside
the possibility
sanding dust around the baseboards
roasted marshmallows that are cold before you pop them in your mouth
sticky jars of honey
laughing about stupid things we've done
sitting on a black couch held together with duct tape
John's Delicates
hospital rounds

2011-02-02T21:32:00.003-05:00

Two things about today:

1. The newly made brother wanted to give us goodbye hugs when we left. As I held him, he said sweet things and fingered my dreads (probably wondering what the heck is going on with my hair) and gave me a big hug and even a little kiss. This sweet little boy whom I had only met once before, whose new baby sister I helped catch this morning.

2. There's something about leaving a home after a birth. Stepping outside, carrying all the gear to the car. No one else on the street paying any heed. No one else aware. All are oblivious to the brand new life that so recently entered the world. I feel like shouting, "A baby was just born! Right here, in this house! A woman worked so hard and did an amazing job and her body knew just what to do! You should know, and be excited!" It's like a wonderful secret that only we are in on.

2011-01-14T13:01:00.006-05:00

The other night I had my first four-handed catch, and it was thrilling. I still get a little giddy when I think of it, and I'm looking forward to my first solo catch and how exciting THAT will be. It's like nothing else. To be the first one to have your hands on that new little life. All soft and warm and slimy and lovely. To pass her off to the hands and breasts of her waiting mother. The reward for all of that effort and hard work and pain. Birth is so beautiful. It's messy, true (I ended up somehow squirting blood all up my arm and all over my preceptor when I cut the cord. Oops!), and it involves immense amounts of pain, but it is SO beautiful. And as a student, just starting out on this adventure called midwifery, I'm so grateful to the women and families who help teach me, and welcome me to be a part of their experience - one of the most intimate, personal, beautiful, painful and possibly traumatic, and definitely life-changing experiences that there is. It's amazing that I get to be involved in this on a regular basis. That this is going to be my life work. And every time, the wonder and awe of it all is the same. It is the same as the first time I saw it happen, almost ten years ago now. I hope that never ever lessens, regardless of how many times I see it happen.

2011-01-03T21:25:00.005-05:00

I love the way the afternoon light pours in the window of my new bedroom, reflecting off the mirror and glowing on my clothes hanging in the closet, all soft and orange. Rachel says it's the best room in the house for light. It makes me so glad I'm no longer in a basement. I'd much rather be three floors up, able to sit on the floor in front of the window and look out over the surrounding yards and houses, the sky and trees. Much better than being at grass level and looking out at the wall of the neighbour's garage. I like the angles in the ceiling. I've always been partial to sloped ceilings. Rach and I are planning on painting the room, and I'm excited about this, but can't decide if we should go shades of green or rusty red orange. Too bad it'll only be home for four months.

I wish I had red hair sometimes. The pretty curly kind.

I'm feeling lots about tomorrow. Anxious, excited, terrified, impatient. I feel like it's something really big. Like so much is hanging on this experience, and whether or not I can pull it off. My entire future. Yikes.

On new year's we were talking about if we are private people, and Rachel recalled Colin telling her about our sleepovers. I'd forgotten about those sleepovers. We'd spread sleeping bags on the floor in the family room in front of the wood stove, my brother and me. We'd watch the flames consuming the wood, and we'd share secrets in whispers. Or rather, he'd share secrets. He'd ask me about things in my life, and I'd have nothing to say, so I would just listen to him. I suppose I am a private person. I don't readily share secrets, and I guess I never have.

2010-12-11T01:46:00.005-05:00

The cold of the night seeps into my room through the floor. It's hiding under the carpet, perhaps some cement. But I can feel it when I sit on the floor. So I sit on a folded blanket.

I love having freshly washed flannel on my bed. It's surprising I don't do it more often. But washing the bedding is such a hassle that I don't do it as frequently as I probably should. Are there rules about such things? I especially hate having to make a bed from scratch.

Lately I've been longing for a house, or at least an apartment, to call my own. I want to fill it with pretty things and acquire lovely furniture and create a space I love. More than just one bedroom. I want a kitchen of my own, in which I can bake and cook delicious goodness. A kitchen with open shelves of pretty dishes and jars of spices and other dry things and flowers in a jar on the table. Oh sigh. Someday. After I graduate and have some money and no longer have to move a lot. I am already tired of being transient and of living in other people's houses.

2010-12-10T09:31:00.003-05:00

Today I can once again breathe a little. And I'm doing all the things I haven't been able to in the past couple weeks. Today I am (not particularly in this order):

1) Sleeping in. By this I just mean staying in bed, even though I'm awake, until I feel like getting up. In fact, I'm in bed right now as I write this. And I'm not getting out when I'm done. For a while, anyway.
2) Showering. Yeah, it's been a while. Not weeks, but definitely days.
3) Grocery shopping. I've been eating a lot of crap lately.
4) Doing laundry.
5) Doing my own dishes, and whoever else's are in the sink.
6) Baking. Maybe pretzels. Maybe muffins. Maybe both.
7) Not writing any papers or completing any assignments. Wahoo!
8) Maybe studying just a little. I really like exam time. No more classes, no more assignments, just relaxing and studying, which takes less brain power than paper writing. Great music, delicious tea, chocolate or something salty to munch on, maybe some snow falling outside, cozy with my notes and textbooks. I especially like group study sessions at coffee places with friends and a latte. Mmmm.

2010-11-29T09:55:00.005-05:00

These last few weeks of school have been/will continue to be crazy. I can't believe that in 3 weeks I will be home for Christmas. There is still so much to be done before then, and I really don't know how I'm going to do it all. I know I always say that, but it seems like this time, I really may not be able to get everything done. I feel like I may no longer have time to eat, sleep and shower for the next couple weeks. I think that the aim of this semester was to teach us not to procrastinate, by having everything due in the last week and a half of classes. I think I missed the point, and it's stressful. Next Thursday is my first exam, and I don't think I will have any time to study for it, seeing as I have two papers (neither of which I have started yet) due on Wednesday, and an intensive this weekend. Though I suppose somehow I'll manage. I always do. I just wish I would have started some of these final papers and assignments earlier on when there wasn't so much going on. It seems I'll never learn how to not procrastinate.

I really like my housemates, and am going to miss living with them when I move after Christmas. I like that we often have communal dinners, where we all bake and cook and eat together. I like that I enjoy spending time with them, and we have loads of fun together. I like playing out in the snow with them when it comes for the first time in huge fluffy flakes under the orange glow of the streetlights at night. I like having late night chats. I like that they share their food with me when I don't feel like cooking after an evening class, and bring me tea while I'm holed up in my room doing homework, and tell me they're praying for me when they know I'm stressed. I like how when I have no time, I can just leave my dishes in the sink and someone else will do them. I really appreciate it, guys! However, I also take my turn doing dishes. I kind of like washing dishes actually. There's something relaxing, almost soothing, about it. Sometimes when I should be doing homework, I go on cleaning rampages and thoroughly clean the entire kitchen. It seems the only time I feel the need to clean is when I should be doing school work instead.

2010-10-18T23:51:00.006-04:00

After being in class all weekend, it was great to go out for dinner last night with the ladies. It was very lovely - pasta, wine, loads of laughter, a room to ourselves in the restaurant. Some of us were talking about what people must think of us, a group of a dozen or so women ranging in age from 19 to 40 something, and we decided they would think we were a book club. Later, one of the servers did ask us who we were, what the event was. This made us laugh, and so we told her. I love spending time with these wonderful women. I love making people wonder what we're about.
(photo by Simone)

2010-10-01T12:42:00.003-04:00

I was walking down Elm St to the bus terminal yesterday, on my way to school. Enjoying the sunshine, as it's been a while since we've had any lately (they're calling for SNOW tomorrow). An old man on a bike came up behind me on the sidewalk, slowing as he came alongside me. The conversation went something like this:

Old man: I have a skirt at home that I think would fit you. It' s about your size.
me: Oh yeah?
Old man: Would you be interested in having it?
me: Um... I don't know...
Old man: Well, I guess it would be hard to know without actually seeing it.
me: Mhmm...
Old man: Do you go to Tim's much?
me: No, actually. (I have no idea what to say) It might be hard to make arrangements...
Old man: It's a shame. It's a nice skirt, and I don't want to just get rid of it.
me: Sorry, thanks anyway (or some other such awkward mumbling).

And then he rides away on his bike, leaving me rather bewildered. I think that was the most random thing a total stranger has ever said to me. I was a little thrown off, and didn't know how to respond. Sorry sir, I don't really want your skirt. But thanks, anyway.

2010-09-28T22:21:00.007-04:00

On my way home from Kingston on Sunday, I stopped at a service center at the bottom of the 400. I needed to get gas, to pee and to grab something to eat. I also got a coffee (and was reminded that Tim Horton's coffee is kinda sucky) to help keep me awake, as I was pretty tired from the crazy dance party the night before that was Shannon and Andrew's wedding. As I was heading back onto the highway, I passed two guys trying to hitch a ride. They looked young and fun, sitting there with their packs, and they stuck their thumbs north as I drove by. I was tempted to stop and ask where they were headed, to offer them a ride as far as Sudbury, but the smarter part of myself convinced me that it's probably unwise, as a young woman driving alone, to pick up hitchhikers. I don't usually get the urge to pick up hitchhikers, but for some reason I did this time. It would have made my drive more interesting, and it would have been fun to make a couple new friends. And how dangerous is it really to pick up hitchhikers anyway? They didn't appear creepy or sinister. Though I suppose it's probably better to be safe than sorry, even if it's more boring.

2010-09-22T23:29:00.005-04:00

Here we are, already well into September. I hate starting with opening lines such as this, but it feels necessary. I haven't written in a couple months. When I came here to write, I noted the fact that, despite the five plus years I've kept this blog, I only have 69 posts. Plus that one about bread dough that mysteriously disappeared. So I've actually written 70. That's not much, for five years. But who cares. Does it really matter? I kind of like that I can be non-committal with this silver afternoon. It's here if I feel like it. But if not, I don't have to.

Summer ended lovely-ly. I wish 'lovely' could be made an adverb and still be grammatical. I had a good, fairly low-key summer. Low-key, but good. However, I was ready to pack up and return north for school. The transition was how it should be. I didn't hate that summer was ending, and I wasn't unable to wait to get back to school. It was just time, and I was okay with that. I had some wonderful end of summer moments with the people of summer. Lunch with the ladies from work. Coffee with friends at the Symposium (it's a good going-away event place. The service is terrible and the food's a bit over-priced and hot things are sometimes cold, but I still like it for some reason). The Busker Carnival with the Klavers. The beach with Brian (I like how, as one friend pointed out, we sort of had a natural 'expiry date', with me moving back to Sudbury. How there was an understanding that whatever we were would be just for the summer. That we didn't have to define things, but just had fun).

I like driving. Long drives, by myself. Though long drives with other people can be fun, too. But they're not like long drives alone. When I'm alone, I like to listen to loud music and sing along obnoxiously. The drive to Sudbury is gorgeous. It also provides ample time to be quiet, listen to mellow music, contemplate anything, and enjoy the beauty of rock and trees and sky and water.

This year I live in a busy house. There are seven of us in it, five sharing one space, with the other two in the upstairs unit. Busy houses are fun.

I'm finding it hard to get back into the swing of schoolwork. All the readings. Two weeks in, and I'm already behind. I need to get my butt in gear. It's easy to want to be social and hang out with my school friends a lot, and spend time with my housemates when everyone's upstairs hanging out.

I'm loving that we're getting into the nitty gritty this semester. I feel like everything I'm learning is directly relevant to what I'll be doing. We're getting some hands on experience, and it's pretty exciting. I was so nervous the first time I tried venipuncture on a classmate, my dear friend Kelley Jane. The nerves surprised me, and I couldn't keep my hands from shaking, which resulted in the needle slipping out of the vein and blood dripping down her arm. Megan the midwife had to help keep it steady while I put the vial in and out. I definitely need more practice. We're also learning loads of important, heavy, responsibility-filled stuff. Our pharmacology/therapeutics and reproductive physiology professor (a wonderful woman who has a freakin PhD in chemistry) says we need a good understanding of all this stuff so we don't look like idiots around other professionals (ie: obstetricians), and to give our profession credibility. Because that's not terrifying...

2010-07-24T12:02:00.003-04:00

Sometimes when I babysit the little ones, we visit far away exotic places, like China and Hawaii. We fly or take a cruise ship (with live music and magic shows every night), and then walk the great wall of China, hike up volcanoes, go to the beach, eat with chopsticks, and consume too much pineapple. It's great fun. I love kids' imaginations.

Last night when I was driving home from Kitchener, the sky was beautiful. The sun was getting close to setting, and it made everything else beautiful. It was overcast, except for in the west where the sun was shining brightly in an eerie yellow-green, and it cast the landscape in the most surreal glow. One side of the highway was all in shadows, but the trees up the other side were lit up in this strange greenish light, the spaces between in the forest in deep shadow. It made me want to pull over and go explore those lovely trees, but I kept driving. The farms and fields were all varying shades of yellow-green, light and shadow, all against a backdrop of gray-green clouds. It was hot and humid and I had the windows open and I listened to 'Trouble' on repeat, which didn't really suit the evening, but I didn't care.

I enjoy my drive to work in the mornings. When it's hazy and misty and everything is early morning golden lovely and the sun glares off the crack in my windshield. I've been able to watch the fields evolve throughout the summer and watch the crops grow. They're beautiful.

Yesterday, my drive to work was through a river. I had my wipers on the highest speed, and I could still barely see. The cars created great sprays of water like the parting of the Red Sea, and I felt like my car might float away in a few spots. Upon arrival at work, I put my pashmina over my head, took off my shoes and ran barefoot across the parking lot, through what felt like ankle-deep water. Later when I was cold at my desk, I couldn't wrap myself in my pashmina because it was still wet. But at least my shoes were dry.

2010-05-21T18:45:00.006-04:00

The other day, I found a link to this article on webCT. Reading stuff like this makes me feel sad and angry. It also makes me feel thankful that I live in Ontario, am being educated here, and plan to practice here. Here, where any woman can access midwifery care and can choose her place of birth. Here, where midwives can practice autonomously without being under the control of an obstetrician. I am thankful that our system of publicly funded health care helps to make this all possible.

2010-03-14T20:37:00.005-04:00

I was reminded this weekend how much I love live music.

The Townehouse was the most packed I'd ever seen. It's been a while since I stood in a crowd in front of a stage, pressed up against strangers, unable to even see the performers on stage.

