"Each time a parent advice you they just want to protect you from something they screw, and they don't want you to screw."
H., 11th grade
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
...but fall almost exists here, too
There's a musical artist I'm fairly fond of named Denison Witmer. He's a singer/songwriter, and I'll admit I don't listen to him a ton, but every time one of his songs comes up on my iTunes shuffle mode, I desperately wish I could be seeing him live at that moment. Maybe that's why I don't listen to him much - I'm avoiding nostalgia overload. His music invariably reminds me of fall and cold weather - I've only seen him live in the months of October-December, and it is (in my mind) perfect music for bundling up and observing fallen leaves. Well, one of his songs just came on.
I'd really like to be in Grand Rapids this weekend. I know it's not quite fully-fledged fall yet, but my body calendar can't tell that after 7 weeks in Honduras. My mind is telling me of spiced cider, crisp winds at night and car rides, bare branches sticking into the solid gray sky, the feeling of a heater blasting hot air just inside of the entrance to a building, and (thanks to a friend's facebook status) Graydon's Crossings on Plainfield Ave. A dark wooden interior beckons me insistently. Or a Denison Witmer concert.
That said, I certainly got a fair taste of fall this weekend right here in Hondu. It's been fairly temperate weather for the last week - heck, the last few weeks, in fact, but this week has had cool winds AND clear skies. Yesterday, however, we left after school for a staff retreat north of town in the mountains, in an area called El Hatillo. The altitude make the weather downright chilly. I spent most of the afternoon/evening wearing a hoody (or as Western Canadians call it, a bunny hug?) and I slept with TWO blankets compared to my typical one over only my feet. We had a bonfire, and I actually participated in a touch football game. As the sun set during the game, I could fairly easily convince myself that I was in West Michigan. For the record, I had three receptions, one interception, and the game-sealing touchdown. Just another game of football for me, of course.
We had a couple of very good sermons, a talent show, and a few quite satisfying meals. We had hot chocolate - not even instant packets, but honest to goodness hot chocolate. I played cards, sat up until around 2 am - sometimes my WAKING hour as of late - and got some good journaling time overlooking a ridiculously pretty valley. I'm tired, but it was a worthwhile time.
We have one more week left in the quarter before exam week. Crunch time is already upon us. Woof. Fortunately, I've been letting myself feel closer to God more this school year than much of the last few years. Let's keep that up.
I'd really like to be in Grand Rapids this weekend. I know it's not quite fully-fledged fall yet, but my body calendar can't tell that after 7 weeks in Honduras. My mind is telling me of spiced cider, crisp winds at night and car rides, bare branches sticking into the solid gray sky, the feeling of a heater blasting hot air just inside of the entrance to a building, and (thanks to a friend's facebook status) Graydon's Crossings on Plainfield Ave. A dark wooden interior beckons me insistently. Or a Denison Witmer concert.
That said, I certainly got a fair taste of fall this weekend right here in Hondu. It's been fairly temperate weather for the last week - heck, the last few weeks, in fact, but this week has had cool winds AND clear skies. Yesterday, however, we left after school for a staff retreat north of town in the mountains, in an area called El Hatillo. The altitude make the weather downright chilly. I spent most of the afternoon/evening wearing a hoody (or as Western Canadians call it, a bunny hug?) and I slept with TWO blankets compared to my typical one over only my feet. We had a bonfire, and I actually participated in a touch football game. As the sun set during the game, I could fairly easily convince myself that I was in West Michigan. For the record, I had three receptions, one interception, and the game-sealing touchdown. Just another game of football for me, of course.
We had a couple of very good sermons, a talent show, and a few quite satisfying meals. We had hot chocolate - not even instant packets, but honest to goodness hot chocolate. I played cards, sat up until around 2 am - sometimes my WAKING hour as of late - and got some good journaling time overlooking a ridiculously pretty valley. I'm tired, but it was a worthwhile time.
We have one more week left in the quarter before exam week. Crunch time is already upon us. Woof. Fortunately, I've been letting myself feel closer to God more this school year than much of the last few years. Let's keep that up.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
...high and dry
So Matthew turned out to be a big joke for Tegus. It's obviously a good thing that we didn't have disastrous rain, but it's certainly a bit humorous that considering all the rain we've been having so far this year, the two days we were supposed to be affected by a tropical storm actually had less rain than average, or at least equivalent. It's been really cloudy and everything, and hours of drizzle may have been higher than normal, but if I had a rain gauge, I daresay it would have been less or the same. Thanks for the prayers - it seems they worked!
Last week we had a 5 day weekend for Independence Day. Many of the Central American countries celebrate the 15th of September as a day of independence, and September as a whole is pretty big on patriotism and the like. However, as a gringo with no direct connection to the day, it's mostly a day that results in a long weekend, perfect for travel! I was invited to go to El Salvador with five other IST teachers:
[I had intended for a photo of the group to go here. But now facebook and/or blogger is being difficult. Alas, I'm back to my pictureless blog!]
It was a pretty good trip. We stayed at a fairly funky hostel, though when we turned the corner to the hostel's street, we found the street to be flooded. I was not pleased by this. I did not pack my rubber boots, and I don't like walking through murky muddy water barefoot. But we made it, and by the end of our stay, it was possible to walk the road without being required to put your feet in puddles.
On the 16th, we climbed a volcano. It required a 2 hour drive to the National Park, a climb down over 1300 steps to get to the base, and then on this particular day, it required being soaked by a downpour that started as we were about halfway up the volcano! I was not pleased by this (note this is the second consecutive paragraph this sentence has appeared). I like to be dry and comfortable. I quickly became neither. I could not enjoy the experience, and to top it off, a locust attacked me.
On the 17th, we played on the beach. We got a day without rain - a rarity! - and instead it was very sunny. So sunny that I got an awful sunburn. My back is still peeling, 9 days later. I could say, "I was not pleased by this," and I wasn't but since that was my own fault and negligence, I won't. That night, I ate a bunch of seafood in a paella. Anyone who knows me fairly well knows this is something that NEVER happens. I decided to tolerate and even determine myself to eat seafood on this trip, as the Pacific coast is probably as good a place as any to get high quality seafood. If I still couldn't like it, then I'd be totally affirmed that my seafood aversion is incurable. But with this paella, with the heck cooked out of everything, I could tolerate it and even eat heartily! This could be a game-changer, folks.
On the 18th, we traveled back to San Salvador (a 35 km journey from our little town on the coast) to get a taste of the big city. San Sal is quite modern, and very clean and well cared for. We visited a very interesting cathedral fashioned out of an old airplane hangar, with stained glass inlaid into a stunning arched wall/ceiling (the whole building is semicicular). It was quite something.
On the 19th, we caught our bus back to Tegus, and the bus ride was VERY long. I'd have liked more time to relax at the end of the trip before having to return to school, but that's the way it went.
All in all, a fine trip. Despite my inability to put pictures in this post, this link should take you to the public album of many photos I posted on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2111051&id=15300281&l=25dfbe3738 Let me know if it doesn't work, you people who aren't on facebook!
Last week we had a 5 day weekend for Independence Day. Many of the Central American countries celebrate the 15th of September as a day of independence, and September as a whole is pretty big on patriotism and the like. However, as a gringo with no direct connection to the day, it's mostly a day that results in a long weekend, perfect for travel! I was invited to go to El Salvador with five other IST teachers:
[I had intended for a photo of the group to go here. But now facebook and/or blogger is being difficult. Alas, I'm back to my pictureless blog!]
It was a pretty good trip. We stayed at a fairly funky hostel, though when we turned the corner to the hostel's street, we found the street to be flooded. I was not pleased by this. I did not pack my rubber boots, and I don't like walking through murky muddy water barefoot. But we made it, and by the end of our stay, it was possible to walk the road without being required to put your feet in puddles.
On the 16th, we climbed a volcano. It required a 2 hour drive to the National Park, a climb down over 1300 steps to get to the base, and then on this particular day, it required being soaked by a downpour that started as we were about halfway up the volcano! I was not pleased by this (note this is the second consecutive paragraph this sentence has appeared). I like to be dry and comfortable. I quickly became neither. I could not enjoy the experience, and to top it off, a locust attacked me.
On the 17th, we played on the beach. We got a day without rain - a rarity! - and instead it was very sunny. So sunny that I got an awful sunburn. My back is still peeling, 9 days later. I could say, "I was not pleased by this," and I wasn't but since that was my own fault and negligence, I won't. That night, I ate a bunch of seafood in a paella. Anyone who knows me fairly well knows this is something that NEVER happens. I decided to tolerate and even determine myself to eat seafood on this trip, as the Pacific coast is probably as good a place as any to get high quality seafood. If I still couldn't like it, then I'd be totally affirmed that my seafood aversion is incurable. But with this paella, with the heck cooked out of everything, I could tolerate it and even eat heartily! This could be a game-changer, folks.
On the 18th, we traveled back to San Salvador (a 35 km journey from our little town on the coast) to get a taste of the big city. San Sal is quite modern, and very clean and well cared for. We visited a very interesting cathedral fashioned out of an old airplane hangar, with stained glass inlaid into a stunning arched wall/ceiling (the whole building is semicicular). It was quite something.
On the 19th, we caught our bus back to Tegus, and the bus ride was VERY long. I'd have liked more time to relax at the end of the trip before having to return to school, but that's the way it went.
All in all, a fine trip. Despite my inability to put pictures in this post, this link should take you to the public album of many photos I posted on facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2111051&id=15300281&l=25dfbe3738 Let me know if it doesn't work, you people who aren't on facebook!
Friday, September 24, 2010
...with a hurricane on the way
Well, it seems fairly possible that Tropical Storm Matthew will turn into Hurricane Matthew, and it's about as likely that whatever it is at the time will hit Tegus. It's pretty guaranteed that heavy rains are on the way, probably within the next few hours. If the destructive winds, the storm proper, hits, it will be on Saturday morning, according to weather.com . Some readers may know that Honduras was hit in 1998 by another M storm, Mitch, so many folks down here are reasonably concerned when any threat of hurricane comes up. There's possibility that school could be canceled after the weekend, or maybe nothing greater than a particularly bad thunderstorm hits us in the city. But of course, it's about more than just my safety and Tegus' safety. Matthew, at the time of this writing, is basically on the coast of northern Nicaragua and is sure to hit the coast and eastern part of Honduras. Prayers for those sure to be affected are imperative.
A lot has happened since my last update. I don't want to diminish this post by getting into other stuff, but I do want to share it. Hopefully over the weekend I'll be able to update further.
A lot has happened since my last update. I don't want to diminish this post by getting into other stuff, but I do want to share it. Hopefully over the weekend I'll be able to update further.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
...asking for prayer
I'd like to ask for prayer for one of my students. She is going through a difficult medical process that causes her to have certain episodes. These episodes have been getting worse as the process (hopefully) seems to be nearing its end. She had a very bad one this afternoon in my class, fortunately at the end of class at the end of the day, and her mom happened to be here early to pick her up. Now that I know what's going on, I can respond much better, but I simply ask for prayers for M, as she continues this process.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
...where chapels and assemblies are nuts
Yesterday we had an afternoon assembly schedule (for the record, none of the first 5 weeks of school promise to have a normal schedule - we have half days, assemblies, independence day long weekends, spiritual retreats, or any combination of those, each week. We'll see about the 6th week.) for an "acto civico," or civic actions - pledging allegiance, singing the national anthem, the like. Being Monday, we also had chapel.
During those two things at the end of the day, I did, in front of everyone, the following:
After settling everyone down at the assembly, lining everyone up, turning to face the flag, pledging, and singing, there was a good 40 minutes left in the hour long assembly. How to fill this time? By playing "traditional" Honduran games (we were focused on heritage, after all) like...Tug of War? Stilt walking? Sack race? Jumping rope? I was surprised they didn't break out the Honduran Greco-Roman wrestling. Then, to close everything off, they brought up 4 North American teachers to blindfolded taste test traditional Honduran cuisine. Starting of with the baleada was good, but when I found myself with cow intestine/stomach in my mouth, I was done. Blech.
During those two things at the end of the day, I did, in front of everyone, the following:
- tried for 60 seconds to throw a flash card into a halved watermelon, and
- ate sopa de mondongo, or tripe soup, blindfolded.
After settling everyone down at the assembly, lining everyone up, turning to face the flag, pledging, and singing, there was a good 40 minutes left in the hour long assembly. How to fill this time? By playing "traditional" Honduran games (we were focused on heritage, after all) like...Tug of War? Stilt walking? Sack race? Jumping rope? I was surprised they didn't break out the Honduran Greco-Roman wrestling. Then, to close everything off, they brought up 4 North American teachers to blindfolded taste test traditional Honduran cuisine. Starting of with the baleada was good, but when I found myself with cow intestine/stomach in my mouth, I was done. Blech.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
...falling into old habits
I'm quickly finding myself procrastinating already this year. I have a stack of grading, and although I've made a promise to have everything graded within a week of receiving it, I haven't caught up with myself at the beginning of the year to meet that promise. I have a date with that stack tonight, which certainly won't be as fun as my date last night, but it's just as necessary for me to be able to be here. I'm struggling to get my feet under myself. I have a lot more good groundwork laid this year when it comes to policies and systems, but that leaves me less wiggle room. Once I get used to that system, it should be VERY good for me. Right now I'm on the precipice of last year, which should not happen. I can be so much happier down here if I can take pride in what I do.
My new good habits are helping though. I've been doing a good amount of working out, thanks to my roommates. I'm hoping that when people see me at Christmas, there will be a visible difference :) I'm picking up my Bible much more frequently. I'm currently downloading a good number of hymns and old-timey church songs, which somehow do much more for me spiritually than anything I can get down here. I am getting to know the new teachers, which is good.
