I just got back from watching "Sweeney Todd, Demon Barber of Fleet Street". I enjoyed it. It was a dark comedic thing; the depiction of London was as gray as could be, without a hint of sunshine, until Mrs. Lovett's daydream about marrying mad Mr. T. In spite of many throats graphically cut and blood sprayed in all directions, Johnny Depp's performance was as brilliant as ever and he sings pretty well, too. I doubt I will ever get tired of him as an actor. The few interviews with him that I've seen have been much less than brilliant, but I could care less about his personal life or opinions so I don't hold those few dreary moments against him. (Not much of a fan then, am I?)
It's not, though, a movie for kids. As I said, throats graphically cut and blood sprayed in all directions, even by special effects...these might cause some nightmares...think "Edward Scissorhands" with an attitude. In fact, those of us who have seen "Edward Scissorhands" will recognise the hair right away.
The only thing I didn't like about the movie was the ending. Mr. T is killed by a kid. Throat cut with his own razor, and simply bleeds to death with his dead wife (whom he's just discovered that he's killed) in his lap. I suppose that's life, though, and death. Most of us don't go out with a bang. We just go. No happy ending for this killer, no matter how he amazed us with his singing voice. In spite of that, I want the dvd when it comes out.
Feb 23, 2008
The next crochet project
This is my next crochet project. My copy of Interweave Crochet FINALLY arrived and I fell in love with this shawl as soon as I saw it. Mine, of course will turn out differently, since I cannot leave a pattern alone and make it as it is written, at least after the first time I use the pattern.
A pattern is really more for inspiration and guidance than for following to the letter, in my own mind.
A pattern is really more for inspiration and guidance than for following to the letter, in my own mind.
What do you think? Could it be fun? It COULD be fun!!!
Adventures in Celeste Land
Celeste's troubles continue...from a broken heart to otitis...and we had an adventure on the beach!
Following the announcement of Gallo's impending "domestic arrangement", I took Celeste to the park to run off some of the stresses and frustrations that a sled dog can feel while living in a small flat with no yard. While we were there, we met another husky dog, who was about 5 years old. He was gorgeous, with a full coat of black hair, but absolutely no inclination to play. The woman who was with him said that he was 5 years old and now doesn't ever play. He goes many places with her, but is quite stoic and calm in all things. I hope the day never comes that Celeste doesn't want to play at least a little bit.
Then we met the most wonderful Irish Setter gal, who played and ran the legs right off Celeste. Celeste normally is the dominant one in play, boxing with her front legs and doing a lot of chest-butting, but this setter was the dominant one last weekend. She played with Celeste till Ms. Blue Eyes was bushed, then pushed her to run and did her own bit of boxing. Celeste didn't know what to think! Who on earth was this skinny shot of red? Why didn't she ever wear down? Luckily, a chunky pit bull boy on a leash came by and Celeste ran for cover when the setter turned her attention to him. We took our leave and dragged ourselves home to sprawl on the floor of the apartment.
Then on Sunday, we went to the beach! La Tiza is a beautiful private beach, with a restaurant and pool up the hill, in case the water of the sea is too cold or too dirty or whatever. Celeste visited the ocean for the first time. But, oooo, that sneaky ocean water! While she was chasing a retreating wave, another bigger one came rolling in. Celeste disappeared momentarily, then leapt into O's arms for protection...just as another big wave arrived. They BOTH disappeared again.
The afternoon was spent walking on the sand, chasing bug and sticks, tormenting other visitors, but never NEVER going near the water again. In spite of staying out of the water, Celeste developed an ear infection after her beach weekend and is at the vet's office as I am writing this.
And we passed a milestone...Celeste rode all the way to the beach and back, in the car, without puking a drop! Her hair is nearly all shed out, too, leaving her with a silky soft silver and black summer coat. She's gorgeous and nicely-behaved and, finally, a pleasure to ride with in the car. Celeste is growing up. She's not the crabby and demanding little princess that she had planned to be. She's learned to heel while on the leash, sit when we come to a stop, leave people alone unless invited to leap in their arms, and she's learned that home is the best place for any little girl to be.
The bad news is that we did all this without thinking of taking the camera.
Following the announcement of Gallo's impending "domestic arrangement", I took Celeste to the park to run off some of the stresses and frustrations that a sled dog can feel while living in a small flat with no yard. While we were there, we met another husky dog, who was about 5 years old. He was gorgeous, with a full coat of black hair, but absolutely no inclination to play. The woman who was with him said that he was 5 years old and now doesn't ever play. He goes many places with her, but is quite stoic and calm in all things. I hope the day never comes that Celeste doesn't want to play at least a little bit.