I never knew foosball was such fun and so hilarious. We were shrieking and laughing a LOT.

I like how when we get together the snacks are always amazing, and sometimes we inject each other with sterile water (some have obviously been acquiring new skills). We sure know how to have a good time.

The time change happened in the night, and today has been escaping too quickly as a result. The day is too short!

2010-03-07T23:53:00.004-05:00

When I am home alone, as I was this weekend, I like to pee with the door open and have a clean kitchen and walk around in my underwear and have naps on the couch. Though I like my housemates, it was nice for a change. I hadn't had the place to myself since the first week I moved in here back in August.

When it's nice outside, I like to stop wearing socks and boots and I break out my corduroy jacket. I also hang my laundry outside, and then I smile at it suspended there above the snow in the yard, and it smells like outside when I bring it in and it's wonderful (I feel like I write about hanging laundry a lot).

I'm so excited about the gorgeous weather we've been having lately. I feel like spring has crept up early, quickly and unexpectedly this year. But maybe that's just because I was prepared for it to be especially late in coming up here in Sudbury. I'm not getting my hopes up though that it's here to stay, because we'll likely have some more winter before it's gone for good.

When I was napping on the couch, as I like to do when no one else is around, I woke up and the radiator under the window was leaking water all over the floor. Actually, it was more like spurting water. Rusty red water. I freaked out a little, thinking of how great it was that this was happening when no one else was home. What would I do? I got up and turned on the light, because it was getting dusky by this time, and there was nothing there. No hole in the radiator, no spurting rusty water. It was strange. I often have hallucinations when I'm half awake, but they don't usually seem that real. Well they do, but I'm usually mostly still sleeping, and once I'm fully awake I realize it's nothing. This time I felt quite fully awake and was actually really surprised when I turned on the light and it was all gone. I had even heard the water dripping on the floor.

When my friends are still recovering from the night before, I like to hang out with them (three of my favourite midwifs) on an air mattress and watch silly vampire movies while eating delivered Indian food.

2010-02-11T11:07:00.002-05:00

This week in anatomy and physiology we were talking about blood and the heart and circulation, and I had one of those mind blowing moments of amazement. I was especially struck when looking at the fetal circulatory system. I'd never really stopped to consider how it all works. Of course I knew that the baby receives oxygen from the mother through the umbilical cord and placenta, but I never thought about how fetal blood is actually circulated: how the lungs are non-functional until birth so blood is re-routed past them, and how the umbilical vessels and extra re-routing shunts are no longer needed after birth and are essentially "obliterated" (as my lab manual states) and remain only as fibrous ligaments. It's so crazy to think that this is the system that is going on while the fetus is developing and growing in utero, but then as soon as it's born, all of a sudden, the baby starts breathing, and using it's lungs, and circulating it's blood differently. How amazing! It's all so perfectly designed and functional. Pregnancy, and birth in general, gets me every time. It's so normal and natural, yet it's also unexpected. Who would have thought?! How amazing is it that we, as women, can grow another human, another life, inside of our own bodies? And then when development is complete, and all is ready, that other life is born. It's a little crazy, if you stop to think of it.

2010-01-19T23:51:00.002-05:00

I wanted to have a nice long soak in the bath tonight, but unfortunately could not find the plug for the tub. Now, I'm not one hundred percent sure that there ever was a plug, but I think I had a bath one other time, shortly after moving in here. Which makes me wonder: where, oh where, has the plug gone? I was rather disappointed, as conditions were perfect for a long soak.

2009-12-04T18:59:00.006-05:00

When I'm grocery shopping, I usually don't put fruits and vegetables in those clear plastic bags. This has never been a problem, but today the checkout lady at Food Basics gave me a hard time about it.

Checkout lady: Why don't you put your apples in a bag?
me: I don't need a bag.
Checkout lady: Well, how am I supposed to weigh three individual apples like this?
me: It's never been a problem before, and I do it every time.
me (thinking): can't you set them together on the scale just as easily as you could if they were in a bag?
Checkout lady: They're free you know.
me: Yes, I know. But they just create more waste, and I don't really need them.
Natashia (my housemate, who was with me): They're environmentally unfriendly!
Checkout lady: Well, I don't believe in that.
me: Well, I do.
Checkout lady: What about those beans there? You have them in a bag.
me: That's entirely different. I can't really just put a pile of green beans in my cart now, can I?
Checkout lady: I'm just going to put your apples in a bag, and you can take them out when you get home if you want.
And she proceeds to put them into a clear plastic bag before weighing them.
me (thinking): You've completely missed the point, haven't you?

I miss self-checkouts. Sigh. Oh well.

2009-11-29T20:27:00.005-05:00

Sometimes I just need a break from assignments and studying and paperwriting, and sometimes I need a break from procrastinating, too. Sometimes I get depressed spending hours alone in my room all weekend, trying to get work done. Especially when everyone was at Mom and Dad's this weekend, and I wasn't. So, to feel better, I thought I'd write an "I like" list. Because I like those. And they make me happy.

I like that It's been snowing all day, and now the ground is white.
I like that I'm eating a bowl of blueberries and raspberries and whipped cream right now.
I like that I picked those blueberries with Shawna and the kids this summer.
I like that I just whipped up the cream myself just now.
(I've been eating a lot of junk lately, and I like to call it "study food")
I like that I'm listening to Christmas music, and it feels more legitimate today because there's snow.
I like Sufjan Steven's and Over the Rhine's Christmas music in particular.
I like that It's almost Christmas time.
I like that there are only three more weeks of craziness until I can go home.
I like that I only have one more paper to write this semester.
I like school.
I like being a student midwife.
I like my new friends and fellow student midwives.
I like that we have study sessions together and we sometimes actually get studying done.
I like my housemates and that they like to bake cookies and brownies and cakes and share them.
I like pretty scarves and boots and other things that come with this weather.

2009-10-13T00:45:00.003-04:00

Thanksgiving is a lovely time. I love being with my family. I love my family. All of them.

I enjoyed the weekend at my parents' new home, though it was a little weird sleeping in "my" room. It holds some of my things (things I have left behind), but it's not really mine. The room I have here in Sudbury I would call mine, and it contains more of my things, though it's not really my home. I'm not sure where home is anymore.

The drive was beautiful, and I like that it didn't even feel that long. All the gorgeous colours under a quilted cloud sky. So many trees, so much rock, and such vibrant fall colours. Beauty, for sure.

This week is going to be a little crazy. Sometimes I'm not prepared to make school my life, but sometimes I need to do just that.

2009-09-11T15:39:00.002-04:00

This afternoon while I was hanging out my laundry (I was so excited when I discovered a wash line in the backyard, and then had to go buy clothespins), my neighbours started chatting across the fence. Though it was more like yelling across, since I was at the other end and across the yard, and they were on their deck. He told me that our wash line hasn't been used in probably five years, and he's pretty impressed that we even had the garbage out for pickup this morning. He wondered how many of us live here, what my name is, where I'm going to school and what I'm taking. When I told him midwifery, he said, "No wonder you're so damn domestic." I laughed. People's reactions are always funny. We have a joke in our class that you can usually pick out the student midwives on campus pretty easily. We're all a bunch of hippies who wear birkenstocks after all, right?

2009-09-03T00:25:00.005-04:00

Today was so exciting. We talked about the history of the profession of midwifery in Ontario. We learned about the AOM and the CMO and what they do. It's pretty boring stuff I think. But I really enjoyed it. I love that I've found something that I know I will enjoy. It feels so good to have finally found what it is I want to do. After not knowing for so long. And to now be actually starting. I can't wait to see what the next four years (and beyond!) have in store. It's so exciting. I'm rather sure I will love being a student midwife. I still can't always believe it. I'm a freakin STUDENT MIDWIFE!

My entire room shakes a little whenever a large truck goes by. It's kind of weird.

2009-08-14T23:01:00.029-04:00

I don't quite know how to write about Peru. We saw and did so much in 16 days. Perhaps I'll start at the beginning, yes?

We had five hours in Miami before flying to Lima. Though I've never had any desire to go to Florida, I can now say I've been there, and not only in the airport - we were outside of the airport. I actually rather enjoyed our stay there. We sat outside in the sauna-like heat under the palm trees, eating our supper and being watched by a stray airport cat that clearly wanted Lesley to share her burger. We were also asked by a dreaded man if we had any 'papers', adding that he thought we might because we looked liked 'family'. I find it amusing how people assume that because a person has dreads, they must also smoke pot. That's not the first time I've been asked, either.
Flying out of Lima, the sky was thick with low-hanging gray clouds. We quickly broke through them and found ourselves in the sunshine, with lovely brown mountains protruding above the clouds. The clouds looked like snow gathered around the mountains, and they appeared to not be going anywhere any time soon, which is why it is perpetually 18 and overcast in Lima this time of year. (And they were still there when we returned 9 days later, though we did get some sun on our last day in the city, which was nice.)

Our first hostel in Cusco was lovely. It had a couple open courtyards with gardens in the center surrounded by two levels of rooms with a balcony acting as an outdoor hallway. Our beds each had about four heavy warm alpaca wool blankets on them. It was so cozy. We cooked packaged noodles for supper, and a fellow traveller shared with us his leftover chicken.
Cusco is a beautiful old city, and it's unfortunate that it's also such a tourist trap (but I can't complain really, because we ourselves were tourists). The Incas built their cities and villages in the shapes of animals, and Cusco (the 'navel of the world' and the center of the Inca empire) was shaped like a Puma, though it has since expanded and no longer holds it's shape. It's set in the valley, surrounded by mountains. The streets are stone and the buildings are white plaster and the roofs are terracotta. I love the way the streets become steps (and undriveable) when they climb the sides of the mountains.
There were women dressed in brightly coloured traditional clothing wanting you to take a picture with their llamas. They wear leg warmers with sandals (the women, not the llamas), and it's amazing how they carry everything, from small children, to branches and boxes of chickens, tied to their backs with bright woven blankets. The air contained noticeably less oxygen, and it was easy to become out of breath, especially when carrying a rather large backpack. I love the way the outdoors become confused with the indoors, and our second hostel contained ridiculous amounts of steps and outdoor patios that were all still somehow inside the hostel.

One time we ordered wine with our meal because it was cheap, and Les laughed at me because my dinner was waffles. I don't pretend to be a wine connoisseur. We ended up going back to that cafe a couple times because we liked it so much. They played good music and had purple benches, and the walls were all lime green and kraft dinner orange, and they serve everything in prettily painted handmade pottery.
In the evening, we sat out on the patio. The view of the city at night was amazing. We could see most of Cusco, and the lights and the stars were so beautiful. I think I could have sat out there all night.It gets bright in the morning and dark at night very quickly. Like within 15 minutes. It's light, and then it's not.

The night before leaving for the trek, Les had cuy at the restaurant. She wanted to try it, if only for the 'bragging rights'. I ordered chicken. I just wasn't feeling up to eating a guinea pig. But I did try a bit of hers. They say it tastes similar to rabbit. I wouldn't know - I've never eaten rabbit. The bit I had was quite tough. It came complete with a head and feet with tiny guinea pig claws. When I was a kid, our neighbour had pet guinea pigs that we would play with. Their names were Buttons, Fudge and Ringo. Lesley didn't like me talking about it while she was eating, but I thought it was funny.I loved the two hour bus ride to Km 82, the starting point of the Inca Trail. It was so beautiful (though I'm pretty sure the beauty was even greater all along the trail itself). We drove up and out of Cusco, through the gently rounded mountains towards the more jagged snow-capped peaks shrouded with clouds. Out the window was full of redbrown dirt and yellowgreen fields and darker green trees. The mud brick houses were the same redbrown. It was overcast. Thick clouds and rain splattering the windshield. Rain. In the dry season. After all the lovely weather we'd had in Cusco. I didn't bring a rain poncho.

I bought a rain poncho at one of our first stops along the trail after hiking for a while in the pouring rain. The girl said they had none left, but a few minutes later produced a crumpled red plastic thing, which I'm pretty sure was child-sized because I could barely squeeze it over my head, and it only fell to my knees, meaning my pants became soaked as soon as we hit the stairs on the second day and my poncho would drip all over my knees with each step. I grew to hate that frickin plastic poncho, and I was always so glad when the rain would stop and I could take it off.As an aside, to anyone considering doing the Inca Trail: I would recommend NOT going in the rainy season. Though there are less people and things may be greener, it's no fun hiking in the rain, and everything stays wet all the time, and with the clouds you can't see anything anyway. Also, the stones of the trail can be treacherous when wet and slippery. I heard stories of people hiking up steps in ankle-deep water in the rainy season. Doesn't sound like fun.

I think the worst part of the trek was in the mornings, when you'd wake up and have to get out of your cozywarm dry pajamas and put on your pants again, which were cold and still wet from yesterday.
The sights along the trail were amazing. Around each turn of the path lied another breathtaking view of the Andes (when it wasn't concealed by clouds), and I was continually amazed with each new vantage point. It was also interesting how diverse the landscape was that we walked through over the course of the four day trek. But then, we walked a total of 45km. We went from dry grassy mountains with cacti, to jungley forests. We also had all kinds of weather, from rain to foggy clouds, to freezing rain which turned into snow at Dead Woman's Pass, the highest point of the trail (4215m above sea level).
Which is where a couple in our group became engaged. At the top of the pass, in the cold and snow and raging wind. We had cake the next morning for breakfast to celebrate their brand new engagement.