I feel basically normal. And that's miles ahead of last year. I hope I can put even more of last year behind me. Speaking of which, I have a date to get to...
My new good habits are helping though. I've been doing a good amount of working out, thanks to my roommates. I'm hoping that when people see me at Christmas, there will be a visible difference :) I'm picking up my Bible much more frequently. I'm currently downloading a good number of hymns and old-timey church songs, which somehow do much more for me spiritually than anything I can get down here. I am getting to know the new teachers, which is good.
I feel basically normal. And that's miles ahead of last year. I hope I can put even more of last year behind me. Speaking of which, I have a date to get to...
Monday, August 30, 2010
...after an eventful couple of days
One week and two class periods down. While I somewhat actually miss my students from last year (something I had trouble thinking possible), I am pretty ridiculously happy with this year's crop. Sure, there are always students who I know will give me trouble, but these kids are much more along the lines of what can be expected. Maybe it's because I know to expect something different from what I expected last year. They seem much savvier. I feel funnier. They can follow my ridiculousness much better than last year. They (knock on wood) don't talk as much. It all lends to a sense of increased optimism.
Yet school is not all there is to life in Honduras. I joined a gym for 263 lempiras a month. My roommates and I plan to go there twice a week. I'm in my bible more, although finding outlets for worship (at least ones where I can feel like I'm getting something out of it) down here appears as hard as ever. My moto has come back from the shop, although it's not seeming to be perfect. The new teachers seem very cool, particularly a few, and I have enjoyed getting to know them, although the married couples lend a distinctly new dynamic to the community. It rains every freaking day, which is good considering last rainy season's clear lack of rain caused problems with water supplies later in the year, but makes it very frustrating to try to ride the moto up to Kristin's house. We're taking bets (not literally) on the first day with no rain - I'm totally overshooting things with October 3, whereas the nearest guess to mine is September 7. Look who's going to be the most pleasantly proven wrong. I watched Predators (seriously?) at the theater with my roommates. Playing cards is back in full force. We bought a grill, and harbor vast fantasies of culinary adventures.
Motivation is still hard to come by. But life is in greater force two weeks in.
Yet school is not all there is to life in Honduras. I joined a gym for 263 lempiras a month. My roommates and I plan to go there twice a week. I'm in my bible more, although finding outlets for worship (at least ones where I can feel like I'm getting something out of it) down here appears as hard as ever. My moto has come back from the shop, although it's not seeming to be perfect. The new teachers seem very cool, particularly a few, and I have enjoyed getting to know them, although the married couples lend a distinctly new dynamic to the community. It rains every freaking day, which is good considering last rainy season's clear lack of rain caused problems with water supplies later in the year, but makes it very frustrating to try to ride the moto up to Kristin's house. We're taking bets (not literally) on the first day with no rain - I'm totally overshooting things with October 3, whereas the nearest guess to mine is September 7. Look who's going to be the most pleasantly proven wrong. I watched Predators (seriously?) at the theater with my roommates. Playing cards is back in full force. We bought a grill, and harbor vast fantasies of culinary adventures.
Motivation is still hard to come by. But life is in greater force two weeks in.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
...which, it's important to note, is still Honduras for Hondurans, too
One thing I have to remind myself of frequently when down here is that, even though there are so many inconveniences to life in Honduras that make me wish I were just back home, I have a "back home." I have an address in the States I can send stuff to if I want to take advantage of a sale on Amazon or order a limited edition pressing of a record or t-shirt, knowing that I'll be able to pick it up when I go home in the next few months. I won't be here forever. Inconveniences down here are temporary.
Meanwhile, for my students, this life IS their life. This IS their "back home," inconveniences and all. Just because they deal with them every day doesn't make them less frustrating. Take today, for example. (By the way, it was the first day of school today.) Every year, the seniors make a grand entrance at the opening assembly. This year, the seniors had an elaborate plan of riding in on fire trucks and military vehicles. Yes, riding INTO the school grounds, with music blaring and yelling while hanging off the sides. Well, besides the fact that they only obtained one fire truck and had a short chain of random pick-ups behind, when the seniors had been planning this they didn't realize the school would randomly start building a large awning thing over the main entrance of the school, making the prospect of driving anything beyond the parking lot impossible. This meant all the students had to walk down to see them drive into the parking lot, siren blaring. However, because of the narrow nature of the walkway from the entrance up to the school buildings, only the few students in the front had a fair view, through the construction, of 70 seniors dancing and waving their arms. The whole "entrance" was hardly one, and I'm guessing many of the seniors are pretty disappointed that they were forced into a lackluster one.
So I may get frustrated, but at least I don't have to deal with the issues of Honduras as a simple fact of life beyond this year.
Meanwhile, for my students, this life IS their life. This IS their "back home," inconveniences and all. Just because they deal with them every day doesn't make them less frustrating. Take today, for example. (By the way, it was the first day of school today.) Every year, the seniors make a grand entrance at the opening assembly. This year, the seniors had an elaborate plan of riding in on fire trucks and military vehicles. Yes, riding INTO the school grounds, with music blaring and yelling while hanging off the sides. Well, besides the fact that they only obtained one fire truck and had a short chain of random pick-ups behind, when the seniors had been planning this they didn't realize the school would randomly start building a large awning thing over the main entrance of the school, making the prospect of driving anything beyond the parking lot impossible. This meant all the students had to walk down to see them drive into the parking lot, siren blaring. However, because of the narrow nature of the walkway from the entrance up to the school buildings, only the few students in the front had a fair view, through the construction, of 70 seniors dancing and waving their arms. The whole "entrance" was hardly one, and I'm guessing many of the seniors are pretty disappointed that they were forced into a lackluster one.
So I may get frustrated, but at least I don't have to deal with the issues of Honduras as a simple fact of life beyond this year.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
...with a bunch of new friends-to-be
I'm closing my second full day down here, looking forward to the 3rd night in my new bed, and I'm terribly excited to get to know the new teachers for this year. (I'm probably even more excited to be with the returning teachers for another year, but that might be a given.) Last night was a birthday party for Paula, and many folks were there. This afternoon/evening I went with Kristin to a number of the houses near her house and just hung out with the various teachers for a while. It was awesome.
I'm developing some of the good habits I know are necessary to have in order to thrive down here. I need to develop a couple more, but I think I'm miles ahead of where I was last year. God is good.
I'm developing some of the good habits I know are necessary to have in order to thrive down here. I need to develop a couple more, but I think I'm miles ahead of where I was last year. God is good.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
...hearing geckos and geese
I just heard the first gecko call. The "tchk tchk tchk tchk" that fooled me for far too long last year into thinking it was someone rapping on a neighbor's gate is a sound that is so distinctly Honduras to me. The thunder and lightning of the approaching nightly storm are getting brighter and louder. Our new house has neighbors 3 doors down with very loud, obnoxious geese. Neighborhood dogs egg each other on, as usual. Vehicles with engines far too loud for their own good race by on the nearby Anillo Periferico, or circular highway that goes around the city.
There is much more sound to the atmosphere of Honduras than the States, that is for sure.
There is much more sound to the atmosphere of Honduras than the States, that is for sure.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
...again, quite soon
Ok. I'll admit, the end of the school year and this summer has been much more eventful than my blogging has let on, i.e., more than "nothing" happened. I rather stumbled to the end of the year, spent a night in the Atlanta airport, arrived at home, and have been spending far too much money on going out to hang out with people, but making money at the same time on the farm. I took a trip to Chicago, a trip to Traverse City, purchased materials for a coffee table version of Wooly Willy, and have checked in with a psychologist that speaks my language natively.
I'm pretty okay with the idea of going back. It's going to be difficult, I know. I'm trying to take the "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" school of thought. I'll let the second year bump in ease of teaching that I've been told of take its course (hopefully) and take things as they come.
I'm also hoping to implement a few new life strategies. Physical fitness. More intentional spirituality. Basically, being a better person and approaching life more intentionally. I'll bring a better journal down, re-implement it. I just want to use time more wisely and constructively. If I do that, it doesn't matter where I am.
I'll also try to keep this posted as frequently as possible. I'm told I'm a pretty good blogger when it comes to frequency of posting, and I'll try to keep that up, too.
I'm pretty okay with the idea of going back. It's going to be difficult, I know. I'm trying to take the "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" school of thought. I'll let the second year bump in ease of teaching that I've been told of take its course (hopefully) and take things as they come.
I'm also hoping to implement a few new life strategies. Physical fitness. More intentional spirituality. Basically, being a better person and approaching life more intentionally. I'll bring a better journal down, re-implement it. I just want to use time more wisely and constructively. If I do that, it doesn't matter where I am.
I'll also try to keep this posted as frequently as possible. I'm told I'm a pretty good blogger when it comes to frequency of posting, and I'll try to keep that up, too.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
...trying not to get wet
Welcome to my special, super-secret inner circle of blog readers! I went private because I got a comment from an anonymous student on a post from way back in December, which as you remember, was not a great time for me. While I'm feeling much better now than six months ago, much of my blog is still more negative and self-critical than I'd like my students (save a few, whom I trust) to be reading. And while the material from six months ago is no longer true, I don't trust students to make that distinction or be forgiving, which is understandable. So here I am being private, and I hope some day to have any and all readers who aren't students added to my inner circle.
Anyway, it is WET in Tegus these days. It rains easily every day. Some days it rains all day (like today), but usually it's just from 4pm and after, more or less. At least the temperature has relented, so the only people running the risk of melting are western wicked witches.
I'm nearly all caught up with stuff. I still haven't kept up, even in this final quarter, but with a hard push today (which is necessary), I can be all caught up - for all of a day. On Tuesday, I get a stack of final drafts of research papers, a dozen or so of which have to be graded immediately, to verify exam exemptions. Then on Wednesday I'll have a stack of exams to grade. I'm going to try to grade those all on Wednesday. Then I'll be nearly responsibility-free until Tuesday the 8th. Nearly. And then on Tuesday through Friday, I have an hour of recuperation exam review classes to give every day (more on recuperations in the future). At some point the following week, I will be grading around 10-15 of said recuperation exams. During those two weeks, my other responsibilities will consist of preparing for next year. It's going to be a pretty smooth couple of weeks.
I leave Tegucigalpa in 19 days and perhaps 2 hours. I leave Honduras in 19 days and 12 hours. I arrive in Michigan in 19 days and 23 hours. I arrive home in approximately 20 days and 2 hours.
But the leaving, the beginning of the process, is my focus. 19 days and 2 hours. 458 hours. That sounds even better.
Edit: So the rain has seriously taken its toll. I had not realized that Tropical Storm/now Depression Agatha was headed our way. It's nowhere near as destructive as it was in Guatemala - fear not for us - but the river nearby is really swollen, rushing up against and almost overflowing a nearby bridge. I'm in no danger of flooding, but two teacher's houses have been evacuated and we have no school tomorrow. The president has declared a state of emergency (mainly for other parts of the country) and my last full day of class is cancelled. I couldn't be happier about it, but some of the elementary teachers, who, you know, literally love their kids are a bit disappointed. Bring on half days.
Anyway, it is WET in Tegus these days. It rains easily every day. Some days it rains all day (like today), but usually it's just from 4pm and after, more or less. At least the temperature has relented, so the only people running the risk of melting are western wicked witches.
I'm nearly all caught up with stuff. I still haven't kept up, even in this final quarter, but with a hard push today (which is necessary), I can be all caught up - for all of a day. On Tuesday, I get a stack of final drafts of research papers, a dozen or so of which have to be graded immediately, to verify exam exemptions. Then on Wednesday I'll have a stack of exams to grade. I'm going to try to grade those all on Wednesday. Then I'll be nearly responsibility-free until Tuesday the 8th. Nearly. And then on Tuesday through Friday, I have an hour of recuperation exam review classes to give every day (more on recuperations in the future). At some point the following week, I will be grading around 10-15 of said recuperation exams. During those two weeks, my other responsibilities will consist of preparing for next year. It's going to be a pretty smooth couple of weeks.
I leave Tegucigalpa in 19 days and perhaps 2 hours. I leave Honduras in 19 days and 12 hours. I arrive in Michigan in 19 days and 23 hours. I arrive home in approximately 20 days and 2 hours.
But the leaving, the beginning of the process, is my focus. 19 days and 2 hours. 458 hours. That sounds even better.
Edit: So the rain has seriously taken its toll. I had not realized that Tropical Storm/now Depression Agatha was headed our way. It's nowhere near as destructive as it was in Guatemala - fear not for us - but the river nearby is really swollen, rushing up against and almost overflowing a nearby bridge. I'm in no danger of flooding, but two teacher's houses have been evacuated and we have no school tomorrow. The president has declared a state of emergency (mainly for other parts of the country) and my last full day of class is cancelled. I couldn't be happier about it, but some of the elementary teachers, who, you know, literally love their kids are a bit disappointed. Bring on half days.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
I do not know what to do. I guess all I can do is give it to God. When many students hand in papers that say things like, "Mistreatment have being in humans life since slavery." as their opening sentence, what do I do? There are so many things wrong with that sentence in eight words. How, in 11th grade, second language or not (since these students have supposedly been learning IN THIS LANGUAGE since 1st grade), do they not have a grasp on so many basic things? I admit I did not keep myself as prepared as I could have been this year. I admit I let things go until the last minute far too often. But how do I deal with half my students being largely incapable of writing a basic paragraph that makes sense and have to assign (and now grade) a 6-8 page research paper?