Day two was the hardest, day three was the longest. So said Other Guide (funny we called him this, because he was actually the main guide who did all the talking. Julio mostly just followed along behind to make sure we didn't lose anyone. But Les and I had such trouble remembering Jair's name, and our attempts ranged from Gerrard to Jafar to Jihad and Javier. Sometimes we just called him Julio's Friend, or What'shisface. We had many laughs over all this, and I have no idea why his name was so hard for us to recall.). We climbed up for about five hours to reach Dead Woman's Pass, and much of this was steps, followed by a two hour descent to our camp for the night, also many steps. It was definitely challenging, but Les and I paced ourselves. We took it slowly, stopping frequently for short breaks. I'm glad I wasn't with someone who wanted to go way faster than me, or I would have been exhausted. At the end of day two, I felt pretty good. A little sore, but I didn't feel like it was unmanageable.
I actually found day three to be the most difficult. It was a long day, though we had a few stops at Inca ruins along the way to break it up. My legs were a bit sore from the day before, and after the final building we stopped at, it was all downhill again the entire rest of the way to the camp. I almost thought I couldn't make it. I'd probably never climbed so many steps in my life as I did during those four days. My calves and shins were burning, my knees and ankles screamed with every jolting step, my toes hurt from repeatedly slamming into the front of my shoes, and the balls of my feet grew sore as well. On top of all this, I badly had to pee. I'm not sure why I didn't think of going somewhere off the trail, but at this point I was just really focused on getting to camp. The last half hour or so was zigzags down the mountain, and around every corner I was wishing the camp to come into view, but it just didn't. Les suggested we stop and take a break, but it felt like if I were to stop, I would fall over and not be able to keep going again. It really felt like my legs might give out at any minute. By the time we finally reached the camp, it was close to 6, it had grown dark, and we had missed tea. Oh well. I was just so relieved to be done for the day. I totally felt like an 87 year old woman with arthritic joints. It was like I didn't know how to walk properly anymore. I was tired, sore and cranky, but Lesley made me do stretches with her in our tent upon arrival. She said if we didn't, we wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning. So we did.After waking at 430 am and beginning day four's hike in the dark, we arrived at the sun gate to watch the sun rise over Machu Picchu. But of course it was cloudy, so we got no sunrise. It was still neat to finally see the lost city in real life, though I don't think we could fully appreciate it because we were pretty tired. When we actually arrived in the city, I was surprised by the size of it. I know the pictures are taken from pretty far away, but it's a lot bigger than I expected it to be. It's a beautiful place, laying there amongst the clouds, with the mountains falling away at the edges, the Urubamba River in the valley below. I can't imagine living there in so much beauty.
The Inca Trail is not the only way to get to Machu Picchu. You can also take the train there. We felt a little superior walking down into the city all tired and dirty and probably a bit smelly after hiking for four days, passing the day trippers who took a bus up the mountain just that morning.
Along the trail, and especially at Machu Picchu, we learned a lot about the rather amazing Inca civilization. They were a brilliant people who built some incredible things. Their stonework was so percise and exact, built to withstand earthquakes, and they used no mortar or iron tools. All travel was by foot, and the Inca Empire was very large, covering mountainous terrain. They were also very in tune with nature and astronomy, building windows in their temples that faced exactly the sunrise on June 21st, the summer solstice. It makes me sad, and a bit angry, to think of how the Spanish (all 170ish of them) came to Peru and wiped out about 7 million Incas. What right did they have? Why is it that the Europeans always felt that they were so superior in every way to every other people on Earth, that they felt justified in invading, colonizing and wiping out entire cultures and civilizations? It blows my mind.
Also mind blowing were the porters on the trek. And the guides. Other Guide does the trek once a week, and has been doing it for two years. Crazy. The porters carry ginormous packs, weighing up to 44lbs, on their backs. They have to go faster than all the rest of us, leaving after us in order to tear down camp, and arriving before us to set up camp and cook our food. And most of them do it all in leather sandals. And I felt as though it was all a bit exploitative. These men were doing this hard physical work just so that we, the rich tourists, could have this amazing experience. But on the other hand, they are treated and paid fairly, and they do this job because they can make a bit more money to support their families. I've read that before the government stepped in and made regulations, treking companies often treated their porters very poorly, sometimes not providing a tent for them to sleep in, or having them eat whatever was leftover after the trekkers were finished. Jair told us that in Cusco, there just aren't jobs available outside of the tourist industry.

When we arrived back in Cusco after the trek, we were supposed to be taken to our hotel. However, our driver claimed he didn't know where our hotel was, so he dropped us at the main square and we had to find it ourselves (after receiving help from Jair, who happened to be in the office when we went there). We were delighted to learn that our room in our new hotel was on the first floor, meaning no stairs, and that there was a TV in our room. All we wanted to do was eat junky food and watch TV. And so, after retrieving the rest of our stuff from our last hostel, we got take-out McDonald's and ate it in bed while watching movies on TV. It was wonderful.

On our last day in Cusco, we were laying on the grass in the Plaza reading books, but were interrupted by a woman in a uniform who blew her whistle at us and guestured us off the grass. Apparently you can't be on the lawn in the Square.
Sometimes I pretend to read my book, but secretly I'm watching people.

We discovered in the airport that backpacks are much cooler than suitcases.

We also discovered in the airport that we like to make fun of people who wear their money belt over top of their clothes. And we saw a number of them. A money belt is not a fanny pack. It is meant to be worn under your clothes. I'm pretty sure their money and passport would be safer just stuffed in their backpack. At least then it would be out of sight. "Please, mug me and steal my passport!"

Lima is very different from Cusco. At first, I was worried that we might regret staying for five days there. But I needn't have worried. Turns out Lima was also enjoyable, and we found lots to do while there.
Les went paragliding off the cliffs of Miraflores. I thought I might as well, but it turned out to cost twice as much as we had first thought, and I was running low on cash, partly due to those awesome boots I purchased that I just couldn't pass up. So I watched Lesley sign her life away and held her sandals while she jumped off the cliff. It looked like fun.We spent a couple afternoons at the beach watching the surfers. The ocean is a beautiful thing. Watching it is like watching fire, says Lesley. It's rather hypnotizing. The waves were huge. One rushes back out after crashing on the rocks while the next one fights to overcome it, plowing its way over the last one, only to deposit itself on the rocks as well, spent. The beach in Miraflores is rocky. The stones are not huge, but they are large enough to be awkward and uncomfortable to walk on. They are all worn smooth and round by the Pacific. They must be old rocks, and those waves must have been pouring themselves all over them for a long time.
I sat on the beach wondering why throwing rocks into the water is such a fun game. Skipping stones I can understand. But simply throwing them and watching them plop?

On our way to the airport, our taxi was pulled over by a police car, we think for honking at a garbage truck. We thought this was rather hilarious. Go figure, on our last cab ride in Lima. When we got the the airport, Lesley gave the driver 100 soles, which is all we had. The ride cost 50. After digging around for a while, pretending to have no change, he produced a 50 and we walked across the parking lot to the airport. Turns out the 50 he gave us was a fake, and an obvious one at that. Had it not been dark, and had we looked at it a little closer, even we could have seen it was clearly not real money. What a jerkface! I bet he had change all along, but just decided to see if he could rip off us two white girls. It was pretty annoying, but we were able to laugh about it and see it as a funny ending to our trip to Peru.

Oh man, this turned into a superlong post. Especially after I started adding pictures (which, by the way, was ridiculously time consuming)...

2009-05-09T22:04:00.003-04:00

Lately (since school has ended)...

Rachel threw me a lovely little goodbye get together on my last night in Kingston. Some friends came over, I ate three pieces of cake, Muirgy and Astrid performed a wild and hilarious tap dance which had us all dying of laughter, and I received an awesome congratulatory construction paper woman birthing a baby.

Astrid helped me pack up my room and carry all of my stuff down to my car. That little room seemed so strange and empty after.

I cried when I left. I didn't think I would cry, but I did, and the tears continued for some time down the 401. I already miss Kingston and am trying not to regret my decision to return to Kitchener for the summer before moving to Sudbury.

In some ways it feels like reverting back to being a teenager, in living with my parents again. This was unexpected, as I was no longer a teenager when I left home, and I'd moved out and back again before, but it wasn't like that.

I like eating food with friends. Perhaps that's a strange thing to say because it's obvious and ordinary, but food is best shared with company, and eating seems to be a natural thing to do with friends.
We went out for pad thai at a fake Thai restaurant. Because we are experts in this sort of thing, and would know authentic Thai food anywhere. We decided it was fake because we were served by a white guy with shaggy blond hair and the menu was entirely in English. However, the pad thai was pretty good, I thought. Though I'm no expert.
I like sharing spontaneous dinners of stir fry with friends, and lunch with the ladies the other day was lovely.

Hanging laundry out in the sunshine makes me happy, even when the wind blows it down all over the yard. Or when I have to run out in the rain to rescue the laundry in bare feet with the mud and wet squishing between my toes.

I've been trying to stay in shape by biking, though I'm not always very good at it, when I don't usually have anywhere to bike to. I've been using my dad's bike, since mine is still in Kingston. I was disappointed to learn that the Pioneer Park plaza has no bike racks. Apparently no one else ever bikes there, so a place to lock your bike is not necessary. I went biking the other day out in the country. I passed Brigadoon School, and I thought: how is it that this school is already 17 years old? I remember being in grade two the first year when it was brand new. I was wearing my brown corduroy skirt (which I think is funny. I like biking in skirts, but wish I had a cool old bike, rather than the mountain bike I was riding. Skirts on a mountain bike just aren't quite the same) and my brown sequined shoes from Chinatown (Mom said when I left: you're wearing those shoes?! You should put on proper shoes for biking). It was sunny and everything was turning green, and there were lovely clouds in the blue sky, through which the sun was shining hazily. Lazily. There were hawks gliding above the fields and trees, and trilliums were growing beside small trickling water. It was beautiful. But suburbia is creeping outwards at an alarming pace and eating up the countryside. It's rather depressing.

I locked my keys in my car last week, for the first time in my life. So they drove me home, though I was supposed to drive them home. Home to a locked house, and being keyless, I had to wait outside all night until someone came home. Well, not all night. But about three hours. I hadn't had supper, so I was hungry, and I really had to pee, and with the sun setting, it quickly grew cold.

When I came out of the library, she was peeing beside my car. She was already mid-pee. What could I do?

2009-04-11T01:59:00.008-04:00

I've been offered admission to the Midwifery program at Laurentian University!! (Some of you may know of my aversion to exclamation marks, and I used two of them just there, which just shows how excited I am). Mom called on Monday with the news. I was so excited and I ran downstairs while still on the phone to tell Rachel, who shrieked "Woohoo!" and gave me a big hug. I may have cried a little. I may have made them cry a little too. Mom told me she couldn't resist opening my mail when she saw where it was from, and I forgave her for this, as I would have told her to open it anyway. Needless to say, I was shocked to hear it. I was really not expecting to get in, and by this time, I thought that if they had wanted me for an interview, I would have heard already. Imagine my surprise then, when I was accepted without an interview at all. I was sure they did interviews, but apparently not at Laurentian. Who knew? I had difficulty believing it at first, and it still doesn't seem real sometimes. I was worried that it was all somehow a mistake, since the offer wasn't showing up on OUAC's website even though the package had arrived in the mail. But a few days later, sure enough, there was the offer of admission, right on the website, which I, of course, accepted. And when I came home last night, there was the admission package, which Mom had opened, waiting for me in my room. So it's for real! Somehow, with only about 30 positions in the program, I was chosen. It's weird because it didn't seem very hard this time. Not that it was harder last year when I applied, but it feels like I didn't really DO anything, like it all just happened to me. Perhaps this is because I was anticipating an intense and stressful interview and then there wasn't even one.

So I'm going to be a student midwife. Almost two years after first having the notion that maybe this is something I want to pursue, it is now beginning. And though I am super excited, right now the thought of delivering babies terrifies me.

2009-01-18T22:50:00.004-05:00

A few times in recent weeks I have thought to write but then did not. I am very bad at doing anything productive lately it seems.

There was New Year's - those moments just before midnight, when you feel obligated to reflect on the outgoing year and to consider the one incoming. When you think of how time is a funny thing, and how it's all just the same really (the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days and weeks and months), it continues on the same as it always ever has, but somehow, at a certain point, it is suddenly a new year, the previous one past, never to be retrieved or revisited.

There was that night earlier last week, when it was mild just before the thermometer sank to -25 for a number of days, and I was walking home after class, across the campus, past all the beautiful old stone buildings with their yellow light spilling out of the windows into the snowy darkness. It was all fresh and white and the trees were beautiful too, and the snowflakes grew larger and larger as I walked, that by the time I reached Princess they were so ginormous and lovely that it was difficult to stop myself from laughing and spinning through the slush. And there was so much beauty, even amongst the drabness of Division and Princess, because of those huge lazy snowflakes in the orangeish glow of the city streetlights on a wintry night.

Sometimes I like to listen to my music softly, softly.

2008-11-27T00:32:00.010-05:00

Most of the time I don't mind being single. I'm okay with it. But sometimes, being single sucks. Sometimes it's so lonely. Sometimes it's not fun being the third, or fifth, or seventh wheel, again. Sometimes, when hanging out with a group of friends, it's hard to not be acutely aware of being the only person not half of a couple. Sometimes it feels as though I am being deprived of some basic and elemental human experience. One starts to wonder sometimes if something is wrong with oneself. Sometimes I tell myself it's because I have high standards, to make myself feel better. Usually, I'm okay. But when it arrives, it is deep and sharp. These brief moments of longing and sorrow and wretched patheticness. They give way to an ever-present ache, with which one learns to coincide, and with which one comes to be content.

I wrote this a while ago, but did not actually post it. This is not generally a place where I get very personal (there are not many places, or people with whom I do). I am afraid of being vulnerable. And with this, I am afraid of appearing desperate and pathetic. Desperate I am not. Pathetic I sometimes feel. I am also afraid of all the things I've heard already, the things I know already, the things people say when they think they're being helpful, or when they want me to feel that they understand (though most of them don't really. Those things are easy to say when you're in a relationship, or happily married). Well-meaning people, who don't know what else to say. And so, to avoid all this, I pretend I don't care, I don't want. Though sometimes, I do.

There's a beautiful song by Sarah Slean. It's about me I think.

2008-10-26T01:30:00.005-04:00

I like that today was rainy all day and I had no where to go.
I like that I had my window open for a while so I could better hear the dripping rain and because it wasn't that cold outside.
I like the sound of the rain.
I like the way the headlights look on the wet pavement in the rain in the dark.
I like leaving my curtains open after dark and watching people in other houses through other windows that also have the curtains open.
I like that I was in bed reading a novel most of the day without feeling guilty, because it was required reading for at class at school.
I like that my midterms are over.
I like that I got 91% on my development studies midterm.
I like that my linguistics prof sometimes gives bonus marks.
I like biking through crunchy colourful leaves.
I like fall sunshine.
I like having dreads again.
I like that I don't lose hair anymore because of the dreads.
I like how you could grow dreads indefinitely, and they would just keeping growing longer and longer and longer.
I like talking to my mom on the phone. Sometimes we talk for a long time and then my lunch gets cold, or I don't get my homework done.
I like that Riki came to visit and we went walking a lot. When we stopped to buy coffee our fingers didn't work right because they were so cold.
I like drinking tea with Rachel.
I like sleeping under thick duvets.