I have to have a lot to say about bilingual education and its weaknesses. But that is for another time. I already will have trouble having everything graded by the time school starts; I need as much time as I can get. It simply has been a frustrating night already, and I occasionally need to get this out of my system, but everyone else has gone to bed.
I have to have a lot to say about bilingual education and its weaknesses. But that is for another time. I already will have trouble having everything graded by the time school starts; I need as much time as I can get. It simply has been a frustrating night already, and I occasionally need to get this out of my system, but everyone else has gone to bed.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
...kicking myself
I have been a slacker. Don't say "You're doing the best you can," because it is NOT TRUE. I've pushed back grading things for a month or more. I do most of my lesson planning the morning of the school day, all because I just bum on the internet for the evening before.
Now the end of the year is upon me. I have FAR too much to do, and not enough time to do it. I have barely done any of my teacherly duties on time. When I finish this blog post, I will hop in a taxi and head to a coffee shop with nothing but a stack of 50 papers, a notepad, and my grading book. I will stay there for 5 hours. Then I'll come home, work on writing the study guides for my exam and recuperation exam (more on THAT ridiculousness later), watch the LOST series finale, finish my study guides, THEN plan my lesson for tomorrow. I only have 8 more periods to plan, but after ALL of this, I have 50 6-8 page research papers to grade by Wednesday. Then final drafts of the papers I'm grading today, which I'll receive on Thursday, THEN final drafts of the research papers next week. I also have to check 60-some journals, and by next week Wednesday, I'll have 60-some exams to grade (of course, I also have to write that exam somewhere in all of this mess).
It would be crunch time even if I had stayed on top of things. But I've made things hard on my students. I have not been fair to them. Sure, many of them don't care about school or my class, but there are plenty who have been shortchanged because of my slacking. I can hope I'll do better next year, but this is me we're talking about.
Now the end of the year is upon me. I have FAR too much to do, and not enough time to do it. I have barely done any of my teacherly duties on time. When I finish this blog post, I will hop in a taxi and head to a coffee shop with nothing but a stack of 50 papers, a notepad, and my grading book. I will stay there for 5 hours. Then I'll come home, work on writing the study guides for my exam and recuperation exam (more on THAT ridiculousness later), watch the LOST series finale, finish my study guides, THEN plan my lesson for tomorrow. I only have 8 more periods to plan, but after ALL of this, I have 50 6-8 page research papers to grade by Wednesday. Then final drafts of the papers I'm grading today, which I'll receive on Thursday, THEN final drafts of the research papers next week. I also have to check 60-some journals, and by next week Wednesday, I'll have 60-some exams to grade (of course, I also have to write that exam somewhere in all of this mess).
It would be crunch time even if I had stayed on top of things. But I've made things hard on my students. I have not been fair to them. Sure, many of them don't care about school or my class, but there are plenty who have been shortchanged because of my slacking. I can hope I'll do better next year, but this is me we're talking about.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
...writing along with my kids again
I occasionally give my students a time to free write - eight to fifteen minutes, usually. Sometimes I have to get a couple things set up as they write, but many times I try to write with them. Last week, I joined my students in one class for most of their 15 minute free write, and I thought it was worth sharing here. It's interesting to note that this happened the morning of a Friday that later ended with a bit of a breakdown of frustration in another class that had one astute student stay afterward to tell me that she likes my class and likes me, but knows this isn't where I want to be and that if I want to go, I "should just go." How things change in the course of a day. But I think this more accurately reflects my mindset than any breakdown of frustration.
"Ugh. It's amazing that my first year of teaching is almost over. After a month of long term subbing last year, I was so frightened this first year would never happen. How could I last a year? Well, I practically have, and I don't have a good explanation for it besides the grace of God. I know he's brought me here for a reason, reasons I probably won't ever even realize because it would only be through this [teaching in Honduras] not happening that I'd realize how rough it could be outside of this school. I know that having a community is important and essential for me. I have that here. Although I've struggled, how much more could I have struggled at a "better" school that didn't have a community like this one built in? Would the "better" students really have made me try harder as a teacher? Would a more whip-cracking principal really have gotten my nose to the grindstone? Or would I have been fired after the first semester for being just as apathetic as I am here and letting my students down? I wonder...
I wouldn't have gotten together with Kristin this year if I were at another school. [Rest of paragraph omitted - this blog's about Honduras, not my dating life! :)]
I am excited about next year. A new set of kids, a new set of possibilities. I'll know what I'm doing more than at the beginning of this year. Kristin and I will be together to start the year out, and adding Matt to my living situation sounds excellent. I hope my mind is in a much better state after a summer of getting help. Everything has such great potential. I just hope I can live out my excitement for it."
I now have 11 more days of classes to plan, then four days of half-days of exams. I have a TON of grading to do, including a nice stack of research papers I'll be getting this Wednesday. School is done the 4th of June, and then we have a bunch of unknown stuff that will take up two freaking full weeks. I'll be home (Michigan at least) around 10am on June 20 and will be going immediately to a Tigers game. Sleeping in my own bed again that night. Working the next day? It's possible - I have to get my planting time in! My first days back are already being planned - restaurants to hit, trip to Chicago, comforts of home to enjoy, books to read. The seven weeks (that's it...) will go so fast. I mean, I still have five weeks here. Holy yeesh.
"Ugh. It's amazing that my first year of teaching is almost over. After a month of long term subbing last year, I was so frightened this first year would never happen. How could I last a year? Well, I practically have, and I don't have a good explanation for it besides the grace of God. I know he's brought me here for a reason, reasons I probably won't ever even realize because it would only be through this [teaching in Honduras] not happening that I'd realize how rough it could be outside of this school. I know that having a community is important and essential for me. I have that here. Although I've struggled, how much more could I have struggled at a "better" school that didn't have a community like this one built in? Would the "better" students really have made me try harder as a teacher? Would a more whip-cracking principal really have gotten my nose to the grindstone? Or would I have been fired after the first semester for being just as apathetic as I am here and letting my students down? I wonder...
I wouldn't have gotten together with Kristin this year if I were at another school. [Rest of paragraph omitted - this blog's about Honduras, not my dating life! :)]
I am excited about next year. A new set of kids, a new set of possibilities. I'll know what I'm doing more than at the beginning of this year. Kristin and I will be together to start the year out, and adding Matt to my living situation sounds excellent. I hope my mind is in a much better state after a summer of getting help. Everything has such great potential. I just hope I can live out my excitement for it."
I now have 11 more days of classes to plan, then four days of half-days of exams. I have a TON of grading to do, including a nice stack of research papers I'll be getting this Wednesday. School is done the 4th of June, and then we have a bunch of unknown stuff that will take up two freaking full weeks. I'll be home (Michigan at least) around 10am on June 20 and will be going immediately to a Tigers game. Sleeping in my own bed again that night. Working the next day? It's possible - I have to get my planting time in! My first days back are already being planned - restaurants to hit, trip to Chicago, comforts of home to enjoy, books to read. The seven weeks (that's it...) will go so fast. I mean, I still have five weeks here. Holy yeesh.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
...rooting for the wrong team
Many of my readers probably know that in Latin America, soccer is THE sport. I'll admit, it doesn't do much for me. I keep myself busy following the Tigers, following many of their games online, and up until last night, watching the Red Wings through online streams of the game. But in Honduras, soccer trumps all, and to most people, not other sport exists.
Last week Sunday, I went to a soccer game. The Honduran soccer league has two teams that are based in Tegucigalpa, a la the Cubs and White Sox in Chicago or the Islanders and Rangers in the NHL. The two teams are Olimpia and Motagua. In Tegus, no rivalry matches Olimpia and Motagua. mention either of the names in a group, and you'll get half the group cheering, half the group booing. It's craziness, though as a fan seasoned in Hope/Calvin games, it's fairly familiar.
This past week marked the end of the Honduran league's season. As is the case with most all other soccer leagues, the championship is determined by a two-game final, where the combined score decides who wins (just like tournaments in Jeopardy!). Last Sunday was the first game of the championship, and guess who were playing? Olimpia and Motagua. Big deal, for serious. A few people were going, and I had several spare hours, so I thought I needed to get in on the Olimpia/Motagua action.
The obvious problem, however, was that I was unaffiliated. The two teams were just names to me. So I went, determined to pick an allegiance early on.
We arrived at the stadium, having purchased 250 L. tickets for 270 L. from a scalper on the street as we rode in our taxi - about a buck of profit for the dude. Our seats were in the nicest section - the Sillas, or chairs, as opposed to the sections of nothing more than concrete steps in the Sombra (Shade) or Sol (Sun), moving down the hierarchy. Sillas are the safest place to be - people certainly have gotten injured at Olimpia/Motagua games.
I started taking note of things to help me make my decision. Olimpia certainly wins when it comes to fans - their section was basically chock full. Motagua's was pretty sparse, even by the time the game began. I found I preferred the look of Olimpia's jerseys - red, white, and blue, with a cool, retro-looking lion logo - to Motagua's with its blue-on-blue eagle with hints of maroon. Further examination led me to see that I also preferred Olimpia's sponsors - Coca-Cola over Pepsi, Salva Vida beer over Gatorade. I continued to ponder my affiliation as vendors hawking pizza, candy, drinks, and gum passed, being significantly more invasive than vendors at American sporting events.
The game began after a beautiful a capella rendition of the Honduran national anthem. The pulsating Olimpia fan section seemed quite unaware that any singing was going on, continuing to chant their various cheers. Every once in a while, an amoeba of open space would form in the middle of the crowd, signaling that something was going to blow up. Apparently the guards frisking people at the gates were not infallible - there were plenty of large explosives that went off throughout the game, all prefaced by the amoeba of space. Immediately upon detonation, the amoeba walls would collapse and fans would quickly fill in that space removing all evidence that anything had blown up within two seconds. It was awesome to see.
I still hadn't decided on who to root for. Most signs were pointing me toward Olimpia, but I wasn't so sure. Everything pointing in that direction made me think that Motagua was the underdog, which was almost enough to trump everything. After about 5 minutes of gameplay, when I could tell that the teams were actually fairly evenly matched, I decided I was a Motagua man. If I could see the underdog win the game, that would be excellent.
Alas, it was not to be. Motagua was possibly the better team overall, but their forwards could not beat Olimpia's defenders down the field. Olimpia struck first. Then second. In the second half, Olimpia scored a third time. Late in the game, Motagua did score a goal, and I got to cheer for that at least. I actually didn't realize this game was half of the championship, so as we left early to beat the rush, I was a bit disappointed I hadn't chosen the team that not only won, but had my favor in most every aspect besides gameplay.
The second half was played last night. For all intents and purposes it was played like a normal game, which Motagua won 1-0. But when you combine the scores, Olimpia came out as the champs, 3-2.
There's always next year. I'm a Motagua man, but if I had to buy a jersey (as I may some day), I wouldn't hesitate to betray my allegiance.
Last week Sunday, I went to a soccer game. The Honduran soccer league has two teams that are based in Tegucigalpa, a la the Cubs and White Sox in Chicago or the Islanders and Rangers in the NHL. The two teams are Olimpia and Motagua. In Tegus, no rivalry matches Olimpia and Motagua. mention either of the names in a group, and you'll get half the group cheering, half the group booing. It's craziness, though as a fan seasoned in Hope/Calvin games, it's fairly familiar.
This past week marked the end of the Honduran league's season. As is the case with most all other soccer leagues, the championship is determined by a two-game final, where the combined score decides who wins (just like tournaments in Jeopardy!). Last Sunday was the first game of the championship, and guess who were playing? Olimpia and Motagua. Big deal, for serious. A few people were going, and I had several spare hours, so I thought I needed to get in on the Olimpia/Motagua action.
The obvious problem, however, was that I was unaffiliated. The two teams were just names to me. So I went, determined to pick an allegiance early on.
We arrived at the stadium, having purchased 250 L. tickets for 270 L. from a scalper on the street as we rode in our taxi - about a buck of profit for the dude. Our seats were in the nicest section - the Sillas, or chairs, as opposed to the sections of nothing more than concrete steps in the Sombra (Shade) or Sol (Sun), moving down the hierarchy. Sillas are the safest place to be - people certainly have gotten injured at Olimpia/Motagua games.
I started taking note of things to help me make my decision. Olimpia certainly wins when it comes to fans - their section was basically chock full. Motagua's was pretty sparse, even by the time the game began. I found I preferred the look of Olimpia's jerseys - red, white, and blue, with a cool, retro-looking lion logo - to Motagua's with its blue-on-blue eagle with hints of maroon. Further examination led me to see that I also preferred Olimpia's sponsors - Coca-Cola over Pepsi, Salva Vida beer over Gatorade. I continued to ponder my affiliation as vendors hawking pizza, candy, drinks, and gum passed, being significantly more invasive than vendors at American sporting events.
The game began after a beautiful a capella rendition of the Honduran national anthem. The pulsating Olimpia fan section seemed quite unaware that any singing was going on, continuing to chant their various cheers. Every once in a while, an amoeba of open space would form in the middle of the crowd, signaling that something was going to blow up. Apparently the guards frisking people at the gates were not infallible - there were plenty of large explosives that went off throughout the game, all prefaced by the amoeba of space. Immediately upon detonation, the amoeba walls would collapse and fans would quickly fill in that space removing all evidence that anything had blown up within two seconds. It was awesome to see.
I still hadn't decided on who to root for. Most signs were pointing me toward Olimpia, but I wasn't so sure. Everything pointing in that direction made me think that Motagua was the underdog, which was almost enough to trump everything. After about 5 minutes of gameplay, when I could tell that the teams were actually fairly evenly matched, I decided I was a Motagua man. If I could see the underdog win the game, that would be excellent.
Alas, it was not to be. Motagua was possibly the better team overall, but their forwards could not beat Olimpia's defenders down the field. Olimpia struck first. Then second. In the second half, Olimpia scored a third time. Late in the game, Motagua did score a goal, and I got to cheer for that at least. I actually didn't realize this game was half of the championship, so as we left early to beat the rush, I was a bit disappointed I hadn't chosen the team that not only won, but had my favor in most every aspect besides gameplay.
The second half was played last night. For all intents and purposes it was played like a normal game, which Motagua won 1-0. But when you combine the scores, Olimpia came out as the champs, 3-2.
There's always next year. I'm a Motagua man, but if I had to buy a jersey (as I may some day), I wouldn't hesitate to betray my allegiance.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
...unsure what to do (no, this post isn't about what you think)
This morning, as we were getting ready for the bus to arrive, which happens at 6:30ish am, our doorbell rang. Whenever the doorbell rings or we hear the annoyingly wimpy metallic-sounding taptaptaptaptaptap on our gate (a sound that frustrates me to no end - just knock full-out dude, rather than sounding so sheepish with your wimpy pen-on-metal-bar sound), we brace ourselves and none of us want to answer. If it's someone we know and want to talk to, the person will just call out. If the doorbell or taptaptaptaptaptap sounds, it's either Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, or people wanting our money, either begging-style or watchmen collecting monthly dues (a subject already sore due to an unscrupulous, now-unemployed watchman giving us fake receipts and essentially stealing our money). Whoever it is knocking or ringing, we don't want to talk to them.
In all of the Latin American I've visited, people asking for money have been a common sight - any big city has them. None of them have been particularly overbearing or forceful in their pleas for money, and it's fairly easy to pass them by. But now that I live down here, I've found that people just come to our door and ask for handouts. And it's not like we can go anywhere - it's where we live; we can't just pass by and ignore. I know it sounds a little nasty to complain about people asking for money, when I've always had resources in abundance, but I can't help but be skeptical of most people's motives (it's pretty much always men who come by, and I think it's reasonable to guess 99 times out of 100 any money you give would be spent on booze or drugs, no matter what story they tell you about baby sisters needing milk or whatever).
Anyway. 6:30. Doorbell. WAY too early for anyone to come calling, especially someone who's begging. We do happen to be up, though, and I open the door. This guy speaks very good English, but like most guys who come by, he talks way too much, trying to be way too convincing to actually be convincing. He tells me his life story and I can't get a word in edgewise. Grew up in Houston. Somehow in Honduras. Stuck in Honduras. I don't understand why. The cops hate him and are unfair to him because he's not Honduran. Bladiblahdiblah. Through all of this, he's hiccuping. Actually hiccuping, like I thought only cartoon characters do when they're drunk. But he must have been. He wonders if we have any work he can do - he can do it all. I tell him it's not our house to have work done to it, and I tell him we will be going to work soon and I'm very sorry but can't talk right now. He asks me where I'm from, said something to the effect of "I thought you might be Christian." I tell him I am, but that doesn't change the fact that my ride will be coming in just a minute. But he doesn't shut up. Then the bus rumbles up and we have to go. We make extra sure to lock up carefully, because he's still just hovering. Gah.
This evening, our doorbell rings again. Dan answers, and it's the same guy. He launches into the same spiel, asking for work, growing up in Houston, Honduran police give him problems, and he's in bad shape. Asks if we're Christian, asks if we have a Bible we could give him. It's hard to say no to giving a Bible, but we each only have our own personal Bibles down here - I have scads in the States, but I decided to allot packing space and weight to other things I might use more down here than a spare Bible. Then he asks if he could have some money for rice and beans, because the cops won't let him work, they say his papers are no good, and he can't work. And the FBI is after him somehow, too? He certainly speaks English better than any other person asking for money than I've met. Dan offers some break and water, but he's not interested. He's up for the rice and beans, and so needs the money.
Well, I have some extra packets or refried beans, and we had a tupperware full of rice. While Dan still patiently listens to this guy's trying too hard, I scoop the rice into a ziploc bag, grab a packet of beans, and walk out to him. I say, "Well, we aren't comfortable giving you money, but if you are hungry and need food, we will gladly let you have this. It's exactly what you were saying you needed to buy. Here you go."
The man kind of ignores my offer and keeps talking about his various problems with the police and not working and the FBI and how he needs to get to the embassy and talk to the ambassador and can we help him talk to the ambassador because we are Americans and the ambassador is an American and he needs help because no one will listen to him. As he continues, I continue to hold the food over our gate, telling him that if he really needs to get to the embassy, he's been hanging on the wrong side of town ALL day, and that we're just teachers and we know nothing about embassy affairs, nor would we hold any more sway than a guy who's born in Houston like he supposedly is.
"Would you like this food or not?"
"No I won't humble myself to take food from somebody else."
"But you'll humble yourself to take money to buy the same food?"
He shifts his balance to the foot further from the gate. I continue, "We are more than glad to give you this food, sir, but I'm afraid that is the only way we can help you and if you don't want this sort of help I have to ask you to leave."
He takes a step back and says, "You won't see me again."
"Okay. If you still need the food, we are glad to help you out."
"Do you have a Bible?"
"Again, no extras, I'm sorry. If we did, you could gladly have one," I said, gently thrusting the rice and beans in his direction again, "but I'm afraid this is the only way we can help you."
"I will leave. You won't see me again."
At this point, he started to try launching into his litany of problems again, but Dan and I had made the only offer we could in good conscience, and a very reasonable one at that. We just turned around, walked inside, and closed the door.
Please don't lie to us.
In all of the Latin American I've visited, people asking for money have been a common sight - any big city has them. None of them have been particularly overbearing or forceful in their pleas for money, and it's fairly easy to pass them by. But now that I live down here, I've found that people just come to our door and ask for handouts. And it's not like we can go anywhere - it's where we live; we can't just pass by and ignore. I know it sounds a little nasty to complain about people asking for money, when I've always had resources in abundance, but I can't help but be skeptical of most people's motives (it's pretty much always men who come by, and I think it's reasonable to guess 99 times out of 100 any money you give would be spent on booze or drugs, no matter what story they tell you about baby sisters needing milk or whatever).
Anyway. 6:30. Doorbell. WAY too early for anyone to come calling, especially someone who's begging. We do happen to be up, though, and I open the door. This guy speaks very good English, but like most guys who come by, he talks way too much, trying to be way too convincing to actually be convincing. He tells me his life story and I can't get a word in edgewise. Grew up in Houston. Somehow in Honduras. Stuck in Honduras. I don't understand why. The cops hate him and are unfair to him because he's not Honduran. Bladiblahdiblah. Through all of this, he's hiccuping. Actually hiccuping, like I thought only cartoon characters do when they're drunk. But he must have been. He wonders if we have any work he can do - he can do it all. I tell him it's not our house to have work done to it, and I tell him we will be going to work soon and I'm very sorry but can't talk right now. He asks me where I'm from, said something to the effect of "I thought you might be Christian." I tell him I am, but that doesn't change the fact that my ride will be coming in just a minute. But he doesn't shut up. Then the bus rumbles up and we have to go. We make extra sure to lock up carefully, because he's still just hovering. Gah.
This evening, our doorbell rings again. Dan answers, and it's the same guy. He launches into the same spiel, asking for work, growing up in Houston, Honduran police give him problems, and he's in bad shape. Asks if we're Christian, asks if we have a Bible we could give him. It's hard to say no to giving a Bible, but we each only have our own personal Bibles down here - I have scads in the States, but I decided to allot packing space and weight to other things I might use more down here than a spare Bible. Then he asks if he could have some money for rice and beans, because the cops won't let him work, they say his papers are no good, and he can't work. And the FBI is after him somehow, too? He certainly speaks English better than any other person asking for money than I've met. Dan offers some break and water, but he's not interested. He's up for the rice and beans, and so needs the money.
Well, I have some extra packets or refried beans, and we had a tupperware full of rice. While Dan still patiently listens to this guy's trying too hard, I scoop the rice into a ziploc bag, grab a packet of beans, and walk out to him. I say, "Well, we aren't comfortable giving you money, but if you are hungry and need food, we will gladly let you have this. It's exactly what you were saying you needed to buy. Here you go."
The man kind of ignores my offer and keeps talking about his various problems with the police and not working and the FBI and how he needs to get to the embassy and talk to the ambassador and can we help him talk to the ambassador because we are Americans and the ambassador is an American and he needs help because no one will listen to him. As he continues, I continue to hold the food over our gate, telling him that if he really needs to get to the embassy, he's been hanging on the wrong side of town ALL day, and that we're just teachers and we know nothing about embassy affairs, nor would we hold any more sway than a guy who's born in Houston like he supposedly is.
"Would you like this food or not?"
"No I won't humble myself to take food from somebody else."
"But you'll humble yourself to take money to buy the same food?"
He shifts his balance to the foot further from the gate. I continue, "We are more than glad to give you this food, sir, but I'm afraid that is the only way we can help you and if you don't want this sort of help I have to ask you to leave."
He takes a step back and says, "You won't see me again."
"Okay. If you still need the food, we are glad to help you out."
"Do you have a Bible?"
"Again, no extras, I'm sorry. If we did, you could gladly have one," I said, gently thrusting the rice and beans in his direction again, "but I'm afraid this is the only way we can help you."
"I will leave. You won't see me again."
At this point, he started to try launching into his litany of problems again, but Dan and I had made the only offer we could in good conscience, and a very reasonable one at that. We just turned around, walked inside, and closed the door.
Please don't lie to us.
Monday, April 19, 2010
...for the fourth time
My trip home was successful. The funeral for my grandma was lovely, I was proud to be able to sing at it with my brother, and though it was difficult and had its painful aspects to be sure, it was one of those funerals that seemed more a celebration of my grandma's legacy than mourning her loss. I have no regrets of the time or money spent to go home for it.
It was wonderful to see my family, as well. While my folks came down in February, it had been three and a half months since seeing anybody else, including my six-month old nephew, who is PRECIOUS. I hung out with him, and played with my sister's kids, who just keep on growing (and becoming more well-behaved, Dyann!) Obviously, it was great to see my siblings, who are responsible for the cute kids and wonderful in their own regard. Seeing the extended family was good, as well, especially considering the circumstances.
I got to drive around Holland, drink beers and lattes I've missed, EAT TACO BELL TWICE, buy various foodstuffs to bring back down, and spend four hours with a great friend to catch up and look forward to the coming summer.
And oh, did I look forward to the coming summer. Perhaps too much. The trip was much needed for my own emotions - the funky state I've been in for much of the school year had returned pretty strongly, and I've started to hold the school and Honduras in very low esteem. It was good to get some breathing room and gain some perspective on my situation down here.
But I think I have to quote Ulysses Everett McGill on this one: "One third of a gopher would only arouse my appetite without beddin' her down" (O Brother, Where Art Thou?) In my case, the third of a gopher was a weekend home. I fear it may have even more thoroughly roused my appetite for being home than before I went, which is saying something. But it certainly was not enough to satisfy me, and now the hills of Tegucigalpa, despite their freshly green patina following an early start to rainy season, seem even bleaker in comparison.
I'm again truly questioning the wisdom of returning here in the fall. I mean, come on, last year I had such a hard time coming down, just fearing that I wouldn't like it. Now I KNOW that I don't like it. I understand the idea of doing things you don't like as growing experiences, because they're good for you. But is it really a growing experience if I don't like the idea of teaching as much now as I did a year ago? Is curling up in a ball of depression, as I have done several times this year, actually good for me? I'm losing my confidence in students, I've become as apathetic as they, and I'm more a writhing ball of hate toward Latinos than a teacher at this point.
Here's what prompts me back toward Tegus in August:
I flew into Honduras yesterday for the fourth time, planning on teaching. It has not gotten any easier to swallow. Does it make sense to count on a fifth time out in August?
It was wonderful to see my family, as well. While my folks came down in February, it had been three and a half months since seeing anybody else, including my six-month old nephew, who is PRECIOUS. I hung out with him, and played with my sister's kids, who just keep on growing (and becoming more well-behaved, Dyann!) Obviously, it was great to see my siblings, who are responsible for the cute kids and wonderful in their own regard. Seeing the extended family was good, as well, especially considering the circumstances.
I got to drive around Holland, drink beers and lattes I've missed, EAT TACO BELL TWICE, buy various foodstuffs to bring back down, and spend four hours with a great friend to catch up and look forward to the coming summer.
And oh, did I look forward to the coming summer. Perhaps too much. The trip was much needed for my own emotions - the funky state I've been in for much of the school year had returned pretty strongly, and I've started to hold the school and Honduras in very low esteem. It was good to get some breathing room and gain some perspective on my situation down here.
But I think I have to quote Ulysses Everett McGill on this one: "One third of a gopher would only arouse my appetite without beddin' her down" (O Brother, Where Art Thou?) In my case, the third of a gopher was a weekend home. I fear it may have even more thoroughly roused my appetite for being home than before I went, which is saying something. But it certainly was not enough to satisfy me, and now the hills of Tegucigalpa, despite their freshly green patina following an early start to rainy season, seem even bleaker in comparison.
I'm again truly questioning the wisdom of returning here in the fall. I mean, come on, last year I had such a hard time coming down, just fearing that I wouldn't like it. Now I KNOW that I don't like it. I understand the idea of doing things you don't like as growing experiences, because they're good for you. But is it really a growing experience if I don't like the idea of teaching as much now as I did a year ago? Is curling up in a ball of depression, as I have done several times this year, actually good for me? I'm losing my confidence in students, I've become as apathetic as they, and I'm more a writhing ball of hate toward Latinos than a teacher at this point.