2008-10-02T00:50:00.010-04:00

About a month ago I was standing in line to pick up my student card the week before classes started, sandwiched between two frosh groups. Everyone was wearing a bright yellow orientation t-shirt, indicating their place in arts and science. I shouldn't have been surprised by the huge line up, but I was. I was unimpressed with having to wait so long, standing on the sidewalk for over an hour in the scorching sun. I was wishing I had applied sunscreen. I felt rather out of place being the only person not wearing that silly yellow t-shirt. But I also felt relieved to not be participating in frosh week. From my observations, it looked like a bad mix of something like summer camp meets high school. The enthusiasm, the school spirit and the endless screaming of cheers were almost nauseating. I'm too old for all that silliness. I know, I know. I'm only five years older than most first years. And I realize that five years is not really that much. Somehow it is though. At least it feels like it is. Five years of being not in school and doing other stuff in the "real world". And now I'm sounding (and feeling) pretentious. I'm such a jerk. But actually, my little sundress and sparkly sequined shoes were a whole lot cuter than those yellow t-shirts anyway.

The one thing with frosh week is that it would have made it easier to meet people. I'm not much into extra curricular, and with not living in residence, it's difficult to meet people in classes of hundreds of people. But I am so glad I am not living in residence. I really like living with Rachel and Jason and the kids. I like my tiny room on the third floor. I like watching treetops and rooftops and sunsets out my window. I like walking and biking to school. It's nice that my car mostly just sits in the driveway, waiting until my next trip home.

I've been enjoying my classes. They are mostly pretty interesting, and I've been given lots to think about, though I have little time to sit and think. There's a lot of reading. I knew that there would be, it's what everyone always says about university. I feel like I'm always a little behind in the readings. Whenever I'm doing anything that's not reading, I'm always thinking about how I should probably be reading. Like right now, I should be reading. Actually, no. I should be sleeping. It's 2am.

2008-08-14T22:39:00.005-04:00

I am excited, terrified, and anxious all at the same time. I feel unprepared and overwhelmed, but totally ready to be moving on and starting fresh. It's amazing how one can feel so many different things all at once. Once again, change happens. Moving to Kingston, returning to school. I dread being a student again: the papers, the studying. But I'm also excited to learn. I'll be starting first year with a generation of students 18ish years old mostly, born in 1990. Think about that for a minute. I feel old.

Yes, it's time for something new, something different. There's that restlessness, the sense that it's time. There's not a whole lot holding me in Kitchener. Some good friends, of course. Family. But there are new people to meet, and I'll still be around Kitchener. It will always be home. Even if my parents are planning on selling our house and moving to Tavistock while I'm away. This house that I've lived in all but three months and one year of my life. The only home I've ever known. There will be a bedroom for me, but I will be homeless. My life will likely contain temporary dwelling places for the next few years. Nothing permanent. I'm okay with that. But it will be strange to not have this place to come back to. It will be strange to drive by and see evidence of other people living in our house. It will be sad. These walls have never contained anyone but us, my family. They were built for us. And the yard, and the bush behind, where I spent so many hours of my childhood, exploring and playing, creating and hiding. The goldbrown of the creek glinting with sunlight filtering through the leaves. The paths, the hiding places, other peoples' discarded items which became our treasures. We knew all the best spots for forts, and all the best trees for climbing. Though the landscape has changed some over the years, I still know that bush like the back of my hand.

One more week of work at Equitable. I dread saying goodbye. I'm going to miss it there a lot. The people mostly. I like the people I work with, and it's sad to think of not seeing them every day. I've made some good friends there over the past almost-two-years. Friends despite an age difference in some cases. Friendships that span a gap of years. I like that, how age doesn't have to matter. And though we are at very different places in our lives, we can still share and talk and be friends.

There was more, but I think I'll end now. Another time.

2008-06-26T22:37:00.003-04:00

There are a lot of geese around. One time while driving, a large family of geese was crossing the road in front of me. Probably it was actually a few families of geese. They were having a picnic across the road, and decided to pick that moment to return. So I stopped. One can't really just drive over a bunch of Canadian geese. It looked like most of them were staying across the road, as they showed no sign of going anywhere. They were still picking around in the grass and doing whatever it is geese do. There were a few large ones and many many small ones. A couple of the big ones just stood there in the middle of the road, like crossing guards, as the others slowly waddled their way across. Slowly. One at a time. When the felt like it. Holding up traffic in both directions. It's surprising that they have no fear of vehicles. I often see them sitting (with their feet tucked under them. Laying? Do birds lay?) right on the edge of the street beside the curb, oblivious to the vehicles flying past. I drove up rather close, hoping to encourage them to pick up the pace a bit. No such luck. They took their sweet time, and the crossing guard stood there the entire time, it's head bobbing up and down at me, until the last little gosling decided it was time to cross over. One time I watched a woman get out of her car, and that seemed to encourage them to cross a bit quicker.

2008-04-09T22:57:00.004-04:00

I sit here on the floor with my laptop spread in front of me, all white. The new post page on blogger blank empty flat white too. And I think about how I feel like writing, like I need to write, like I should write. It's all silliness, isn't it? But I don't know where to start or even what I intend to write about. So I write about the whiteness and about how I should write. Something, anything.

I was accepted first at Laurier. Then I was not accepted at Ryerson, due to "competition". And finally accepted at Queen's too. So no midwifery for me this year. I'm okay with that. Most of the time I wasn't expecting to get in the first time, not without any university. Sometimes I did think that I would get in. I had to get in. Why shouldn't I get in? But that was only every once in a while, when I'd forget that only 30 people will be accepted, and many who apply have much more education and relevant experience than I have. But I was still hopeful, and it was disappointing. I had planned a plan B, in the event that plan A didn't work out. Plan A: midwifery at Ryerson. Plan B: other relevant programs at Laurier or Queen's. But now that I'm on plan B, I'm not sure where to go from here. I had thought I would go to one school or the other, and then try again next year. And I will go to one of them, but now that I have not been admitted to Ryerson, I'm considering my options. Do I apply again next year to Ryerson? Do I try one of the other schools? Do I look elsewhere, outside of Canada, as well? I think I still want to pursue midwifery, though I realize it may take a long round about sort of way to get there. Maybe I will never even make it to there. I may get stuck somewhere else along that round about. And that's okay too I think. Things change. I think I may have a plan, but who really knows? After all, it's not about being there, but about getting there. About how you get there and what you do on the way. Living and enjoying and experiencing every part of time, each moment for what it is: the present. Not wishing to be at some other point in the future, or in the past. Making the most of it all, to the fullest. Being content. Every part in time brings something different. If you're not careful, I think you could miss it.

2008-02-27T21:55:00.007-05:00

It started off slightly raised and puffy, a little red around the edges, tender to the touch. It then became cracked along the lines of my skin where it creases at the curve behind my ankle bone, above my heel. It is now beginning to peel in tiny sections. The dark black flaking to reveal a shinier lighter black beneath. A layer of skin gone, but the ink remains beneath. I like the way it's not a perfectly symmetrical shape. Some points are longer, some points are thinner, none quite the same.

I've always loved the night sky. Laying in the dark in the chill of the night with the blackness above me, I feel close to God. I am awed by the vastness of it all, by His greatness and power. Psalm 8 says:

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings
and crowned him with glory and honor.

He is God in heaven, and I am here on Earth. The stars remind me of my place in the world.

People ask me the significance of it, what it means, why I picked it. I don't know how to answer that question.

A picture for Rachel.

2008-01-02T20:10:00.000-05:00

I had such trouble getting up for work this morning. It may be because at 630, it was still black outside. I hate waking up in the dark when it feels still like night. Or maybe it was because I had such trouble falling asleep last night because I had slept in 'til almost one in the afternoon yesterday. Maybe it was both. How lovely is it to be able to stay in bed for as long as you like, even after waking, luxuriating in the warm cozy blankets in that state of mostly-still-sleeping with the winter sun peeking around the curtains? Oh, how I love to sleep in.

2007-12-19T22:10:00.001-05:00

Tonight I made bread in the breadmaker. Sunflower sesame. But without the sunflower seeds and without the sesame seeds and without the ground cumin, which was supposed to be cumin seeds anyways. It was disappointing, and it seems a fitting ending to a bad day. Vicariously bad though, because it was worse for others than it was for me. And so my bread for tomorrow's Christmas potluck lunch will be seedless. Seedless like grapes.

2007-10-13T18:15:00.002-04:00

Today is dreary gray cold. As have been the last few. But instead of it making me feel deary also, it somehow makes me happy. I like the fall-ness of it, and how it allows me to get all cozy comfy while it's dismal outside. I listen to mellow music and wander about in my fluffy doggy slippers that I got from my mom for my birthday even though I don't like things on my feet. There's an orange square splashed on my wall by the sun as it slips from behind the gray to behind the trees. Hard to believe that last week this time we were all so sticky sweaty shiney in the 30 degree hotness that was Colin and Amanda's Thanksgiving weekend wedding. Who would have thought?

2007-09-19T20:06:00.000-04:00

There was a cloud in my backyard this morning. It remained there from the time I got up and went downstairs to eat breakfast, to the time I left the house. I wished I could have just sat and watched that cloud, as it was pretty neat, but alas, I had to get ready for work. It was hovering just below the treetops, constantly moving and changing, but it was the kind of change that was almost imperceptible. You'd miss it if you weren't watching carefully. It was drifting in and out through and around the trees in the field, and it was like a sheet that some invisible hands were shaking out, the ripples moving up and down dramatically in slow motion.

2007-08-28T00:19:00.000-04:00

I am surprised, and a bit overwhelmed, by how quickly and unexpectedly this whole thing has come upon me, and how decidedly it has happened, and how excited it's made me. I am an indecisive person, and I usually need a lot of time to think about things, especially big things. In the span of just a few days, all of my plans for the next couple years have totally changed.

It started last Saturday with a conversation with a friend about school and such. I had recently been thinking about going to school perhaps next fall, and had even begun checking out stuff online for Early Childhood Education. I really enjoy small kids, but I realized from that talk that I don't think I would really want to work in a daycare or preschool. So I went home and began thinking about what other things I would be interested in pursuing if I were to go back to school. I thought of midwifery. In the past I had always disregarded this thought, as I knew it involved plenty of school, something I wasn't interested in or ready for. But that day I decided to look into it - why not, right?

I learned that becoming a midwife requires completion of the Midwifery Education Program, a four year University degree. I also learned that this is a very small program, is very difficult to get accepted into due to the limited size of the program, is only offered at three schools in all of Ontario, and you can only apply to one of them. A year ago, this alone would have deterred me. But as I continued searching and reading, I grew more and more excited about the possibility of midwifery. The thought of being a primary health care provider, and the responsibility that comes with that, is slightly terrifying. But the thought of helping women through pregnancy and childbirth in the context of midwifery is so exciting. (I must say, I have probably been strongly influenced, or should I say inspired, by my older sisters and their decisions to have natural births, midwives, home births and all that goes along with those things for the births of their children. I have watched first hand a few midwives work with love and care and respect for the mother's decisions, and it really is an amazing thing.)

And so I have decided to give it a go and apply this winter for school next fall. I need to start planning for this now, and so I am going to register for a night class to in order to get a grade 12 science credit, which I didn't take in high school but is a requirement for the program. I have also decided to stay at home for this year, instead of moving out as I had been planning. I feel badly, as Colin and Amanda had been counting on me renting from them, and now they have to try to find new tenants in only about a month. When I made the decision to move out, the thought of going away to school next fall was not even in my mind. But now everything's changed. So quickly.

I'm trying to not get my hopes up too much, because, realistically, there's a good chance I will not get in. Space is limited, and I'm sure many of the applicants are more qualified than I am. Just tonight however, I heard of the government's plan to increase funding to midwifery in Ontario, increasing the number of positions in the University program from 60 to 80 this year with an additional 10 new spots for next year for a total of 90. I can't help but think that perhaps my timing (or God's timing, rather) in all of this is perfect. With the program now accommodating more students, this means I will have a greater chance of being accepted. And as many people have been telling me, if I'm supposed to go to school for this, I will get in. It's hard for me to remember this sometimes. Please pray for direction as I decide which of the three schools to apply to.

2007-07-15T22:05:00.000-04:00

I've been getting this thing. It's on the edge. In my peripheral vision. On the tip of my tongue. But I'm not sure where, nor even what exactly it is. It's all shrouded in hazy piles of stuff and it's hard to clear it all away and to focus. But I feel like I need to, somehow.

I've been thinking a lot lately about living simply. About not having a lot of stuff. I'm always hearing about so-and-so, who just bought a brand new such-and-such, and I've been thinking about how all this stuff is a lot of money, and rather unnecessary, and it makes me feel kind of repulsed. It seems like having so much stuff unnecessarily is so wrong. But then I was thinking that while having large amounts of material stuff is not good, so is having large amounts of financial stuff not good. What's the difference between using your money to buy things, or having it sit in some savings account by the hundred collecting interest? I think it's important to be wise with how you spend your money, but maybe if there's that much money to be had, I should be giving more.

I heard Shane Claiborne talk a few times at cs. He's one of the founders of The Simple Way, an intentional community downtown Philadelphia. Something in me calls out to that. To the idea of living simply, in community, sharing all things in common, giving and helping and serving the poor and the community, living with only the things you need, not all the things you want. I think that's more in line with how it's meant to be. If you look at the early Church, and the life of Jesus himself, it's how they lived. Where have we gone so wrong? All of this make lots of money, buy all you want, make yourself 'happy' - it's all missing the point.

But how can you share with the poor, with those in need, if you don't know any poor?

So I've been thinking about what I can do about all this. My lifestyle right now is easy and convenient, maybe it's even practical and realistic. But I feel sometimes like I'm missing the point. Maybe I'm just too idealistic.

2007-07-02T17:34:00.000-04:00

Driving on the way to Cornerstone in the wee hours of the morning, everyone else in the car was asleep, the moon was to the left of me: big and low and bright, changing slowly from yellow to orange to red (you and the moon are a beautiful sight to me). It was hard to not look at. There were fireflies in the ditch, their tiny yellow green sparks flashing for just barely a second. Later, watching the world wake up and come back to life. The sky growing lighter and lighter all the time, the highway slowly filling with morning traffic as we neared Chicago. Everything was making the turnover from night to day.