Here's what prompts me back toward Tegus in August:
- No jobs in West Michigan. It's so hard to search for a job in the Mitten, because they're simply not there. Schools are cutting back like crazy year after year, dealing with cuts of as much as $9 million in one district, I read over the weekend. They're looking to shed jobs wherever possible. With that in mind, Tegucigalpa seems like the only place where I know people that I have a job waiting for me.
- 10th graders asking me, "You're gonna be here next year, right?" I'm really not looking forward to next year's crop that I'd be facing. I hear plenty of frustration stories from teachers who have those students now. A few of the kids seem even more spoiled and entitled than any of my students from this year. And I DON'T want to deal with that. But I have met a few kids who seem like they legitimately look forward to having me as their teacher. (They clearly haven't spoken to a good number of my students.) When they 9or any other teachers or staff) ask me that question above, I have to answer, "That's the plan." That's my cop out from saying what I really feel. And I know that consistency is something that's so hard to come by when it comes to teachers for these students. Maybe a totally reluctant and out-of-it Mr. Eding is better than Ms. X in her first year, not understanding what really happens here.
- Kristin Diepenhorst. (Kristin, I'm making it blog-official. Everybody basically knows anyway.) She and I are closing in on three months of dating down here. We've known each other for a long time, and began taking our relationship in a new direction shortly after Christmas. And I'm really excited. Even more excited to date her in the States, where life is a bit more comfortable and normal, but these days are fantastic as well. And Kristin has never really considered not coming back for her second year. She actually loves her students and stuff - you know, the way normal teachers feel. I really am not keen on the idea of long-distance relationships, but it would only be from August to June that we'd be doing that, punctuated by Christmas and an inevitable trip or two I'd take down to visit. Still, I like her too much to be comfortable running the risks inherent in long-distance.
I flew into Honduras yesterday for the fourth time, planning on teaching. It has not gotten any easier to swallow. Does it make sense to count on a fifth time out in August?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
...which is really far from home
God is good.
This morning at around 5:30, when I already happened to be awake, the phone rang.
God is faithful.
I figured it was our community coordinator or something. Maybe something was up with the bus and she was letting us know with an hour of warning.
God never fails.
I answered and heard my step-mom Carol's voice. I immediately knew this news was bad.
God is good.
My grandma passed away. Only like 8 hours before I'm writing this.
God is faithful.
I'd been kept abreast of her developments over the last two months or so, when after so many years of rather secure steadiness, she finally began to show signs of her final descent. Her heart simply seemed to be failing.
God never fails.
I determined myself a while ago to return for her funeral. The day the folks back home are shooting for is Friday. On Friday at school, more than half the day will be devoted to Day of the Americas, so most of my classes are canceled.
God is good.
Flights out of Tegus all leave between noon and one, so On Thursday, when I booked a ticket for, I'll be able to come in and teach most of my classes in the morning. I'll be in Grand Rapids by 10:30 in the evening on Thursday.
God is faithful.
I'll be home for two full days. I'll sing at the funeral with my brother. I'll see my family, though not under the greatest of circumstances.
God never fails.
I'll fly back to Tegus on Sunday, leaving at 6:30 in the morning, and arriving around noon. I'll be able to rearrange myself in plenty of time before the next school week begins in earnest.
God is good.
I live thousands of miles away, and miss my family so much right now, but I will be able to go home to celebrate my grandmother's life.
God is so, so good.
This morning at around 5:30, when I already happened to be awake, the phone rang.
God is faithful.
I figured it was our community coordinator or something. Maybe something was up with the bus and she was letting us know with an hour of warning.
God never fails.
I answered and heard my step-mom Carol's voice. I immediately knew this news was bad.
God is good.
My grandma passed away. Only like 8 hours before I'm writing this.
God is faithful.
I'd been kept abreast of her developments over the last two months or so, when after so many years of rather secure steadiness, she finally began to show signs of her final descent. Her heart simply seemed to be failing.
God never fails.
I determined myself a while ago to return for her funeral. The day the folks back home are shooting for is Friday. On Friday at school, more than half the day will be devoted to Day of the Americas, so most of my classes are canceled.
God is good.
Flights out of Tegus all leave between noon and one, so On Thursday, when I booked a ticket for, I'll be able to come in and teach most of my classes in the morning. I'll be in Grand Rapids by 10:30 in the evening on Thursday.
God is faithful.
I'll be home for two full days. I'll sing at the funeral with my brother. I'll see my family, though not under the greatest of circumstances.
God never fails.
I'll fly back to Tegus on Sunday, leaving at 6:30 in the morning, and arriving around noon. I'll be able to rearrange myself in plenty of time before the next school week begins in earnest.
God is good.
I live thousands of miles away, and miss my family so much right now, but I will be able to go home to celebrate my grandmother's life.
God is so, so good.
Monday, April 12, 2010
...adding to my communicative arsenal
Pause in my Costa Rica recap (well, I was already doing that, wasn't I?) to say that I have at long last downloaded Skype, the online communication tool that allows for text, audio, and video chatting for free over the internet. I don't know how many of my readers use Skype, but I figured this would be a fine place to let people know I have it just in case. My username is aarone46, if you want to add me to your contact list. I'd love to chat with people, and I'm realizing that Gmail chat isn't widespread enough for some of the people I want to chat with.
So there you have it. aarone46. Skype me.
So there you have it. aarone46. Skype me.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
...not quite in the home stretch
Since "Spring Break," or Semana Santa, is over, I could say that we're in the home stretch of the year. I won't. I'd like my home stretch to be a bit shorter than 7 weeks, and we've got a 4 day weekend coming up the first weekend of May, so I'm going to call that the home stretch. Now I just have a three week span separating me and the home stretch. Somehow that seems more hopeful to me.
I bet you're glad I cleared that up, aren't you? Anyway...
As I said, Semana Santa, or Holy Week, just finished. You knew that - Easter! In Latin America, schools are always off for the whole week, so our "spring break" moves around. (Next year, it's almost three weeks later - how's that for a home stretch? It's a huge week, especially among IST teachers, to travel.
There were three groups that went to Guatemala, 4 or 5 folks that went to the Carribbean coast, two groups that traveled down to Costa Rica, a handful that either went home or had loved ones come down here...and me. I didn't have anybody to travel with, due to the dearth of guys down here and the awkward logistics of a guy traveling with three or four girls. So I was going to travel by myself and love it, dangit! No one else to hold me up, no opposing opinions about timetable, ease of slipping into hostel during an inherently busy time, time to just read by myself and (hopefully) spend with God... I found a great deal on airfare to San Jose and prepared my full week in Costa Rica - other folks with similar deals only even managed to find Monday to Saturday itineraries! Score!
Traveling by oneself kinda sucks. Especially during the long hours of waiting between your bus and ferry in a rather uninteresting town. I had two decks of cards packed in the false hope that I'd find someone to play with. I did read all of The Kite Runner (much enjoyed) and read about 2/3 of the nonfiction Under the Banner of Heaven (an enlightening, yet disturbing view of Mormonism and Mormon Fundamentalism), but I still found myself with an unfortunate amount of down time.
How about a reference map?
The trip started off great - wonderful views of Nicaragua from the plane, breathtaking first glimpses of the natural beauty of Costa Rica, and being able to feel savvy when I passed up the 21-dollar taxis at the airport, walked to the main road outside, and caught a bus going basically the same place for the equivalent of ONE DOLLAR. It was Saturday afternoon, and by the time I hit the hay on Sunday, I needed to be in the semi-distant beach town of Santa Teresa (Near the town labeled "Montezuma"). I had to play things by ear - once in San Jose, there were 3-4 legs of trip to Santa Teresa - bus to Puntarenas, ferry from Puntarenas to Paquera (sorta southwest across the gulf from Puntarenas), and then one or two buses, depending on my luck. I made it to San Jose by around 4:45, and I knew buses to Puntarenas left hourly and took 2.5 hours. I thought the earlier I could get to my hostel on Sunday, the more time I could bum around the beach, as un-beach-bummy as I may be. The timing couldn't have been better - I got to the bus station and purchased my ticket with about 8 minutes to spare before the bus left, got a hotel room (sized 9 feet by 4 feet, seriously) for 10 bucks, had dinner, and crashed. It was VERY hot along the coast - inlands of Central American countries get much cooler with their elevation, and I wasn't in San Jose any more.
My plan to catch a 7 am ferry, freshly baked bread and OJ in tow, was thwarted by the fact that there WAS NO 7am ferry. Schedules changed for the holy week, and I was left twiddling my thumbs until the 9am ferry. By this point, I wasn't feeling so great. I began to feel like traveling was getting the best of me, and I felt stiff and weary. I napped and read on the hour-long ferry ride, felt even wearier as I disembarked, and caught a bus to the town of Cobáno. My bus continued to Montezuma, so I needed to transfer to head to Santa Teresa. The vessel for travel was continually getting to be lower quality, yet the fares continued to rise. After awaking at 5:20, I made it to S. Teresa around 1:00. Then I couldn't find my hostel. Famished (no lunch), I had to snag some food before I undertook my search in earnest. My weariness was only worsening, and the added strain of digestion seemed to make things even tougher. But I finally did find my hostel, about a 13 minute walk from any of the stuff of interest in the town. I immediately collapsed in my bed.
The plan was to spend half of Sunday and all of Monday in Santa Teresa, hit the beach a bit, read, sample the restaurants, and hopefully meet some people worth meeting before leaving early Tuesday for my next location. But I ended up alternating sleeping with reading and eating; that's about all I could manage. The folks sharing my room were nice, and I spent about an hour and a half on the beach with them, but by the time I'd been up and about enough to eat, I had to lay back down again. A pitiable existence.
On top of that, the bus I was planning on taking at 7:15am Tuesday never came. The man at the hostel said based on my travel plans, even leaving that early wouldn't ave been early enough. I think he was full of it, but I found myself spending ANOTHER achy, downtrodden day in Santa Teresa, popping ibuprofen and watching 3:10 to Yuma. The one upshot to this was that Kristin and her roommates, traveling separately, were arriving that evening, and so I spent a good deal of time with them once they showed up.
I finally got on my way again Wednesday morning, after spending 2.5 days at the beach town, yet only 1.5 hours on the beach. 6am bus, lots of picking up people, and what should have been a two hour drive took us to the boat launch with just enough time to board the 9am ferry. Once back in Puntarenas, my remaining leg was a bus to Monteverde, near the dot curiously marked "Ciudad" on the above map. I got to Puntarenas with nearly 3 hours to kill before my 1:15 bus. Booooooring. I found the bus marked Monteverde, but it didn't look ready to go anywhere at 1:10. Turns out it wasn't ready at 1:30, either. It didn't leave until 2:30. At this point, I had long finished The Kite Runner and was well into my other book. I got a lot of reading done on this day.
But oh, when the bus started and we got out of the Puntarenas area and into the mountains, I was breathtaken by the landscapes. Costa Rica is the most beautiful country I have been to. Even in the midst of dry season, the rolling, somewhat lumpy mountains are just such a singular sight, covered in places by rich forest. The temperature dropped, and although half the bus ride was on terrible gravel road, that bus ride ended up being the highlight of my trip. I was refreshed to arrive in Monteverde, in a beautiful hotel, with crisp wind and traces of rain in the air, eager to salvage what I could from my time up there, having lost a full day of time in that location. Little did I know that bad news was awaiting me...
Stay tuned for Part II of Aaron's misadventure in Costa Rica! It might not be as bland and step-by-step as this part!
I bet you're glad I cleared that up, aren't you? Anyway...
As I said, Semana Santa, or Holy Week, just finished. You knew that - Easter! In Latin America, schools are always off for the whole week, so our "spring break" moves around. (Next year, it's almost three weeks later - how's that for a home stretch? It's a huge week, especially among IST teachers, to travel.
There were three groups that went to Guatemala, 4 or 5 folks that went to the Carribbean coast, two groups that traveled down to Costa Rica, a handful that either went home or had loved ones come down here...and me. I didn't have anybody to travel with, due to the dearth of guys down here and the awkward logistics of a guy traveling with three or four girls. So I was going to travel by myself and love it, dangit! No one else to hold me up, no opposing opinions about timetable, ease of slipping into hostel during an inherently busy time, time to just read by myself and (hopefully) spend with God... I found a great deal on airfare to San Jose and prepared my full week in Costa Rica - other folks with similar deals only even managed to find Monday to Saturday itineraries! Score!
Traveling by oneself kinda sucks. Especially during the long hours of waiting between your bus and ferry in a rather uninteresting town. I had two decks of cards packed in the false hope that I'd find someone to play with. I did read all of The Kite Runner (much enjoyed) and read about 2/3 of the nonfiction Under the Banner of Heaven (an enlightening, yet disturbing view of Mormonism and Mormon Fundamentalism), but I still found myself with an unfortunate amount of down time.
How about a reference map?