Upon our arrival, we lined up in rows in the field, awaiting entrance to the grounds. Laying on a blanket behind the car, we rigged up a makeshift tent with another blanket secured under the trunk, trying to make some shade as a way of escape from the crazy heat. We were all tired and hot as we had to set up all our stuff and the frustration only grew as I realized I had brought along only the poles for the frame of the shade tent and not the canopy itself. So we made a trip into town where we bought a new shade canopy, which was cheaper than buying a tarp and string and pegs. After that I felt much better. Amazing what a trip to Wal-Mart can do for you. But maybe it was just the AC.

At Cornerstone it's all hot and dust and people and noise and music everywhere all the time. Until it rains, and then it's mud and people and noise and music everywhere. The roads become a slippery muddy gravelly mess. Flip flops flick little specks of mud all the way up your back from your ankles. Little mud spots were found in Riki's hair on the top of her head. These little flecks of mud do not dry flat, and when they are dry, they can be picked off and then become powdery dust once again. Everything is damp all the time, either from the heat, or because of the rain.

The last few nights got chilly once the sun went down, and long pants and sweaters became necessary. I regretted not bringing an extra blanket into the tent with me when I woke up cold. But the blanket was outside, and I was wearing socks, and my sandals were not just outside the door, and I was mostly still asleep anyways.

It's interesting to see how different the crowds are that hang out at different stages, because of the types of music that are played at each stage.

So many bands, so much music. Some highlights for me included, but were not limited to: Rosie Thomas. I had known a few of her songs and so wanted to check her out. She was unexpectedly hilarious. From her music you'd never guess it, but her live show was so funny. Even her voice was surprising. Her singing voices is beautiful and strong, but she has this tiny high-pitched talking voice that made me laugh every time because it was so unexpected. Over the Rhine. They play the same slot at the same stage every year at Cornerstone, but this is the first time I've taken them in. I borrowed some of their cds from Katie when we were in Ukraine (she's a big fan) and I was hooked. That woman can sing, and they both have such a stage presence. Their live show was just great. Josh Garrels. Riki and I stumbled upon him our first year at Cornerstone when we ran into the nearest tent to escape a sudden downpour and he happened to be playing. I've been a fan ever since, but this time he was playing with a full band of very talented musicians and the show was great. I also discovered some neat bands including Tifah, Bluebirds and Bright Lights, the Upstairs Divine, and Questions in Dialect.

So many people of all ages everywhere always. I saw tiny babies that could not be more than a few weeks old, as well as graying seniors, and every age in between. Plenty of piercings, flowy skirts and cute dresses, coloured hair, skinny pants, tattoos, large sunglasses, christian t-shirts, band t-shirts, flip flops, slip on shoes, black leather with metal studs and buckles, mohawks, dreadlocks, big beards, babies strapped to backs and bellies with backpacks, sheets or slings, greasy hair, dirty feet, crazy tan lines.

I see all the people, all the styles and crazy unique outfits, and I wonder if many of these people actually dress this way all the time. Or if they bring out their wildest clothes for such a time as Cstone. Part of me thinks it's silly. I look at them and think about how much effort they put into it all, and how much they "don't care what others think". But I've been (and sometimes still am) there too. And you do care. You care what others think, and that's why you do it. The other part of me gets sucked into it all, and I begin to wish I cared more, and that I had brought some of my crazier clothes along. Part of me wishes I had dreadlocks and wore flowy dresses and had a pretty embroidered side bag and lived in a commune, and was pretty much a hippie I guess. But I'm not. Oh sigh.

2007-05-16T00:56:00.000-04:00

I was swinging in the hammock chair on the porch, watching the rain. Catching the lightning cut the sky, listening to the thunder crack. Noticing the brightness of the colours, even in the darkness of the weather. The clump of orange tulips, but not simply orange. Redorange and yelloworange with streaks of purple that creep down into the stems, standing against the green of the grass. All the green everywhere vibrant, the leaves on the trees just about bursting with colour and wet. All so new, so young, just barely unfurled from that secret winter place.

My bed is in the corner, inside the point where two outside walls meet, next to the window. Tonight the rain is unending. The rain and wind a steady rhythm swirling around my corner to put me to sleep. The rhythm a sad one. Sad, but good. Steady, reassuring, content.

2007-05-03T22:41:00.000-04:00

I am praying again, Awesome One.

You hear me again, as words
from the depths of me
rush toward you in the wind.

I've been scattered in pieces,
torn by conflict,
mocked by laughter,
washed down by drink.

In alleyways I sweep myself up
out of garbage and broken glass.
With my half-mouth I stammer you,
who are eternal in your symmetry.
I lift to you my half-hands
in wordless beseeching, that I may find again
the eyes with which I once beheld you.

I am a house gutted by fire
where only the guilty sometimes sleep
before the punishment that devours them
hounds them out into the open.

I am a city by the sea
sinking into a toxic tide,
I am strange to myself, as though someone unknown
had poisoned my mother as she carried me.

It's here in all the pieces of my shame
that now I find myself again,
I yearn to belong to something, to be contained
in an all-embracing mind that sees me
as a single thing.
I yearn to be held
in the great hands of your heart -
oh let them take me now.
Into them I place these fragments, my life,
and you, God - spend them however you want.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

I didn't write that poem, but I like it a lot and I find it resonating inside me. I found it in a book by Philip Yancey called Prayer.

2007-04-19T22:41:00.000-04:00

My sister had her baby on Tuesday. They named him August Everett, and I had the privilege of being there at the birth of my newest nephew. I watched her, standing there in the middle of the room, up on her toes, crying out in pain, her arms around her husband, him supporting her with everything in him, the midwife holding warm cloths against her to ease the pain, birthing her child. It all happened so quickly, and I couldn't see well from where I was standing, but all of a sudden there the baby was under her. I looked around the room at all the teary-eyed women, and at Rachel cradling her tiny boy against her now empty abdomen, stroking his lovely newborn skin, the tears streaming down, all the pain and hard work melting into joy; and at Jason kissing her and the baby; and at the girls, already so taken up with their brand new brother; everyone exclaiming how perfect he is. And it was all so beautiful. I marvel at the miracle of birth and new life. One that so few ever get to witness first hand. And I hope that someday, if I am ever to have children, it will be just like that - in the comfort of home, supported by the man I love, surrounded by the women closest to me.

2007-03-26T21:15:00.000-04:00

I had my window open today. The wind whips the curtains around, a swirl of green through my bedroom. The house smelling like summer, especially upstairs. That smell we can see every year - the smell of the house that was shut up all winter, finally able to breathe a crack. A bit of outside coming inside. That glorious smell of spring.

2007-03-11T19:25:00.000-04:00

One time while driving to work, I noticed the man driving the car in front of me acting strangely. We were stopped at a red light and he was leaning over to look in the rearview mirror, and he appeared to be wiping at his face. Over and over. I was thinking that whatever he was wiping at would surely be gone by now, when I realized that he was shaving. SHAVING! With an electric (or perhaps battery powered) razor, whilst driving a vehicle. The light turned green and we continued on our way, and he continued shaving his face. At the next red light I say "watch, next he'll open the door and empty his razor on the street." Sure enough, he opens his door and proceeds to dump out the contents of his razor all over the road. Little tiny bits of hair that had, moments before, been growing out of his face, now littering the pavement.

2007-02-22T19:30:00.001-05:00

Before going away with SALT we did the MBTI personality test at orientation. I enjoy this kind of thing, but I usually take a long time filling them out and deciding on the answers. Which probably says a lot about me right there. I found the results of this test to be very accurate, and as it turns out I am quite clearly an INFP (Introvert iNtuitive Feeler Perceiver). Upon doing a little more research recently, I have discovered that the profiles very nearly descirbe me perfectly. And so I thought it would be fun to share what I learned about INFP's, and therefore myself.

INFP's...
*Tend to be idealistic and romantically-minded
*Value their privacy
*Need time and space for reflecting
*Must balance their need for privacy with their yearning for human connection
*Are quiet, creative, perceptive
*Often strike others as shy, reserved, even cold
*Are sometimes withdrawn and hard to get to know
*Those who do get to know them find them warm and gentle with a surprising sense of humour
*Have a rare capacity for deep caring and commitment to both the people and causes they idealize
*Others usually get along well with them, but may not know them intimately
*Are laid-back, felxible and adaptable to changes and new ideas
*Work well with others, being concious of other's feelings and ideas, relating well, though not always vocally
*Are good listeners
*Are non-conforming, resist being labeled, and sometimes feel driven to do things to shake the way others view them
*Tend to procrastinate
*Have high standards and are perfectionists
*Are often reserved about expressing their inner-most feelings, and keep them guarded and safe from attack and ridicule. Only a few close confidants are permitted entrance into this domain
*Do not care so much about how many friends they have, but rather about the quaility, authenticity and depth of their friendships
*Care deeply for those they consider special friends
*Appear to be tranquil and peaceful and to others, with simple desires, but internally, feel their life intensely
*Often have a subtle, tragic motif running through their lives - inner pain and unease which others seldom detect
*Are genuinely interested in understanding people
*Need to receive praise and positive affirmation
*Guide their behaviour by a strong inner sense of values, rather than by conventional logic and reason
*Know what is important to them
*Will go along with the crowd, even letting decisions be made for them, until someone violates their value system
*Have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything
*Work well alone and are faithful to their duties and obligations
*Enjoy variety in whatever they do
*Tend to take on too many things, starting them all but not always finishing
*Can be extremely patient with complicated issues, but may become impatient with routine and details
*Have a hard time criticizing others
*Are sensitive to others, sometimes at the cost of being direct
*Strive for harmony and dislike conflict
*Avoid dealing with conflict directly and would rather wait for others to work it out themselves
*Never seem to lose their sense of wonder. It is as if they live at the edge of a looking-glass world where mundane objects come to life
*Have a gift with language, and and are often talented writers
*May be uncomfortable with expressing themselves verbally, but have a wonderful ability to define and express what they're feeling on paper

2007-02-03T19:59:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I bought myself my very own computer - a MacBook. While I'm not hugely into computers, I must say it's pretty exciting. It's all white and new and shiny. Also exciting is the fact that it has a built in camera, and these are some pictures I have taken while playing around with it.

2007-02-03T19:37:00.000-05:00

2007-01-15T20:04:00.000-05:00

Today it was freezing rain. It took me 15 minutes this morning to scrape my car so I could drive to work. It was solidly encased in a nice layer of ice. When I came outside after work, I was met with the sound of ice scrapers scraping windshields. As I was working at unburrying my windshield wipers from the pile of frozen stuff they were in, my boots soaking through from the slush, it all struck me as quite funny and it was hard not to laugh out loud. People all over the parking lot trying to find their windows, the harsh notes of a scraping orchestra filling the air.

2007-01-02T20:52:00.000-05:00

I have recently finished reading Life of Pi, a book I was given for Christmas. It's one that I've been meaning to read for a long time, as I've heard good things about it, but never got to it until now. Yann Martel is a fabulous writer, and it's a great book.

I especially enjoyed chapter 78, in which he describes the skies. "There are many skies", he starts, and goes on to beautifully describe all the different skies at sea. And it's explained in such a way that I know exactly what he's talking about. I've seen that sky. I know the kind he means. After this he talks in the same way of the different seas, and winds, and moons. He talks of being in a circle, and of opposites. Of boredom and terror. It's profound in a simple beautiful way. I have the urge to quote here the entire chapter. I smile as I read it.

There's another chapter that I also like, a little while later. It's about lightning. And while it too is beautifully written, I don't know exactly what he means. I've never seen a 'great celestial tree' standing in the ocean. But it's something I can imagine by the vivid description. Again the words cause me to smile.

I like books, or any writing for that matter, where the words make me smile. Where they are arranged in such a way that is unexpected and pleasing.

2006-12-20T21:54:00.000-05:00

I realize it has been quite a long time since my last post, and though I don't have anything in particular to write about, I will anyways. Just in case people still check this place occasionally. Don't want to let you all down.

I've been really busy for the last number of weeks, and have been neglecting things that I normally like to do, and things that are important to me. It's strange going from having nothing to do all day, to having no time to do anything, and all very suddenly. Just a couple of weeks after starting my job at Equitable Life, I also started my evening/weekend job at Operation Christmas Child, thus my sudden lack of free time. There were things at church too, like small group, choir practice for the Christmas production, and also the Kid's Church Christmas progam, of which Lindy and I are in charge.

Though it was a nice change of pace and I love it there, I'm glad that OCC is done for another year. And once Christmas is over, things will start to calm down a bit. I really liked working at OCC. It's a really neat place. It's neat to see all these people working together, many of them there for the first time, all having a job to do and knowing just what to do. It's such a busy place, and it's neat to think of the kids on the other end of the whole thing. Someday I would love to go on a distribution trip and hand deliver my own shoeboxes. I was a lead supervisor this year, and also a trainer. I didn't think I'd really like training the volunteers, but I kind of enjoyed it.

I wanted to make all my Christmas cards this year, but it just didn't happen. I'm still planning on buying and sending out some, but they're going to be late. I also am going to make up a bag of goodies to send for each kid at the internat, but those will also be late. Quite late. Like, maybe a couple months late until they reach Ukraine. Tomorrow I will do my Christmas shopping. I haven't started yet. Have not had the time. Good thing I don't have too many people to buy for.

Work at Equitable is going well. I like it there more than I expected. I never imagined that I'd enjoy working in an office, but it's not too bad. I was hired on a contract which was to go to the end of March. Recently one of the permanent girls quit, and I was asked if I would like to take her position. I accepted, so I will soon be a permanent employee. They didn't even post the job, but came directly to me and asked if I was interested. My team leader and also my manager told me they picked me right away, of all the contract staff, to fill her position, because I'm such a flexible worker, and I'll do whatever they ask without complaining, and I'm willing to help out wherever needed. It surprises me that people are surprised when I am like this. They just expect everyone to complain when asked to do job they'd rather not do, and to get upset when they can't do what they want to do, or think they should be doing. But I guess it's because so many people are that way. So I think it's good that I'll be permanent now. I'll get better pay, good benefits, pension, vacation, sick days, etc. I would still like to someday work with kids, in some capacity. And hopefully that will still happen at some point. But for now I'm here - at an insurance company. Go figure.

One more thing. Early this moring my brother asked his girlfriend to marry him. I'm so excited for them, and I know they will be happy together. So congratulations Colin and Amanda. Many blessings to you.

2006-11-14T22:20:00.000-05:00

A while back I was thinking about the kids I know in Ukraine.
At first it is a physical feeling - a downward pull somewhere in the center of me. And then it becomes tears sliding into my hair from the corners of my eyes as I lay staring at the white stucco of the ceiling. I am not yet crying, but there are tears. Or maybe I am crying, it just has not yet reached past my eyes to the rest of me. And then I am crying - all of me, no longer just my eyes. The sobs coming from that somewhere in the center of me. It's hard to identify the source of these tears. Am I only just missing them? Longing to touch and to hold them? Am I hurting for them all over again? These would not be the first tears I have shed for their pain. I go to their pictures, searching their faces for an answer. They are all so beautiful.

2006-10-31T22:53:00.000-05:00

I can no longer call myself unemployed. Tomorrow I work my first shift at Equitable Life of Canada. I'm a bit sad that this in-between stage of mine has now come to an end. I know that it's lasted for maybe a bit longer than necessary, but it was so nice to have my days free to do whatever I wish. I think it's good sometimes to take a bit of time in between things without rushing ahead to whatever's next. Time to think. To collect yourself. To breathe. To look ahead, but also to remember. But it's good to have finally found something. And I feel content in this, and no nervousness about my first day, which is nice. It's neat to see God work - he is so faithful and his timing is perfect. This job's not exactly what I was hoping for, but it is something, and I think it will be good for me.

Tonight my dad happened to be walking down the hall at just the right moment to see two girls stealing a pretty little 'welcome' mosaic dealy right off of our front porch. He opened the door as they were making their escape down the driveway, and when he asked them what was going on, they returned it and said, "just a trick or treat", or something along those lines. The nerve of some people's kids these days!

I don't like when cereal boxes go back in the cupboard with just a tiny bit left in them.

I am drawn to pretty little snowflake things.

2006-10-18T23:47:00.000-04:00

I was just reading the blogs kept by some friends I got to know while I was in Ukraine, other people working there with MCC. And I learned about the recent increase in gas prices over there. I hear that gas will cost 147 percent more this winter than it did last winter. And I wonder how people will cope with this. Just before I returned home, transportation costs increased quite a lot as well. People are struggling enough to make ends meet without all these price increases. I'm not as concerned about the internat, because I know they still heat with coal (though I'm sure this will still affect them as well). But I wonder about the Semerikov's, the family I lived with. I think about how they just had gas put in last summer, and about how they were so happy with their first winter's use of it. I remember Larisa telling me how it's so much better having gas. How before, the room containing the coal stove was always so hot, while the other rooms further away from it were usually quite cold. How with gas, the temperature of the house can be regulated and all the rooms are the same. I wonder about how much this price increase will affect them, if they'll be able to afford to heat their house. And I think about the unusually cold winter southern Ukraine saw last winter, and I hope it will not be the same this year.

2006-10-15T13:59:00.000-04:00

Waking up somewhere in New Brunswick, the colours of autumn were glorious. If I let my eyes shift out of focus, the trees became blurs of mixed colours, sliding swiftly by: blurs in horizontal lines, whizzing past, close to the train. If I look past and through the blurred lines, the other trees can be seen clearly, moving more slowly: the further away, the more slowly they move. The colours impossibly bright, the whiteness of bark flashing through, the sun shining down. The whistle seemed to be a part of the walls themselves, the sound coming from somewhere deep within. The bush seemed to go on endlessly, we had been cutting through it all day since the earliest bit of light in the morning. But every once in a while we would come upon a little town, the bush suddenly replaced by white houses, seemingly growing up out of the middle of the large green lawns, the walls bare from the roof down to the foundation. Making our way towards Halifax.

"autumn leaves
beauty's got a hold of me
autumn leaves
pretty as can be...
and those water coloured memories
soft as a summer's breeze
you're as pretty as can be..."
-Beth Gibbons

2006-09-18T14:48:00.000-04:00

While I'm not a very agressive job-seeker, I sometimes feel anxious about not having work yet, after being back now for more than 7 weeks already. I don't mind it so much, this not-having-a-job, but I'm consious of others, of not doing something 'acceptable' in their eyes. I'm sure that if I were willing, and had been attempting, to take any old job, I could have some kind of work by now - but I want to do something that I want to do. Something that I think I would enjoy, something that I could see myself sticking to for the next number of years if it goes well and I don't decide to change directions. It's not that I'm doing nothing, I am pursuing some leads, have been in contact with some families, have sent out some resumes, and am waiting to hear back from some people.
I'm working a lot lately on trusting God and believing that He has something good for me. That He will open and close the necessary doors.
I'm also working on making the most of this time, when I have no work, or school, or boyfriend, or husband, or chilren, or such, with which to occupy my time. And I've been finding things to do. Things I like to do. Things like...
listening to music, baking cookies, listening to the rain, working on my scrapbook of the past year, drinking tea, spending time with my friends, being with my family, reading good books, shopping with my sister, playing with her kids, buring insence, thinking about stuff...

2006-09-06T23:40:00.000-04:00

I didn't get that job as aupair in Burlington. I'm partly disappointed, partly relieved, and partly indifferent. Disappointed because I liked the family, and the job sounded sweet too - just what I was looking for. Not getting that job also means that I have to continue looking for something else. Relieved because now I don't need to move to Bulington - something I was ready to do, but not entirely ready. I wasn't too fond of the thought of not being able to be around at home every single weekend - I still like my friends, and KWCF, and I don't know anyone in Burlington. Indifferent because we prayed about it before the interview, so I am confident that it wasn't where I was supposed to be, and that God has something else out there for me which will probably be better for me anyways. So I will resume my search for a job as a nanny/aupair/mother's helper/whatever you want to call it, and maybe I can even find something in the KW area. If anyone knows of someone out there looking for one...

I always use natural toothpaste (usually Tom's of Maine) and have done so for the last number of years. The other night I brushed my teeth with regular toothpaste - perhaps Crest, or maybe Colgate. It tasted like I was brushing my teeth with sugary candy, and when I was finished, it felt like I needed to brush my teeth.

2006-08-27T19:44:00.000-04:00

On the dock in the morning before breakfast, the sun was directly across the lake above the trees that grow out of the rock, and the shouts of children drifted across the water. I laid on my tummy at the edge of the dock with my face close to the water feeling the wood beneath my body swaying up and down with the water and it was all white squiggily points of light on the surface of the green-black. Always moving. Dancing, squiggiling. Oblong lilly pads carrying drops of water - little round perfect bubbles on the green of the lilly pads.

Laying on my back on the dock for a long time in the darkness of the chilly night, and it was all tiny white points of light in the big black sky through the haze of the milky way. I had forgotten how many stars can be seen away from the city, in the absence of light. My body against my best friend for warmth, hugging her arm, trying not to shiver from the cold. Watching especially for shooting stars - some bright and quick, some not so bright. One dropping slowly out of the sky and into the boat tied nearby.

Ten of us sleeping up in the loft above the two bedrooms, and more downstairs. It was all piles of mattresses and sleeping bags and pillows and people under the sloping planks of the cabin roof, the sound of loons on the lake.

Cooking our meals on the fire and washing our hands in a basin of lake water.

Fires at night out on the rock that slopes down into the water. Roasting marshmallows and stuffing them with caramel chocolate kisses.

Swimming under a gray sky in the morning through a light drizzle. I like the way the water shines golden over me as I look out to my toes while I lie on my back when I tire of treading, just under the surface, my arms outstretched, my hair floating around my shoulders, only my face feels the air, and I feel beautiful like that lying in the golden water.

And there was dirt under my fingernails.

2006-08-08T17:22:00.000-04:00

Church for me on Sunday was really weird. It was my second time being back at KWCF since returning home. I kept being confronted by all kinds of conflicting thoughts and emotions. It seemed really strange to me that we put a rock band up there on the stage to play for us, and we clap and sing along and call it 'praise and worship'. And I don't know why I felt this way - rather cynical about it all. This was one thing I missed so from my church back home while I was at church in Ukraine - the music. But now when I'm back I have trouble appreciating it. And I found myself being more critical and analysing of everything that was said, in the sermon, in the announcements, everything. Maybe it's because I can understand every word, so I thought more about everything I heard. And those thoughts were sometimes of the 'what a strange thing to say - why would they say that?' variety. It was weird. On the one hand, I feel so glad to be back and it's refreshing to have a familiar service, the way I've done it always. But on the other hand, I was missing church the way I've done it for the past year. I missed the simple songs sung with piano only. I missed the kneeling to pray - prayers in which everyone gets involved. Though while I was there I often felt so restricted by the 'baptistness' and 'conservativeness', and longed for my home church.
It seems like everything, in returning home, is so much less than I expected it would be. I thought I would experience rather large 'reverse culture shock', but I seem to be having less than I expected. Like I said in an earlier post, most everything just seems so normal, like I was never gone. And I thought I would miss Ukraine more. And I do some, but not usually to the extent I thought I would. Sometimes I miss having a Yulia or an Alina to hold, or a Tania to chat with. I miss walking and talking with Larisa as we wait for the bus. I miss Tyotye Anya's hugs, and her urging me to take more food. I miss posting letters, strolling through the market, taking the marshrutka. I miss Russian - hearing it spoken all the time, and speaking it myself. While it's nice to be able to communicate effectively and easily on any level, I miss the Russian language. But I don't miss it all as much as I imagined I would. Everyone talks about readjusting, and I wonder what I'm missing. I wonder why it feels like, in most ways, I haven't even needed to readjust.

p.s. I have adjusted the settings so that anyone can post comments if they want, and you no longer have to be a registered blogspot user. So comment away if you like.

2006-08-05T17:29:00.000-04:00

When I started this blog I had in mind that it would be just for my time in Ukraine. A place where, while I was away, I could write a few thoughts and others could read them if they were interested. But now that I'm at it, I may just keep it going even though I'm back. My posting will likely be rather sporatic, as they have been all along. And even though I have easier computer access again, I probably don't have a whole lot exciting to write about. But we'll see what happens I guess, and if you feel like it, you can still check my blog as I just may still post occasionally.

2006-07-31T22:46:00.000-04:00

In some ways, it's like I was never gone. Things that are so familiar and normal continue being so even after a period of absence. I'm waiting for this 'culture shock' to set in. But there are things that surprise me: the size of the houses; the huge, green lawns of grass that are everywhere; the fact that I have to make a consious effort to drop the paper in the toilet instead of throwing it in the garbage; all the big, nice vehicles; the whiteness and fineness of sugar; how it feels awkward speaking English to strangers (ie. ordering food) and to children; the friendliness of all customer service; the size of, and amount of stuff in my bedroom; drinking cold beverages.

2006-07-21T04:45:00.000-04:00

When we look back at it all
as I know we will
You and me wide-eyed
I wonder will we really remember
how it feels to be this alive

And I know we have to go
I realize
We only get to stay so long
Always have to go back to real lives
where we belong

When we think back to all this
and I'm sure we will
Me and you, here and now
Will we forget the way it really is
Why it feels like this and how

And we always have to go
I realize
We always have to say goodbye
Always have to go back to real lives
But real lives are the reason why
we want to live another life
we want to feel another time

When we look back at it all
as I know we will
You and me wide-eyed
I wonder will we really remember
how it feels to be this alive

And I know we have to go
I realize
We always have to turn away
Always have to go back to real lives
But real lives are why we stay
For another dream
Another day
For another world
Another way

One last time before it's over
One last time before the end
One last time before it's time to go back again

The Cure, Out of this World
that song I mentioned in my last post.

So yesterday I said goodbye, amidst many tears, to the kids I've been with all year at House of Hope, as well as Larisa and her parents. It's sad to think that I may never see these people again here on Earth. Who knows if I'll ever get to Ukraine again? We were well out of Melitopol before the tears stopped, and I felt badly for all those in the car who had to listen to me sniffling and crying for so long.
Now the next part of this I have to process is the flight home, and then the reentry retreat, and then actually being home again. So much to process...

2006-07-17T09:32:00.000-04:00

My sister tells me that Astrid and Muirgen like to sit in their boat (a ski tube) and sail across the ocean to visit Auntie Jill in Ukraine, after stopping in France for a visit with Vincent, their boarder. They also apparently talk about how when they can't see the moon it's because it has gone to the other side of the world to visit Auntie Jill and the kids at her orphanage. I thought that was beautiful.
And often over the last 11 months or so, when I see the sun setting, I think about how it is travelling west - towards home, towards my family and my friends - and how it is shining for them, and in about 7 hours it will be setting for them there too. And I wonder if the sky, when the sun sets, will be as beautiful there as it was for me here.
Soon I too will be travelling west, home again. Just like the sun.
There's a good Cure song that I keep thinking of as I think of saying goodbye to Ukraine and all the people here, but I don't have the words and cannot put them here. Maybe next time.

Things about Ukraine that I will miss - if not because I like them, then simply because we don't got it back home (or not to the same extent).