The trip started off great - wonderful views of Nicaragua from the plane, breathtaking first glimpses of the natural beauty of Costa Rica, and being able to feel savvy when I passed up the 21-dollar taxis at the airport, walked to the main road outside, and caught a bus going basically the same place for the equivalent of ONE DOLLAR. It was Saturday afternoon, and by the time I hit the hay on Sunday, I needed to be in the semi-distant beach town of Santa Teresa (Near the town labeled "Montezuma"). I had to play things by ear - once in San Jose, there were 3-4 legs of trip to Santa Teresa - bus to Puntarenas, ferry from Puntarenas to Paquera (sorta southwest across the gulf from Puntarenas), and then one or two buses, depending on my luck. I made it to San Jose by around 4:45, and I knew buses to Puntarenas left hourly and took 2.5 hours. I thought the earlier I could get to my hostel on Sunday, the more time I could bum around the beach, as un-beach-bummy as I may be. The timing couldn't have been better - I got to the bus station and purchased my ticket with about 8 minutes to spare before the bus left, got a hotel room (sized 9 feet by 4 feet, seriously) for 10 bucks, had dinner, and crashed. It was VERY hot along the coast - inlands of Central American countries get much cooler with their elevation, and I wasn't in San Jose any more.
My plan to catch a 7 am ferry, freshly baked bread and OJ in tow, was thwarted by the fact that there WAS NO 7am ferry. Schedules changed for the holy week, and I was left twiddling my thumbs until the 9am ferry. By this point, I wasn't feeling so great. I began to feel like traveling was getting the best of me, and I felt stiff and weary. I napped and read on the hour-long ferry ride, felt even wearier as I disembarked, and caught a bus to the town of Cobáno. My bus continued to Montezuma, so I needed to transfer to head to Santa Teresa. The vessel for travel was continually getting to be lower quality, yet the fares continued to rise. After awaking at 5:20, I made it to S. Teresa around 1:00. Then I couldn't find my hostel. Famished (no lunch), I had to snag some food before I undertook my search in earnest. My weariness was only worsening, and the added strain of digestion seemed to make things even tougher. But I finally did find my hostel, about a 13 minute walk from any of the stuff of interest in the town. I immediately collapsed in my bed.
The plan was to spend half of Sunday and all of Monday in Santa Teresa, hit the beach a bit, read, sample the restaurants, and hopefully meet some people worth meeting before leaving early Tuesday for my next location. But I ended up alternating sleeping with reading and eating; that's about all I could manage. The folks sharing my room were nice, and I spent about an hour and a half on the beach with them, but by the time I'd been up and about enough to eat, I had to lay back down again. A pitiable existence.
On top of that, the bus I was planning on taking at 7:15am Tuesday never came. The man at the hostel said based on my travel plans, even leaving that early wouldn't ave been early enough. I think he was full of it, but I found myself spending ANOTHER achy, downtrodden day in Santa Teresa, popping ibuprofen and watching 3:10 to Yuma. The one upshot to this was that Kristin and her roommates, traveling separately, were arriving that evening, and so I spent a good deal of time with them once they showed up.
I finally got on my way again Wednesday morning, after spending 2.5 days at the beach town, yet only 1.5 hours on the beach. 6am bus, lots of picking up people, and what should have been a two hour drive took us to the boat launch with just enough time to board the 9am ferry. Once back in Puntarenas, my remaining leg was a bus to Monteverde, near the dot curiously marked "Ciudad" on the above map. I got to Puntarenas with nearly 3 hours to kill before my 1:15 bus. Booooooring. I found the bus marked Monteverde, but it didn't look ready to go anywhere at 1:10. Turns out it wasn't ready at 1:30, either. It didn't leave until 2:30. At this point, I had long finished The Kite Runner and was well into my other book. I got a lot of reading done on this day.
But oh, when the bus started and we got out of the Puntarenas area and into the mountains, I was breathtaken by the landscapes. Costa Rica is the most beautiful country I have been to. Even in the midst of dry season, the rolling, somewhat lumpy mountains are just such a singular sight, covered in places by rich forest. The temperature dropped, and although half the bus ride was on terrible gravel road, that bus ride ended up being the highlight of my trip. I was refreshed to arrive in Monteverde, in a beautiful hotel, with crisp wind and traces of rain in the air, eager to salvage what I could from my time up there, having lost a full day of time in that location. Little did I know that bad news was awaiting me...
Stay tuned for Part II of Aaron's misadventure in Costa Rica! It might not be as bland and step-by-step as this part!
Friday, March 19, 2010
...working with dangling modifiers
Dangling and misplaced modifers can be a really funny grammar topic to cover, because of the inherent humor of confusion. For those of you who don't know what I mean by dangling and misplaced modifiers, allow me to give you an example:
Sam screamed at the barking dog in his underwear.
The phrase "in his underwear" is the misplaced modifier here. Is Sam wearing underwear? Is the dog wearing Sam's underwear? Is the dog inside Sam's underwear AS Sam's wearing it? It's hilarious. You can have some real fun drawing misplaced and dangling modifiers in class to understand just how they can be misunderstood. "I saw the beautiful couch peeking through the window." Who's peeking? The couch? These sentences need to be rewritten to clarify their meanings.
We covered this this quarter in my class. It appeared on the exam my students took yesterday. Sam and his dog even appeared. Some kids figured out how to fix it: "Sam, in his underwear, screamed at the barking dog." Some kids just haven't gotten this concept yet: " Sam the barking dog in his underwear screamed." Some kids have been clueless all year, in more ways than just this: "San scraned at the dog en his undewer." (I teach 11th graders, remember.) One girl fixed it, made the meaning clear, but it wasn't the meaning I was expecting:
"Sam screamed because he has a barking dog in his underwear."
Full marks.
Edit: Another gem: the sentence to be corrected read, "William nearly earned 1000 lempiras when he sold his paintings." "Nearly earned" indicates that he came close to earning money, but he did not earn money. "Earned nearly" means he earned perhaps 990 lempiras, and is the correction I was looking for. This bright girl REALLY switched things up, but unfortunately didn't make the necessary correction:
"When William sold his pants, he nearly earned 100 lempiras."
Sam screamed at the barking dog in his underwear.
The phrase "in his underwear" is the misplaced modifier here. Is Sam wearing underwear? Is the dog wearing Sam's underwear? Is the dog inside Sam's underwear AS Sam's wearing it? It's hilarious. You can have some real fun drawing misplaced and dangling modifiers in class to understand just how they can be misunderstood. "I saw the beautiful couch peeking through the window." Who's peeking? The couch? These sentences need to be rewritten to clarify their meanings.
We covered this this quarter in my class. It appeared on the exam my students took yesterday. Sam and his dog even appeared. Some kids figured out how to fix it: "Sam, in his underwear, screamed at the barking dog." Some kids just haven't gotten this concept yet: " Sam the barking dog in his underwear screamed." Some kids have been clueless all year, in more ways than just this: "San scraned at the dog en his undewer." (I teach 11th graders, remember.) One girl fixed it, made the meaning clear, but it wasn't the meaning I was expecting:
"Sam screamed because he has a barking dog in his underwear."
Full marks.
Edit: Another gem: the sentence to be corrected read, "William nearly earned 1000 lempiras when he sold his paintings." "Nearly earned" indicates that he came close to earning money, but he did not earn money. "Earned nearly" means he earned perhaps 990 lempiras, and is the correction I was looking for. This bright girl REALLY switched things up, but unfortunately didn't make the necessary correction:
"When William sold his pants, he nearly earned 100 lempiras."
Monday, March 15, 2010
...as a bubbling puddle of melted flesh and skin
It reached 97 degrees inside my classroom today. I finally took a thermometer so I could know EXACTLY how ungodly hot it is. Just knowing it's ungodly is not enough. I needed to know exactly. This is completely ridiculous. I was as warm as I care to be by the time I got on the bus in the morning. It was 80 degrees before 8 o'clock.
Not only is the heat unbearable, but it's fairly unreasonable to expect students to absorb lessons on allegories and dangling modifiers when they're more focused on avoiding heat stroke.
The rest of this week is all half days for quarter exams, and then there's one full week before Holy Week, which is a full week off. Once we return from Holy Week, our days will be shortened. we get out of school at 1:30, at which point today my room was only around 93 degrees. Beautiful.
I cannot function. It's simply too hot. This is awful.
Not only is the heat unbearable, but it's fairly unreasonable to expect students to absorb lessons on allegories and dangling modifiers when they're more focused on avoiding heat stroke.
The rest of this week is all half days for quarter exams, and then there's one full week before Holy Week, which is a full week off. Once we return from Holy Week, our days will be shortened. we get out of school at 1:30, at which point today my room was only around 93 degrees. Beautiful.
I cannot function. It's simply too hot. This is awful.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
...wishing forced happy birthdays
This post was first written and published in March (I believe) of 2010. I was pressured by administration to remove it in 2012. 5 years later, the underlying feelings still exist, and so I'm reuploading it since I have nothing to worry about from administrative pressures nor does anyone read this blog any more. It remains one of my favorite posts I've written for this blog.
Doña Berta is International School's matriarch. She founded the school and is the superintendent. Today I received this e-mail from my principal (Doña Berta's daughter-in-law):
"Today is Doña Berta's birthday. Her email is ____________ if you want to send her a note."
O...K? I don't think I've explained the family-business, kiss-the-ring mentality that really pervades the atmosphere of this school, making me view this message as much more comical than my readers might. Allow me to clarify: IST IS indeed a family business. Doña Berta founded the school, her architect husband designed the buildings, and her children and in-laws populate the upper echelons of the school hierarchy. IST, while a private, Christian institution, is also a FOR-PROFIT school, at the same time as being one of the most expensive schools in the country, (I might add that teachers here make around 500 dollars a month). Admittedly, it's also one of the best schools in the country (a fact that frightens me so much about the quality of education in this country, but that is another post altogether), but the sheer amount of revenue coming in from tuition for the over 1000 students here simply must outweigh the amount paid to us teachers and the even lower-paid cleaning women and maintenance men. I have not seen Doña Berta's house, but I hear it is breathtaking.
Now, I know that teachers aren't renowned for the size of their paychecks, even more in a third-world country, and that as someone who created the institution, Doña Berta deserves to enjoy some dividends. But Doña Berta has not even been around the school since Christmas - she's spent almost the entire time in Miami. Again, there are familial things I know nothing of going on, but still, no superintendent would take two and a half months away from their post in any school system I'd met before this year. And yet there's this sense of reverence around Doña Berta which I don't understand. With focus on family-first staffing, making money rather than ensuring increasing quality of education (family members are not always the most qualified to develop curriculum or whatever else they do in their air-conditioned offices all day), I as a teacher feel very lost in the shuffle.
So I won't be sending any birthday greetings today.
Doña Berta is International School's matriarch. She founded the school and is the superintendent. Today I received this e-mail from my principal (Doña Berta's daughter-in-law):
"Today is Doña Berta's birthday. Her email is ____________ if you want to send her a note."
O...K? I don't think I've explained the family-business, kiss-the-ring mentality that really pervades the atmosphere of this school, making me view this message as much more comical than my readers might. Allow me to clarify: IST IS indeed a family business. Doña Berta founded the school, her architect husband designed the buildings, and her children and in-laws populate the upper echelons of the school hierarchy. IST, while a private, Christian institution, is also a FOR-PROFIT school, at the same time as being one of the most expensive schools in the country, (I might add that teachers here make around 500 dollars a month). Admittedly, it's also one of the best schools in the country (a fact that frightens me so much about the quality of education in this country, but that is another post altogether), but the sheer amount of revenue coming in from tuition for the over 1000 students here simply must outweigh the amount paid to us teachers and the even lower-paid cleaning women and maintenance men. I have not seen Doña Berta's house, but I hear it is breathtaking.
Now, I know that teachers aren't renowned for the size of their paychecks, even more in a third-world country, and that as someone who created the institution, Doña Berta deserves to enjoy some dividends. But Doña Berta has not even been around the school since Christmas - she's spent almost the entire time in Miami. Again, there are familial things I know nothing of going on, but still, no superintendent would take two and a half months away from their post in any school system I'd met before this year. And yet there's this sense of reverence around Doña Berta which I don't understand. With focus on family-first staffing, making money rather than ensuring increasing quality of education (family members are not always the most qualified to develop curriculum or whatever else they do in their air-conditioned offices all day), I as a teacher feel very lost in the shuffle.
So I won't be sending any birthday greetings today.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
...finally realizing an easy way to get photos up here
Sheesh. Took me long enough. Anything I load onto facebook has a URL I can link to. I'll have to share more pictures soon.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
...making juice of lemon.
A quote from a one page paper:
"If life gives you lemon, make of them juice of lemon."
Right on.
"If life gives you lemon, make of them juice of lemon."
Right on.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
...but I haven't been healthy.
On Tuesday afternoon, I was feeling kinda bad. It had been a hot day, and I had forgotten to pack my lunch, so I blamed my fatigue on those two factors and used my free last period to lie down in the air-conditioned teacher's lounge. I was planning on going to dinner, so when I got home I ate a little something to just get my strength back up and lay down again for 45 minutes before heading out. When I got to dinner, despite having had nothing but a bowl of cereal, 4 Oreos and half a canned peach all day, I couldn't eat more than 10 bites because my stomach started feeling rather lousier. After a bit of shopping, we got in a taxi to head home. I was dropped off from the taxi about 4 blocks from my house. I made it two before I had to set my bags down and vomit.
I hate vomiting. Doing it on the side of the road doesn't help any.
A nice man helped me carry my bags the remaining way home, and I managed to catch LOST on TV, but I went to bed immediately after that.
I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, slowly coming to the realization that I wasn't going to get out of this without puking again. I just had to coax my body into it. Immediately upon finishing the second bout, the diarrhea began. (Did I mention this bathroom escapade was happening with no power, as well?) When I had another bout of diarrhea in the night, I knew I would not be at work the next day.
This was a fortunate timeline to have to miss school, as the 11th graders were going on a spiritual retreat this particular Wednesday. I was supposed to be one of the chaperones, but my absence would not nearly be missed on this day like on any other day. And I didn't have to worry about sub plans.