2006-07-08T04:16:00.000-04:00

- Barking dogs: There's a pack of stray dogs that hang out around the intersection downtown where I get picked up in the morning. I think they live in an abandoned building nearby, and they like to chase men riding bicycles, running barking down the street after them. Sometimes all the dogs in the neighbourhood get barking at once and I think they eventually forget what it is they are barking about, if they even knew in the first place. I hardly even hear the sound anymore though, as it's always drifting in my open window.
- Crowing roosters: Sometimes in the early morning, I have trouble figuring out if that was just the rooster alarm clock sounding from the next room, or a real rooster crowing outside. The idea that roosters only crow in the morning is a myth.
- Plastic bags: They are a hot commodity, and there are whole kiosks at the market devoted solely to selling designer plastic bags, in which people carry everything. It's quite something to watch a person at one of these kiosks, carefully picking out a bag to buy.
- Cars parking and driving on the sidewalks.
- Singing in church: the feeling of satisfaction I get when I can follow the words in the songbook, and the sense of unity as I add my voice to the beautiful harmonies.
- Washrooms: Squat toilets, seatless toilets, having to pay to use a public one, and a bring-your-own-toilet paper mentality.
- Potholed roads and sidewalks: I forget what it is to have a smooth ride in a vehicle, and I'm always amazed at the way women here can navigate the terrible sidewalks in their ridiculous heels.
- Saturday morning blini breakfasts.
- Shopping at the market, or just wandering around it, getting lost in aisle after aisle of kiosks that all seem to be selling the same things.
- The banya: that hot, steamy, oh-so-Russian, sauna experience.
- Marshrutki: going everywhere on public transportation - something I was terrified to do alone when I first arrived. The chance it gives to watch people. The crazy driving of most marshrutka drivers. The decorations on the dashboard and hanging from the rearview mirror - anything ranging from fluffy pink birdie keychains to Orthodox icons, to stickers of scantily clad women. The way that people cram in and stuff the aisles.
- Being asked if I'm not cold, and being told to dress warmly.
- Big square feather filled pillows.
- Sunflowers: The sunflowers have started again. I noticed the first blooms a couple weeks back, a few lifting their faces to the east in a field of green, smiling their yellow smiles. The sunflower is a happy flower. Happy like a daisy.
- Getting a roll of film developed, 24 pictures costing me less than $2.
- Fresh homemade bread nearly every day, always sliced thick.
- Being asked, "Do you have _____ in America, too?" even though I'm from Canada.
- Going places on the train: being either freezing cold to sleep, or boiling hot.
- Cows and goats: Tied up at the side of the road or being herded home in the twilight.
- Chickens, geese, turkeys and ducks: Wandering around through the streets and in people's yards, sometimes coming at me honking (or quacking or hissing) like they want to attack me as I walk by.
- Carbonated water.
- Ukrainian buildings: Often in poor repair, crumbling and dirty. Tiny cottage-like houses with brightly painted windows and gates and yards full of gardens and outbuildings and animals. Apartment buildings with balconies that look about to fall off of the wall, each one different: some open, others screened in. Dingy dirty cement and concrete stairwells that are poorly lit, and ever changing door codes. Things I found depressing at first, but now see as beautiful. If I may say it, poverty seems to have a strange beauty all its own.
- Physical closeness: People standing very close and talking right in your face. An arm around the waist of a friend. Seeing two girls (and occasionally even two guys) walking arm-in-arm or holding hands. The affection of the kids at the internat - jumping into my arms, big wet kisses, wanting a hand to hold, a lap to sit on, arms to hug.
- Ladas
- Outrageous women's fashions: In winter - big fur and leather coats and often fur hats to match, stiletto heeled pointy toe boots. In warmer weather - sandals with straps that tie halfway up the leg, miniscule skirts and tiny dresses, lots of sheer and seethrough fabrics with little underneath. And in any weather - plenty of rhinestones and sparkles, unnaturally bright coloured hair, and the wearing of colours and patterns that don't match. Somehow though, despite all the ridiculous things they do to themselves, all the women here are very beautiful.
- Men carrying man purses.
- Internet cafes: checking my email in a room full of boys and men playing shooting games.

2006-06-24T06:04:00.000-04:00

There is a woman who has been working at the internat lately, helping with the renovations the place in undregoing - painting and papering and such. I haven't even caught her name. She's an old woman, and the years are written all over her face in the lines that surround her dark eyes and the rest of her features. But she's a peppy old one, and saunters around at a good pace, her voice loud and boisterous . Often at luch she has races with Natasha (the director's 8ish-year-old daugther) to see who can finish first. These races usually end in an argument. She often talks to me about food, wondering what on earth we eat in America if we don't eat kasha (mush of some kind. I'm not even sure what it is, but it's a staple here). The fact that I live in Canada, not America, makes little difference to her. She even told me once that she thought Canada was a State in the USA. And even though she knows little of our culture, she somehow knows all about how we eat, and how the meat here in Ukraine is all-natural and so much better than what we have back home. That stuff you have there - she makes a face - it's no good. Ours is much better. And she urges me to take more: Dzheel - you're hardly eating anything! She also goes on about how she won't eat the cucumbers at the internat because they don't skin them. And who knows what kinds of dirt and contaminants are crawling on the outside of a cucumber. Or she tells me all about her trek around the market the other day, trying to find the right kind of cooking oil. She is one of the few Baptist people I've come across here who doesn't wonder about all the things my church back home allows. When she heard that I'm not Baptist, she simply wanted to know if we believe in and worship Jesus - that's the main thing. I was a little in awe of this, because most of the people want to know how my church back home is differnt from theirs. I like this woman, and the way she just goes on and on, hardly ever expecting any response from me. The way she rarely asks me questions, but just lets me listen to her talk.

The other day when I was walking to the store, a man down the street was shovelling hay into a pile with a pitch fork in his front yard. On my way back from the store he was sweeping his driveway - still only wearing nothing but slippers and a speedo, his large belly hanging over.

The old woman who lives in the house next to ours can often be seen out my window, puttering aound her yard wearing nothing but a bra under her apron, as well as a skirt. Her back is red and leathery. That was before they covered my window with reflective foil like paper to keep out the heat of the sun. I don't like how my window now offers no view, and little light. I have to sit in my room in the artificial light in the middle of the day.

In four weeks from today, Katie and I fly out of Ukraine. I cannot believe how fast time is winding down - where has the year gone? I'm still trying to process how little time I have left in this place, with these people, and trying to not just let the last few weeks slip away. The feeling is not unlike the one I had last summer before I came here, and I thought about how little time I had left at home. I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye, and I think I will be just as much as a wreck when I leave Melitopol as I was when I left Kitchener last August. It's all coming back around full circle. I like that.

You move too fast
or maybe I just move too slow

2006-06-15T09:28:00.000-04:00

At camp:
I was sitting there alone in the dark in the cold damp sand as I watched and listened to the beauty surrounding me. And it's all His. For us. For me. Watching an almost full moon sliding along through the misty patchy clouds, the light playing on the surface of the water. Now you see it, now it's gone. The sea so calm it hardly makes any sound at all, except for the quiet lapping, and the tinkling of thousands of tiny shells as the water tugs at them. The sound of a rain stick. This is the same sea that, just the other day, was turned brown and murky by the wind, churned into waves. But now all is calm and quiet. Watching the occasional flickering of silent lightning, orange-white on the horizon. Listening to the music coming from the chain of rocks jutting nearby into the sea. The sounds of guitar and a beautiful voice. Some of the songs familiar worship ones I recognise from back home. The group our "charasmatic" neighbours. I'm tempted to go over and ask if I can join them. Instead I stay in the damp where I am, singing along in English. The tears streaming down as I am overtaken by the beauty, by the stillness, by the quiet, by His love. His affirmation, His gentle assurance. Just what I was needing at that moment. I don't know how long I sat there, but the group singing nearby left and climbed the stairs back up the bank. Leaving me alone on the beach in the dark.

2006-05-20T06:16:00.000-04:00

A couple people who have recently made my day:
1. While walking around in Yalta with katie, I saw a man. He was possibly a homeless man, though saying that may be making untrue assumtions. In any case, he was dirty and grubby looking. He was maybe in his 40's or 50's - I've never been a good judger of age. There was music coming from somewhere, and this man was dancing away on the side walk by the dumpsters all by himself. Just grooving away to the music. And I smiled to myself, and that dancing man made my day.
2. The other day on the bus after work, I made friends with a little girl. I was sitting in a backwards facing seat, which I like because it allows me to watch people's faces instead of the backs of their heads. This little girl was sitting on a young woman's lap, and she was dressed all in bright pink. Her blonde hair was pulled into two little pigtails, held in place by pink fluffy feathery stuff. I would catch her eye and smile at her, and she would quickly turn away from me towards the window, but not before I would catch her smile. Eventually she was openly returning my smiles and I started winking at her. When the time came for me to get off the bus, she gave me a little wave, and when I turned to look as the bus pulled back into traffic, she was waving wildly at me, with a huge grin on her face. I noticed her mohter was smiling too.

Yesterday when I left the internat, many of the kids were outside working under the trees in the garden. Most of them were barefoot in the dirt, and the girls were wearing squares of fabric folded into triangles tied around their heads. It made me happy. Under the trees, under the big blue sky sprinkled with white fluffy clouds. A perfect summer day.

2006-04-20T08:39:00.000-04:00

The other morning when I was waiting for the bus (it seems I'm always waiting for some bus or other. Those are the best people-watching moments though, so I don't mind), along with me at the stop was an elderly couple. The woman was wearing leopard-print slippers and had a lacey white scarf tied around her head. It's not an unusual thing here for people (especially babushki) to wear slippers eveywhere. Makes me wonder what the point is of having slippers at all - why not just wear shoes? The man wore a little hat as well as a slightly startled and confused sort of expression. This couple was arguing loudly while we all waited for the bus. All Russian is loud and everyone appears to be yelling at each other all the time. It can be intimidating when you don't understand any of what is being said, and people are just yelling. But after a while, you get used to it, and can even tell the difference between people that actually are angry, and people who are simply conversing. Maybe these two particular people were not very angry, but the woman was definatly upset about something. I caught snatches of what was being said, and it was something about a television. They ended up on the same bus as me, sitting directly behind me, and the conversation continued all the way to the market, much to my annoyance. Usually the bus ride in the morning is fairly calm and quiet, evryone still sleepy I think. Although it's easy to not listen to a conversation you can't fully understand, it's still difficult to block out the noise, and it was intruding on my early morning quiet.

2006-04-01T03:33:00.000-05:00

I find myself rejoicing over the arrival of spring this year. The other day I wanted to spin and dance and run down the streets of Melitopol. Usually I'm pretty indiferent to the changing of seasons. I always enjoy the first snow of winter, and of course it's nice to have warm weather again after the cold, but it's never been anything to get all excited about - it's just something that happens. But this time around it's somehow different. I started noticing it a few weeks back. There's something in me that smiles when I heard the sound of dripping water as the snow was melting. It smiles too when the air is mild and the sun is shining. And when I hear birds singing again. And when I see the new green grass growing in places, poking through the graybrown of last autumn's decaying leaves. And there are tiny buds on the tree branches. The song of spring is inside me, right next to that smile. And I thank God for rebirth and this brand new season. This part of the earth is tilting back towards the sun. The days are growing longer. In the winter, the sun seemed to just slide around the southern half of the sky, from east to west, never quite making it overhead, so that even at noon it cast long shadows as if it were late in the day.

I have recently finished reading a book called Culture Shock - Ukraine: a Guide to Customs and Etiquette. A little late, I know. In it I found a funny joke in a section on Ukrainian humour. I thought I'd put it here, since I have no one at the moment with which to share it verbally. It pokes fun at "Brezhnev's dim wit when he announced that the Soviets would outdistance America's space program: They would send a team to the sun. "But we will be burned alive," pleaded one cosmonaut. "And you think we know nothing?" barked Brezhnev. "We are arranging the details so that you will land at night." I laughed out loud when I read it, and even now as I write it here it brings a smile. I don't know why I find jokes like this so funny.

2006-03-20T01:32:00.002-05:00

I had never been on the metro before. The escalators taking us down deep into the earth were long and steep. We slowly descended in a tunnel of whiteness, all the people coming up watching all the people going down. The faces were blank and staring and it made me think of The Silver Chair, with all the little underworldlings with misshapen noses milling about emotionless under the ground in the dark, carrying spears and shovels through the murkey grayness. As we approached the bottom, which we could not see from the top, all the people spilled off the escalator and continued on to catch a subway, to continue on with their individual lives.

I was in awe at the cathederals we saw. In awe of their vastness. In awe of how old the structures are. Back home we don't have oldness like they do here. At home, if something is a few hundred years old, that's old. This weekend I stood inside buildings that were constructed in the 11th century. And I was in awe. In awe of the thought of how many generations of people had stood in these buildings before me. In awe of the beauty surrounding me. And I couldn't wrap my mind around it all.

2006-03-03T07:34:00.000-05:00

A couple weeks ago it got mild and rained a lot, creating a lot of mud. It also caused large bodies of water to form in inconvenient places. There doesn't apear to be a very effective drainage system. However, I guess winter's not quited finished yet - today it's been snowing all day. It's a mild sticky sort of snow that blows around in horizontal sheets, plastering vertical objects, like walls and tree trunks. This morning the flakes were large, but now the stuff that's coming down is a lot smaller. There's a lot of it though, and it apears as a fine mist.

The other day, as we were driving to the internat in the morning and I was staring out the purple tinted windows of the blue Volkswagon van, I was thinking about what I will do when I return home. These kind of thoughts have been finding their way into line of vision often lately, and I don't like it. It's something that I know I should be thinking about, but I don't want to think about it, because I don't know. I feel like I did three years ago when I was finishing up highschool, and the big questions Where to? and What next? were large preoccupations for me. The couple years after highschool were leading up to this year away. I worked and saved some money. But after this year is over, then what? I need to find something else to work towards. I've thought (though not very seriously), about maybe going to school. But that's not a very appealing thought for me. I still don't know what I'd go to school for, and it seems pointless to me to go with no direction in mind. And I guess the whole academic world is a little intimidating to me, best avoided - or so I tell myself. But I don't want to end up working at another "dead end" job like Tim Hortons again. So I don't know what I will do, so I try not to think about it.

The slightly balding man at the computer beside me is picking at the keyboard with his two middle fingers and muttering to himself. Lined up beside the monitor are four empty green bottles, and one more which will also soon be empty. I wonder how long he has been here, who he is chatting to, and where he will go when he leaves here.

2006-01-28T08:53:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I was going to the bus station to meet my friend. The night was clear and freezing cold. I stars were hard to not notice, and they seemed particularly bright this night. Even with the headlights of an oncoming vehicle glaring in my eyes, I could still clearly make out Orion standing proudly in the south eastern sky. The hunter wore a twinkling belt. I was dancing in the blackened street trying to stay warm as I waited at the busstop. I liked the way that the hard packed snow squeaked under my boots because it was so cold. Then the streetlights came on and there was another guy there at the busstop. Also dancing. Trying to keep from freezing. I followed him onto the number 3 when it came along. Someone before me had scratched a little peephole in the frost on the window by my seat, and there was a noticed taped on the window. Trapped between the glass of the window and the sheet of ice that had formed on the inside of it. And that piece of paper had become part of the window itself.

2005-12-31T04:20:00.000-05:00

Drag these broken wings
Through the lonely streets of town

So alone
It hurts to know just how alone I am
Without your song
So sing to me

Does your ocean ever sleep?
Do your stars ever dream?
Close your eyes and think of me
And I'll be waiting
I'll be dancing on the waves
Whenever you need to find a place
That feels like home

Lord I've cried
And I've screamed
Through salt-filled skies
And growing old

So alone
It hurts to know just how alone I am
Without your song
So sing to me...

-LN, without your song

These are the words to a song that I think is maybe one of the most sadly beautiful songs I know. Unfortunately it loses some of it's beauty without the music that helps to make it so beautiful. Thank you so much Colin for this wonderful CD. I think of you when I hear it.