So I stayed home, lying low, watching TV, bumming the Internet. I was quite positive this would be a passing thing, and 'round the end of the school day I'd be able to get down to some much needed work. It didn't work like this. I continued to feel crappy, no pun intended, all day. And the following night.
By the time Thursday came around, I felt well enough to go to school, but I was thankful we still had about a class' worth of movie to watch, since I didn't feel up to actually running a full-blown class. I had more digestional problems throughout the day, and could do little more than lie down and watch a movie when I got home.
Friday was similar. I have never had such a bout of diarrhea before in my life. Finally on Friday I went to the school doctor and got a prescription, and some hydration salts to dissolve in my water. Painful gas felt like it was tearing up my insides.
Yesterday morning, my insides finally felt somewhat normal. The diarrhea persisted somewhat, but I felt okay. This was very fortunate, as I had been looking forward to a Valentine's dinner all week, and I was in a state to go and completely enjoy it.
As of this writing, I'm still not entirely through the woods. I feel much, much better, and I'm actually capable of doing work, but the prescription finally seems to be doing what my body could not by itself. I'm down a full roll of toilet paper, but I watched 4 movies in the last 3 days, and I'm actually feeling well, so God is good.
I hate vomiting. Doing it on the side of the road doesn't help any.
A nice man helped me carry my bags the remaining way home, and I managed to catch LOST on TV, but I went to bed immediately after that.
I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, slowly coming to the realization that I wasn't going to get out of this without puking again. I just had to coax my body into it. Immediately upon finishing the second bout, the diarrhea began. (Did I mention this bathroom escapade was happening with no power, as well?) When I had another bout of diarrhea in the night, I knew I would not be at work the next day.
This was a fortunate timeline to have to miss school, as the 11th graders were going on a spiritual retreat this particular Wednesday. I was supposed to be one of the chaperones, but my absence would not nearly be missed on this day like on any other day. And I didn't have to worry about sub plans.
So I stayed home, lying low, watching TV, bumming the Internet. I was quite positive this would be a passing thing, and 'round the end of the school day I'd be able to get down to some much needed work. It didn't work like this. I continued to feel crappy, no pun intended, all day. And the following night.
By the time Thursday came around, I felt well enough to go to school, but I was thankful we still had about a class' worth of movie to watch, since I didn't feel up to actually running a full-blown class. I had more digestional problems throughout the day, and could do little more than lie down and watch a movie when I got home.
Friday was similar. I have never had such a bout of diarrhea before in my life. Finally on Friday I went to the school doctor and got a prescription, and some hydration salts to dissolve in my water. Painful gas felt like it was tearing up my insides.
Yesterday morning, my insides finally felt somewhat normal. The diarrhea persisted somewhat, but I felt okay. This was very fortunate, as I had been looking forward to a Valentine's dinner all week, and I was in a state to go and completely enjoy it.
As of this writing, I'm still not entirely through the woods. I feel much, much better, and I'm actually capable of doing work, but the prescription finally seems to be doing what my body could not by itself. I'm down a full roll of toilet paper, but I watched 4 movies in the last 3 days, and I'm actually feeling well, so God is good.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
...for another year
I'm becoming more confident I'll be able to make the decision to return here next year. This semester has started quite well, and I've come to truly appreciate the community down here. The people are awesome. I still don't necessarily love the natives, and I think that's always going to be a struggle for me. I still have plenty of frustrations with the school, but so do a lot of other people, and it's a source of solidarity. Considering my options for next year, I could stay here, where I will have a large number of fellow returning teachers, a fairly intentional community, and a year of the position already under my belt, or I could try to find a job somewhere that isn't West Michigan (I'm just thinking realistically), where I have little to no connection to other people, and be going through a first year of a course again. Many of my colleagues down here need to consider paying off student loans and whatnot, which impacts their decisions; fortunately, I have no monetary considerations hanging over my head back in the States, and moving back would in fact probably make me feel less secure financially. At any rate, West Michigan is really the only place I think would suit me more given my situation than Honduras, and W. MI just doesn't seem plausible right now. I'll keep eyes peeled for other job opportunities, but things really seem to be aligning back in the Honduras direction.
That's certainly something I'd never have expected as of last November. God is wild.
I'm enjoying teaching To Kill a Mockingbird more than anything else so far, and it helps that my students have been most responsive to it, as well. I have still been struggling with procrastination, unable to spur myself to getting ahead. I need to, as my parents are coming down in three weeks, and at that point, I will be beginning a new book and will have to have sub plans ready and all of that so that I can enjoy the time with Dad and Carol.
I've been getting to know my students more. I rode home from a soccer game with one student and her dad, and had a good conversation. Some students come in before, during, or after school to talk. We've been sharing various things in class because of journal entries relating the book to their own lives. I'm very glad that this is the case; it shows me that my students are willing to let me participate in their lives, and that amount of trust is a real gift.
However, I'm suddenly faced with the sometimes awkward position of too much trust. One of my students just today came in to talk, among other things, about her problems with drinking over the last few months. She had gotten quite out of control with it, and realized she still was feeling unfulfilled, so she's fortunately realized drinking is not the way to go. On Monday, in a not-so-small-group discussion during chapel, several students in my group asked me about my opinions on premarital sex and its sinfulness - not asking hypothetically, mind you, but because I'm confident 60 percent of my 11th graders have had it. I'm realizing just how more...debauched, for lack of a better word - these students' lives are than mine ever has been, and I'm struggling with the idea of being a role model, when I haven't, in my six extra years of life, had to deal with hardly anything they deal with. You'd think having been upstanding throughout basically all of my life would equip me well to deal with these questions, but it really hasn't.
Not to mention, despite their increasing trust in sharing things with me, the majority of my students pay me very little mind in or out of class. Being talked to outside of class is a humorous interaction. A conversation about a low grade is as effective as talking to air - if you fail the year, you just take the recuperation exam during the summer and you're all set. A class discussion about improper use of the word "gay" is entirely undermined at the end by the student who says, "But Mr., in the culture down here, it's not bad," which is utter bullshit (it is bad, it's just as derogatory a term and just as misused as in the States) and just a sign of general unwillingness to ever consider change - the biggest frustration I have with Honduras. Any suggested shortcoming in life down here is just pegged as "cultural" and thus irreversible. After all, who is an outsider like me to claim that something is wrong with a culture I'm not even a part of?
And even despite these frustrations, the frequent feelings of my own futility, for some reason it seems I'll come back. I don't exactly understand it myself.
That's certainly something I'd never have expected as of last November. God is wild.
I'm enjoying teaching To Kill a Mockingbird more than anything else so far, and it helps that my students have been most responsive to it, as well. I have still been struggling with procrastination, unable to spur myself to getting ahead. I need to, as my parents are coming down in three weeks, and at that point, I will be beginning a new book and will have to have sub plans ready and all of that so that I can enjoy the time with Dad and Carol.
I've been getting to know my students more. I rode home from a soccer game with one student and her dad, and had a good conversation. Some students come in before, during, or after school to talk. We've been sharing various things in class because of journal entries relating the book to their own lives. I'm very glad that this is the case; it shows me that my students are willing to let me participate in their lives, and that amount of trust is a real gift.
However, I'm suddenly faced with the sometimes awkward position of too much trust. One of my students just today came in to talk, among other things, about her problems with drinking over the last few months. She had gotten quite out of control with it, and realized she still was feeling unfulfilled, so she's fortunately realized drinking is not the way to go. On Monday, in a not-so-small-group discussion during chapel, several students in my group asked me about my opinions on premarital sex and its sinfulness - not asking hypothetically, mind you, but because I'm confident 60 percent of my 11th graders have had it. I'm realizing just how more...debauched, for lack of a better word - these students' lives are than mine ever has been, and I'm struggling with the idea of being a role model, when I haven't, in my six extra years of life, had to deal with hardly anything they deal with. You'd think having been upstanding throughout basically all of my life would equip me well to deal with these questions, but it really hasn't.
Not to mention, despite their increasing trust in sharing things with me, the majority of my students pay me very little mind in or out of class. Being talked to outside of class is a humorous interaction. A conversation about a low grade is as effective as talking to air - if you fail the year, you just take the recuperation exam during the summer and you're all set. A class discussion about improper use of the word "gay" is entirely undermined at the end by the student who says, "But Mr., in the culture down here, it's not bad," which is utter bullshit (it is bad, it's just as derogatory a term and just as misused as in the States) and just a sign of general unwillingness to ever consider change - the biggest frustration I have with Honduras. Any suggested shortcoming in life down here is just pegged as "cultural" and thus irreversible. After all, who is an outsider like me to claim that something is wrong with a culture I'm not even a part of?
And even despite these frustrations, the frequent feelings of my own futility, for some reason it seems I'll come back. I don't exactly understand it myself.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
...and finally dealing with water problems
All year, we three guys in Casa Blanca sort of half-smirked as we heard of problem after problem in other houses throughout the first half of the year.
Let me make it clear: Casa Blanca is a sweet house. Centralized location in relation to everybody else, good size, large kitchen, and apart from a toilet that consistently leaks into the bowl, fully functioning everything. Sure, we aren't the biggest of houses, but then, we only have three people. We are the closest house to the grocery store, second closest to local dining favorite Tacos y Mas, quickest access to the taxi stops.
Other houses have termites or ants (or cats fighting on their roof, or people running across their roof at night(?)), are just ridiculously far from everything but school, which we hardly have to walk to anyway, have had issues with their water tanks malfunctioning and leaving them only with water on the three or four days a week that city water is available, or any combination thereof. We Casa Blancans simply lived our lives of convenience, never worrying about water for showers or laundry, never sweeping termite dust off the floor, really only having to be aware of our lifestyle on the day when the cleaning lady comes. Sure, our TV conked out a few months back, but when it came to essentials, life was easy.
But no more. Two of the three days so far this week, we've found ourselves without water. Apparently our water tank is now malfunctioning as well, and I am at school unshowered. It's gross. Hopefully someone from the school will be around soon to check it out.
At least yesterday we had a brand-new TV waiting for us when we got home from school! Now I don't have to worry about the possibility of missing LOST when it starts up again on ABC Feb. 2, 8/7 Central. Boy, my LOST obsession is going to take up a bunch of my time.
On a slightly unrelated note, on Monday I inadvertently spilled a small amount of coffee on my computer keyboard. I immediately turned the computer upside down, let it drain, dabbed it up, and then one of the school tech guys brought up a vacuum cleaner and sucked (hopefully) any remaining coffee up and out of the computer. It's been working ever since and through the whole ordeal, so I think I'm in good shape, praise the Lord. I don't know what I'd do if I lost this computer.
Let me make it clear: Casa Blanca is a sweet house. Centralized location in relation to everybody else, good size, large kitchen, and apart from a toilet that consistently leaks into the bowl, fully functioning everything. Sure, we aren't the biggest of houses, but then, we only have three people. We are the closest house to the grocery store, second closest to local dining favorite Tacos y Mas, quickest access to the taxi stops.
Other houses have termites or ants (or cats fighting on their roof, or people running across their roof at night(?)), are just ridiculously far from everything but school, which we hardly have to walk to anyway, have had issues with their water tanks malfunctioning and leaving them only with water on the three or four days a week that city water is available, or any combination thereof. We Casa Blancans simply lived our lives of convenience, never worrying about water for showers or laundry, never sweeping termite dust off the floor, really only having to be aware of our lifestyle on the day when the cleaning lady comes. Sure, our TV conked out a few months back, but when it came to essentials, life was easy.
But no more. Two of the three days so far this week, we've found ourselves without water. Apparently our water tank is now malfunctioning as well, and I am at school unshowered. It's gross. Hopefully someone from the school will be around soon to check it out.
At least yesterday we had a brand-new TV waiting for us when we got home from school! Now I don't have to worry about the possibility of missing LOST when it starts up again on ABC Feb. 2, 8/7 Central. Boy, my LOST obsession is going to take up a bunch of my time.
On a slightly unrelated note, on Monday I inadvertently spilled a small amount of coffee on my computer keyboard. I immediately turned the computer upside down, let it drain, dabbed it up, and then one of the school tech guys brought up a vacuum cleaner and sucked (hopefully) any remaining coffee up and out of the computer. It's been working ever since and through the whole ordeal, so I think I'm in good shape, praise the Lord. I don't know what I'd do if I lost this computer.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
...where everything is meaningless
The only reason I put that as my title is because of Ecclesiastes. I actually mean nothing by it.
"Then I realized that it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given him - for this is his lot. Moreover, when God gives any man wealth and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accept his lot and be happy in his work - this is a gift of God. He seldom reflects on the days of his life, because God keeps him occupied with gladness of heart."
-Ecclesiastes 5:18-20
"Then I realized that it is good and proper for a man to eat and drink, and to find satisfaction in his toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given him - for this is his lot. Moreover, when God gives any man wealth and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accept his lot and be happy in his work - this is a gift of God. He seldom reflects on the days of his life, because God keeps him occupied with gladness of heart."
-Ecclesiastes 5:18-20
Sunday, January 10, 2010
...so I ought to make use of my time down here
I've been in the country fro just over six days now, and the days have been fairly packed. I've managed to fit in a lot of "extracurriculars," as it were. I've watched a few movies, played a good number of games (including Settlers of Catan last night and Ultimate Frisbee this afternoon), eating out at a wide variety of restaurants and with a good number of people, and I've actually been quite active, exercising at least 5 times. I completed grading my exams, and although I have a lot of journals to get through this evening, then plan my lessons for the week. I'm doing my best to simply enjoy life down here however I can, and I really do enjoy many of the things I have been doing.