It was srange how when the train would start up, I could feel no sensation that we were actually moving. The only way I could tell that we indeed were was by watching the lights outside slowly slide past the window, gradually picking up speed, until I could feel, as well as see, that we were moving. I loved the gentle swaying of the train, sometimes up and down as well as side to side.

After arriving back in Melitopol, I stood at the busstop across the street from the station, watching a few birds trying to fly. They were situated in the air above the house across the road, wildly flapping their wings, but not going anywhere. Ocasionally one would get tired and stop flapping for a moment. But I think it would get scared and quickly pick it up again. Stationary flapping birds against a sky streaked with gray purple clouds, the wind finding it's way up my sleeves causing me to shiver as I waited.

2005-12-13T07:12:00.000-05:00

Since beginning my studies of the Russian language, I have learned a few things. For instance, the name Vera means faith, and the name Nadia is a diminuitive of Nadezhda, which means hope. Also, the word soviet means advice or counsel, which I didn't know, but thought was interesting. There are other things too that I can't think of right now.

The electricity here isn't always very consistent. Sometimes the power goes out for no reason, for any length of time. And often the lights are flickery, making my eyes sore if I'm trying to read. A couple weeks ago, while I was writing a letter, the lights went out. Nina came into my room and crawled up onto my bed beside me to keep me company in the dark. All I could make out of her was the pale outline of her chubby face as she rambled on about the things she had done that day. I understood some of it, but not everything. And I was listening to the way she can't say her r's, and often says t or l instead, and how she has a bit of a lisp too. And then the lights came on, and she ran off with my pen. So I had to find another one before I could resume my letter writting.

I didn't notice when the leaves fell off the trees. But I remember being startled one day not long ago when I realized that all the trees were bare, save a few shrivelled brown leaves that still dangled here and there. Some days are cold and the puddles are frozen. Those days the wood inside the outhouse is covered in little sparkley crystals.

On Sunday I was kneeling on the wooden floor inside a little "house of prayer", with a dozen or so others, mostly little old wrinkly women with thick scarves tied around their heads under their chins. The walls in the cold little house were decorated with plastic flowers and pieces of cloth containing fragments of Bible verses and very Ukranian-looking flowers. And as they prayed one after the other, I felt full. Full of everything, but I didn't know exactly what.

Today I miss my dreadlocks and my schloggers.

2005-11-29T07:07:00.000-05:00

I often think of my friends and family back home in Canada. I think of my parents - my mom, bathing old women at work and then finding some fabulous bargains on the way home. My dad, standing at a machine all day "making money". I think about Colin, jamming with Asher, or maybe watching some Voyager with his friends. I think of Shawna, feeding kids and changing diapers. She once told me that's all she does in a day, but I know that's not all she does. I think of Rachel, going through her new kindergarten cirriculem with Astrid. And I think of my friends busy with their school work, always reading something for some class, or cramming to finish some paper or other. And I think about all the good times they must be having. These are my family, my friends. And when I think of them, a little knot tightens in my chest, and I wonder if I should be laughing or crying. And I wonder how I can still be me here, when so much of my identity, of who I am, is so wrapped up in everyone and everything I left behind. And I think about how everything there continues on the same without me. And how strange it will be when, in July, I return and must fit myself back into the place I left.

2005-10-18T07:07:00.001-04:00

One day when I was walking from my teacher's apartment to the internet cafe, I was quite sure everyone I passed was staring at my green shoes and navy knee socks. In a couple places where the sidewalk goes up a hill, it turns into stairs - the steeper the hill, the narrower the steps. Coming out of the cafe, I looked for a bus named belyakova that I can flag down. It's not long before one comes along. I walked home from the bus stop with the sun in my eyes. So I looked instead at my feet, and was careful to avoid the potholes, animal droppings and litter that plague the sandy road. At the corner house there is a yard full of chickens always scratching in the dirt. I passed a small boy swinging in a tree and think about how there is always at least one boy hanging in that tree. There is a man with white hair wearing a brown suit, and riding a squeaky bicycle, sitting straightly on its seat. The little dog named Yulia no longer barks at me when I lean against the gate and reach around to unlatch it. The big dog, Jessica runs to greet me.
On another day, I found myself sitting in the back of a taxi in the morning, because there was no bus for us to take. I was wedged between two other people with a small child from the Internat on my lap. The man beside me was wearing stripey jeans, and I was wondering how the driver could see anything out the dirty windshield with the sun glaring on it the way that it was. The road from Melitopol to Priazovye is flat and straight, with the exception of one bend at a certain place. It is not free of the potholes that infest all Ukrainian roads though.
Another morning. It's early and not quite all light yet. I sit on a bus waiting for it to leave the station and take us to Priazovye. I watch women busily unloading a van and setting up their kiosk of shoes - mostly pointy-toed stilletos - in the semi-darkness. The bus drivers hover around the front of the busses sipping coffee from little plastic cups. Everyone is wearing either a leather jacket, or a short denim one.
I am amazed at how many people can cram into the aisle of one bus. And how they can move past and around each other when one needs to get off the bus.

2005-10-04T06:47:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday I went to the store by myself and bought a loaf of bread for Larisa. She knows that I am not very confident with my Russian, what little I know of it, and that I am afraid to do things on my own, like take the bus (although I have a few times now, and it's not so bad) or make a purchase, where I have to talk to stangers. It is a scary thing when someone is talking to you and you don't know what they are saying and there is no one there to come to your rescue. So she wrote out for me all I had to say - only one sentence - and sent me on my way. My heart was pounding as I entered the little shop, and I was glad there was no one else around as I said to the clerk, "Daytye mnye, pozhalusta, ahdin khleb." (Give me, please, one loaf of bread). She handed me the bread, and I handed her the money. Needless to say, I was rather proud of myself as I left, and I felt like skipping home, but I restrained myself. I don't think any loaf of bread has ever made me so happy.

I drink a lot of tea here. Usually at least 3 or 4 cups a day. It is the staple beverage. Good thing I enjoy tea. I think my enjoyment of it goes back to the days when I was about 12, and I would visit Rachel, who was newly married and would always serve me tea. I thought it was the coolest thing and it made me feel rather grown up. Although drinking tea here is not quite the same for me as it was at home. There it was a soothing ritual. I would sip my tea slowly, wrapping my hands around the hot cup, breathing in the fragrant steam. It could take me a good half hour to drink a cup of tea, and by the time I reached the bottom, it would usually be mostly cold. Here they have taken to serving my tea with a saucer to drink it from when they noticed how slowly I was sipping it. Mostly that was just because I've never quite figured out how to quickly down a drink that is steaming hot. And I like to take my time with a hot drink. Not here though. They also thought it was rather funny that I don't take sugar in my tea and soon gave up offering it to me. That's at home where I have the option. Often, sugar is just added and you aren't asked. At the internat, the tea is always lukewarm and loaded with sugar.

The other morning I woke up, and everything seemed so normal and narural. So familiar. And for a moment, that familiarity scared me. I think it scared me more than all the unfamiliarity ever did.

2005-09-20T04:03:00.000-04:00

When they first brought me here, almost two weeks ago now, to my new work place and home, I felt like a small child. I sat for a long time in a small office while Ionka, Larisa and Ivan discussed my future here in Ukraine. I listened while Lyuda did her best to translate for me and the others made arrangements on my behalf. When they brought me to my new home, I cried, even though I tried so hard to wait until I was alone to let the tears come. That made me feel even more like a small child. I could not understand what was going on around me because of the language barrier. I felt totally dependent on those around me, especially Larisa. the thought of doing something as simple as taking the bus alone, or buying something for myself, terrified me. It will be nice when I can go out and do things on my own without someone there to talk for me. I need to learn everything over agian, start from the bottom, like a small child.

The children at the Internat make me both happy and sad. They take me by the hand and show me around, babbling on in Russian, asking me questions I don't know how to answer. So Ijust laugh and smile into their sweet faces. They whisper about me to each other, which is funny because I don't understand their language. It seems you can tell the age of the child by the colour of their hands. The smaller the child, the blacker the fingers. They like to play outside in the dirt. Cracking open walnuts and eating the insides with their grimy hands, offering some to me as a gift. Or playing with a piece of plastic bag, wearing it as a cape. Clothes never fit quite right. Shoes too small, pants too big. Sandals where the toes of the wearer go well beyond the ends of the shoes. Boys trying to run while holding their pants up. The bedrooms are bright and sunny, and each bed is covered with an MCC comforter - the kind I was folding at the Material Resource Center in Akron one day a few weeks ago. There is little else in each room.

Early Monday morning, I was wakened while it was still dark by a mosquito's incessant buzzing in my ears. Or was it the rain and the thunder that woke me? It's hard to tell, as I noticed both things immediately.

The pillows I sleep on are big heavy square things. I think they are filled with feathers, and I like that.

When I sleep, I often have dreams where I am at home, and then I wake and find myself in Ukraine.

2005-09-06T04:14:00.000-04:00

Waiting for our flight out of Philadelphia, I sat for a long time and watched people walk past endless panes of pale greenish glass. Behind the glass hung tiny birds that made up the formation of larger birds and airplane.
One of my first clues that I am now in Europe was on the airplane from Frankfurt to Vienna. I happened to glance at the newspaper that the man across the aisle from me was reading. There in the pages of the newspaper were pictures of women wearing nothing but tiny blue underwear. I had to do a double take, as seeing topless women in the daily paper is not something I am accustomed to seeing in Canada.
After literally running through the airport in Vienna (we had only a few minutes to catch our connecting flight and very nearly missed it), I felt peaceful inside as I stood at the back of a crowded shuttle bus that would take us to the plane that would fly us to Ukraine. Holding on to the bar on the glass door of the bus, I felt the sun warm me as the crowd around me spoke in Russian, a language that sounded strangely beautiful to my ears. Boarding the plane the Austrian wind blew crazily through my hair. Seeing from the tiny window the giant windmills scattered throughout the fields, their three narrow blades spinning slowly, made me feel happy, and I liked the way the fields were divided into neat rows of golds, green, and browns.
Here in Zaporozhye in the evening, people walk. People walking everywhere, also sitting on benches in the park drinking. Public drinking at any time of the day is normal here.
Looking forward, with some anxiousness, to going to my home in Melitopol tomorrow and meeting my host family. It will be so nice to have a place to unpack and settle into finally, after living out of a suitcase for almost three weeks now.

2005-09-02T11:05:00.000-04:00

I have thought a while about starting a blog for my year in Ukraine, and this is where my thinking has landed me. As I wrote in my journal last night (I still prefer the good old pen and paper in a book method by far), "I've always thought blogs were mostly cheese and never considered having one, but over the past couple weeks I've been reconsidering. I've been inspired as I read other people's weblogs and have been thinking of what sorts of things I would say if I had my own. What would I call it? What would I write? So now I find myself reconsidering... Maybe it's not such a bad idea. Maybe I'll give it a try. Maybe I won't." And, as you can see, I have chose the former, not the latter.
So to start off, and because this next year of my life will not be a typical one for me, I am going to let you into the pages of my journal over the last number of months with excerpts that pertain to my year in Ukraine, as a participant in MCC's SALT program.

January 16, 2005
Sometimes when I get thinking about it, I wonder why on earth I've planned on doing this. It's not at all what I want to do. Those are the times when I think of being away from home - all my friends and family - for an entire year; of going to a foreign country all alone, where I don't even know the language; of how hard it may be. Those are the times I do not think about how much all the positive aspects of this thing outweigh the hard things. I still often get hung up on how scary it will all be, and then I wonder why I am doing this.
March 29, 2005
What if I don't get an invitation? What if I don't get a placement? Those thoughts keep running through my mind, especially now that so many placements are filled. It's hard for me to remember that I have given this to God and it's in His hands. I have asked Him to give me the placement He wants me to have. Why am I so afraid then? I've been counting now on going away come August. What will I do if that doesn't happen? Can I learn to accept and even be content with the fact that maybe God's will is for me to stay here for another year? 'For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you' Isaiah 41:13
May 30, 2005
Three months from now I will be there. Three months from now, the comfortable life I am now enjoying will be no more. Life as I know it now will cease to exist. All will be new, all will be different. It's hard for me to get my mind around that. How my entire life is going to change so completely.
June 16, 2005
After I awoke from my nap, I just sat for a long while and had a good cry. I started thinking about being away. I was sitting on my cedar chest, looking out the window, watching the trees and the clouds and the sky, and thinking of how it will be so long a time that I will not be able to look out that window and see that tiny part of my world.
July 11, 2005
I sometimes have trouble deciding on my purpose in all this. Is it for me to grow and learn? Or is it for me to give of myself and serve and help others? I know both will occur, but it almost seems arrogant of me to think that I have something to offer these people. However, it seems selfish of me to think this whole year will be just for my benefit and growth. I guess I need to go willing to give and serve, and expecting to learn and grow in the process. Is there balance in that?
July 20, 2005
I said goodbye to Riki tonight. See you in a year. I cried. She told me she loves me. I told her thanks for being such a great friend. Also that I will miss her so much. I cried all the way home. I miss her already.
August 11 2005
It seems that when you go away for a year, everyone feels the need to tell you before you leave things you never expected to hear.
August 14 2005
Part of me wants to keep these last few days from slipping away. I get feeling a bit panicky when I think of how little time I have left at home. I don't know if it's possible, but I feel as though I am already homesick and I haven't even left yet!
August 18 2005
Tonight I went out with my friends and had a lovely evening at the Symposium cafe in Uptown Waterloo. I got a little teary saying goodbye, but I didn't cry much. I wasn't thinking about it all too much, and so I didn't get too emotional. I think I kind of distanced from myself thoughts of the implications. It was easier then, but I feel a little bad that I din't show more emotion for my friends, as though they were expecting a large display of tears. Silly, I know.
August 19, 2005
Before leaving, Mom, Dad, Colin and I had our traditional beforegoingaway prayer. I started crying as soon as we joined hands and started to pray, and I didn't stop until we were pretty much there. I remember Mom's voice breaking in her prayer on the word SEPARATION, which made me cry all the harder. Thankfully the goodbyes are over now, and I am actually feeling a fair degree of excitment now.

There you have a few snapshots of some of my feelings leading up to this adventure I am now beginning. Sorry this entry was so long, but I guess if you are still reading you have been able to deal with the length, and are at least somewhat interested in what I'm saying. Once I arrive in Ukraine after flying out on Sunday, I don't know how regularly I will be able to post. I guess we'll just see how it goes though...