It's clear to me that school should not run my life, and I haven't really ever let it run my life while I've been down here - I'm no workaholic by a long shot - but last semester I didn't really do a ton constructive when I was avoiding my work. I don't expect to do much more work this semester each week, though an improvement in keeping on top of things would be a much-needed improvement all-around, yet in the time I'm not doing work I want to live a better life, be more myself and do things worth doing rather than spend hours a day on the internet. I won't let guilt for not doing my work keep me from doing things outside of the house. I still need to crack down while I'm at the house - even more so, because I hope to spend less time at the house in general. This will be mentally healthier for me, no doubt, and I'm also working on being physically healthier as well, hence 5 physically active periods in 6 days. I just gotta keep this up. It allows me to stay optimistic.
I made a list of lifestyle changes and improvements I want to maintain. I won't list them all, but exercise figures largely into it, as does communicating with home (hence this blog post, actually), and even something like cooking at least one big, good meal that moves out of the realm of rice and beans or pasta per week. I guess they resemble new year's resolutions, but my impetus for them wasn't the new year as much as the fact that I'm starting an even longer stay in Honduras than my last one, and I don't want a longer time to send me even further in the dumps than last time.
I'm keeping the option of a second year down here open. I would really like to be able to be in a place where I can complete my commitment, though I have no qualms about breaking the commitment if I think I'd be healthier back home. Frankly, though, the job market looks no more promising this year than last year, and plenty of people I'm actually growing to love will certainly be down here. I do know that having a community around me is something that will help me thrive, and I'll have one ready-made in Honduras next year while no school in the States I know of yet could promise me that from where I'm standing now.
Anyway, I'm trying to live a better life and while many of the things that got me down in the past months are still around, I'm just going to try to counteract them and not let them figure so much into my life as a whole. So there. Now I have to tackle one of those things - grading journals.
It's clear to me that school should not run my life, and I haven't really ever let it run my life while I've been down here - I'm no workaholic by a long shot - but last semester I didn't really do a ton constructive when I was avoiding my work. I don't expect to do much more work this semester each week, though an improvement in keeping on top of things would be a much-needed improvement all-around, yet in the time I'm not doing work I want to live a better life, be more myself and do things worth doing rather than spend hours a day on the internet. I won't let guilt for not doing my work keep me from doing things outside of the house. I still need to crack down while I'm at the house - even more so, because I hope to spend less time at the house in general. This will be mentally healthier for me, no doubt, and I'm also working on being physically healthier as well, hence 5 physically active periods in 6 days. I just gotta keep this up. It allows me to stay optimistic.
I made a list of lifestyle changes and improvements I want to maintain. I won't list them all, but exercise figures largely into it, as does communicating with home (hence this blog post, actually), and even something like cooking at least one big, good meal that moves out of the realm of rice and beans or pasta per week. I guess they resemble new year's resolutions, but my impetus for them wasn't the new year as much as the fact that I'm starting an even longer stay in Honduras than my last one, and I don't want a longer time to send me even further in the dumps than last time.
I'm keeping the option of a second year down here open. I would really like to be able to be in a place where I can complete my commitment, though I have no qualms about breaking the commitment if I think I'd be healthier back home. Frankly, though, the job market looks no more promising this year than last year, and plenty of people I'm actually growing to love will certainly be down here. I do know that having a community around me is something that will help me thrive, and I'll have one ready-made in Honduras next year while no school in the States I know of yet could promise me that from where I'm standing now.
Anyway, I'm trying to live a better life and while many of the things that got me down in the past months are still around, I'm just going to try to counteract them and not let them figure so much into my life as a whole. So there. Now I have to tackle one of those things - grading journals.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
...once again, and this time for longer
I have returned to Honduras. I suppose that is what some may call a triumph in itself, but it might be more a lack of making any decision than anything. I hardly thought about my job at IST at all while in West Michigan. I have no problem with that - it means I'm enjoying unadulterated time in the area I'd grown to long for so much over the past 4 months - but I've mostly been avoiding a lot of things about my job, including whether it's where I should be, for too long, and this has led to many of my problems. Anyway, I'm here, so that's that.
School starts on Thursday, and I have a LOT to do in the time between. I shan't bore you with specific details, but plenty of wrapping up from last quarter as well as all of my preparation for the coming quarter. I don't even know what classes I'll be having on Thursday, though, since the revamped math curriculum is bound to throw everything out of whack, and while it shouldn't bother or change the way I operate, for some reason it does. I wish the school were quicker on informing us of major changes, like schedule changes, and it's this aspect of the school, I think, that makes me tend to not give my all. I think I tend to live up to the standard I see in my environment, and since I don't see IST living up to a high standard, I'm able to live with my own failure to produce. (This is one factor among MANY for my problems down here).
I arrived safely and with little hassle - from home to "home" it was a voyage of just under 26 hours:
Hour 0 (12:00pm EST, Sunday): leave my folks' house in Hamilton, saying good-bye to my brother, sis-in-law, and adorable nephew. Dad and Carol are riding along.
Hour .75: arrive in Grand Rapids, where a gathering of Project Neighborhood people from my year and the two surrounding years are eating lunch and I'm able to see many people who were extremely important in my senior year of college.
Hour 1.75: leave said gathering.
Hour 4.5: arrive at the Detroit airport, 2.5 hours before my flight, because recent terrorism attempts are liable to make waits for security unbearably long.
Hour 5: pass through the last of security. Hmm, that was easy. Now I have two hours to kill.
Hour 7.25: board the plane in Detroit.
Hour 10.5: land in Ft. Lauderdale. Discover that my plane to Honduras, which should leave at hour 11.75, won't be leaving until hour 13.25 for some unknown reason. Meet up with my roommate Al, who flew his first leg from Chicago. We kill time in the terminal, helped by the free (but unreliable) wireless internet provided by Ft Lauderdale's airport.
Hour 13.25 (1:15 am EST, Monday): Board the plane in Ft. Lauderdale. This flight was the low point of the trip - middle seat, no leg room, already tired by no sleep possible.
Hour 16.25 (3:15 CST): Land in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. It takes about 45 minutes to go through customs (Hour 17), but there's nothing we can do as it's the middle of the night and the first bus for Tegus leaves at 6:30 (Hour 19.5). So we find some benches to take a nap on.
Hour 18.75: catch an overpriced (by Honduras standards) taxi to the bus station.
Hour 19.5: the Hedman-Alas bus, which is quite luxurious, leaves the station. We stop once, but other than that, I manage to sleep and pass the time quite well.
Hour 25.5: Arrive at the terminal in Tegucigalpa. Catch a taxi to home.
Hour 26 (12:00 pm Monday, CST): Unlock the door to home.
It is worth noting that I read nearly 400 pages in this 26 hour period. I finished two books (one previously started) in this time. I'm quite proud of this.
The difference between this voyage (besides the 19-hour difference in duration and having been in Honduras before) and the first one back in August is that I drove into Tegucigalpa rather than flew. I was able to study the city as it peeked into view through the mountains, picking out landmarks, reorienting myself as I realized we're at the northwest corner of the city, and my house is on the south end, noticing the notable tall buildings and cathedrals (rather than being plopped into the middle of it by an airplane with no points of reference to begin with). When we got into the cab, I wasn't satisfied until I was able to pick out a familiar sight, and I'm pleased to report it didn't take very long.
I realize this means the city is familiar to me. That's something I've always taken pride and put a lot of effort into - getting to know my surroundings. Knowing how to get around. Knowing where things are in relation to each other. I have to pay attention in every cab ride, every bus ride, in case we take a different turn and a new street is presented to me, so I can add it to my metal radar. I like to know exactly where I'm going and how to get pretty much anywhere by having directions explained to me once. I've done this with Grand Rapids, with Holland, even back to the route between Battle Creek and Hamilton I rode along nearly every weekend for the first 16-18 years of my life. I've come a long way to doing it with Tegucigalpa. I wish I had my own vehicle, so I could just explore on my own, get lost in a colonia and then find myself again on the other side, having "conquered" another little corner of the city.
So while there's plenty I don't appreciate about Honduras, at least I have that to keep me wanting to leave my house. At least there's something that makes me want to get to know this place. I'll always have this urge, I feel, so that wherever I go, I have a reason to pay attention and value a place, if only for its geography. And with its ever-twisting road system and limited visibility around hills that pervade the landscape of the town, Tegus provides a unique challenge.
I've started reading a book I found in a used bookstore over Christmas break called The Longing For Home by Frederick Buechner. I hope to provide some of my own thoughts in response to it right here, giving the blog some needed purpose rather than just rehashing how I feel regarding my existence down here from time to time. It's at least give me a framework in which to rehash how I feel. I think it will be a very worthwhile read at this point in my life. More on that later, as this post has typically ballooned, and I need to buy groceries. And, you know, actually do my job.
School starts on Thursday, and I have a LOT to do in the time between. I shan't bore you with specific details, but plenty of wrapping up from last quarter as well as all of my preparation for the coming quarter. I don't even know what classes I'll be having on Thursday, though, since the revamped math curriculum is bound to throw everything out of whack, and while it shouldn't bother or change the way I operate, for some reason it does. I wish the school were quicker on informing us of major changes, like schedule changes, and it's this aspect of the school, I think, that makes me tend to not give my all. I think I tend to live up to the standard I see in my environment, and since I don't see IST living up to a high standard, I'm able to live with my own failure to produce. (This is one factor among MANY for my problems down here).
I arrived safely and with little hassle - from home to "home" it was a voyage of just under 26 hours:
Hour 0 (12:00pm EST, Sunday): leave my folks' house in Hamilton, saying good-bye to my brother, sis-in-law, and adorable nephew. Dad and Carol are riding along.
Hour .75: arrive in Grand Rapids, where a gathering of Project Neighborhood people from my year and the two surrounding years are eating lunch and I'm able to see many people who were extremely important in my senior year of college.
Hour 1.75: leave said gathering.
Hour 4.5: arrive at the Detroit airport, 2.5 hours before my flight, because recent terrorism attempts are liable to make waits for security unbearably long.
Hour 5: pass through the last of security. Hmm, that was easy. Now I have two hours to kill.
Hour 7.25: board the plane in Detroit.
Hour 10.5: land in Ft. Lauderdale. Discover that my plane to Honduras, which should leave at hour 11.75, won't be leaving until hour 13.25 for some unknown reason. Meet up with my roommate Al, who flew his first leg from Chicago. We kill time in the terminal, helped by the free (but unreliable) wireless internet provided by Ft Lauderdale's airport.
Hour 13.25 (1:15 am EST, Monday): Board the plane in Ft. Lauderdale. This flight was the low point of the trip - middle seat, no leg room, already tired by no sleep possible.
Hour 16.25 (3:15 CST): Land in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. It takes about 45 minutes to go through customs (Hour 17), but there's nothing we can do as it's the middle of the night and the first bus for Tegus leaves at 6:30 (Hour 19.5). So we find some benches to take a nap on.
Hour 18.75: catch an overpriced (by Honduras standards) taxi to the bus station.
Hour 19.5: the Hedman-Alas bus, which is quite luxurious, leaves the station. We stop once, but other than that, I manage to sleep and pass the time quite well.
Hour 25.5: Arrive at the terminal in Tegucigalpa. Catch a taxi to home.
Hour 26 (12:00 pm Monday, CST): Unlock the door to home.
It is worth noting that I read nearly 400 pages in this 26 hour period. I finished two books (one previously started) in this time. I'm quite proud of this.
The difference between this voyage (besides the 19-hour difference in duration and having been in Honduras before) and the first one back in August is that I drove into Tegucigalpa rather than flew. I was able to study the city as it peeked into view through the mountains, picking out landmarks, reorienting myself as I realized we're at the northwest corner of the city, and my house is on the south end, noticing the notable tall buildings and cathedrals (rather than being plopped into the middle of it by an airplane with no points of reference to begin with). When we got into the cab, I wasn't satisfied until I was able to pick out a familiar sight, and I'm pleased to report it didn't take very long.
I realize this means the city is familiar to me. That's something I've always taken pride and put a lot of effort into - getting to know my surroundings. Knowing how to get around. Knowing where things are in relation to each other. I have to pay attention in every cab ride, every bus ride, in case we take a different turn and a new street is presented to me, so I can add it to my metal radar. I like to know exactly where I'm going and how to get pretty much anywhere by having directions explained to me once. I've done this with Grand Rapids, with Holland, even back to the route between Battle Creek and Hamilton I rode along nearly every weekend for the first 16-18 years of my life. I've come a long way to doing it with Tegucigalpa. I wish I had my own vehicle, so I could just explore on my own, get lost in a colonia and then find myself again on the other side, having "conquered" another little corner of the city.
So while there's plenty I don't appreciate about Honduras, at least I have that to keep me wanting to leave my house. At least there's something that makes me want to get to know this place. I'll always have this urge, I feel, so that wherever I go, I have a reason to pay attention and value a place, if only for its geography. And with its ever-twisting road system and limited visibility around hills that pervade the landscape of the town, Tegus provides a unique challenge.
I've started reading a book I found in a used bookstore over Christmas break called The Longing For Home by Frederick Buechner. I hope to provide some of my own thoughts in response to it right here, giving the blog some needed purpose rather than just rehashing how I feel regarding my existence down here from time to time. It's at least give me a framework in which to rehash how I feel. I think it will be a very worthwhile read at this point in my life. More on that later, as this post has typically ballooned, and I need to buy groceries. And, you know, actually do my job.
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