Then we met the most wonderful Irish Setter gal, who played and ran the legs right off Celeste. Celeste normally is the dominant one in play, boxing with her front legs and doing a lot of chest-butting, but this setter was the dominant one last weekend. She played with Celeste till Ms. Blue Eyes was bushed, then pushed her to run and did her own bit of boxing. Celeste didn't know what to think! Who on earth was this skinny shot of red? Why didn't she ever wear down? Luckily, a chunky pit bull boy on a leash came by and Celeste ran for cover when the setter turned her attention to him. We took our leave and dragged ourselves home to sprawl on the floor of the apartment.
Then on Sunday, we went to the beach! La Tiza is a beautiful private beach, with a restaurant and pool up the hill, in case the water of the sea is too cold or too dirty or whatever. Celeste visited the ocean for the first time. But, oooo, that sneaky ocean water! While she was chasing a retreating wave, another bigger one came rolling in. Celeste disappeared momentarily, then leapt into O's arms for protection...just as another big wave arrived. They BOTH disappeared again.
The afternoon was spent walking on the sand, chasing bug and sticks, tormenting other visitors, but never NEVER going near the water again. In spite of staying out of the water, Celeste developed an ear infection after her beach weekend and is at the vet's office as I am writing this.
And we passed a milestone...Celeste rode all the way to the beach and back, in the car, without puking a drop! Her hair is nearly all shed out, too, leaving her with a silky soft silver and black summer coat. She's gorgeous and nicely-behaved and, finally, a pleasure to ride with in the car. Celeste is growing up. She's not the crabby and demanding little princess that she had planned to be. She's learned to heel while on the leash, sit when we come to a stop, leave people alone unless invited to leap in their arms, and she's learned that home is the best place for any little girl to be.
The bad news is that we did all this without thinking of taking the camera.
Feb 14, 2008
Young love, dashed...
Well, the inevitable has happened...Last month we had Celeste spayed and this month her one and only true love, Galo the beagle, is being forced into an arranged marriage. Galo - noble, chunky, stalwort fellow that he is - is taking it all in stride with the stoicism of the older (three years old) man. Celeste is crying and moaning in her sleep. She found out about the situation while we were on the bike path...Galo was escorting the maid on the bike path this evening when we met him. The maid delivered the shocking news and, shortly afterward, Celeste retired to her crate crying softly into her water dish. Poor thing. So young to have her heart broken. Who knew, with all the free dog love on the streets of Lima, that there would be an arranged marriage on the not-so-distant horizon?
Poor Celeste. Will she recover? Will she find a new love or continue to worship Galo from a short distance (the other side of the bike path)? The rottweiler this afternoon was SOOO aggressive, so angry...why are all the good ones already taken?
On the upside, there are still all those women wearing interesting perfumes and carrying grocery bags full of intriguing goodies, all to be sniffed furtively as they pass on the sidewalk!
Feb 12, 2008
Book MEME
This one is a Book Meme, and I've been tagged by IntheMud at the Life In The Mud! Here are the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.
1. Okay...the nearest book - The Shell Seekers, By Rosamunde Pilcher.
2. Open the book to page 123 - yup.
3. Find the fifth sentence: "I've been dreading telling you."
4. Post the next three sentences: "Just shocked. So sudden." Her hand went out to grope for a chair, found one.
5. Tag five people.
I'm going to cheat here, and say that if you've come here and read this, you've been tagged. Find that nearest book and post away!
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.
1. Okay...the nearest book - The Shell Seekers, By Rosamunde Pilcher.
2. Open the book to page 123 - yup.
3. Find the fifth sentence: "I've been dreading telling you."
4. Post the next three sentences: "Just shocked. So sudden." Her hand went out to grope for a chair, found one.
5. Tag five people.
I'm going to cheat here, and say that if you've come here and read this, you've been tagged. Find that nearest book and post away!
Feb 11, 2008
And the "MWAH" award goes to...
I just got a "MWAH" award from Inthemud! I'm tickled pink about it! Now I have some people here that deserve a big fat "MWAH" from me:
La Gringa
Greenlee
Woolyworks
The Wild Tomato
Raniknits
Maggie
JC
Whenever I get on the computer, I go straight to these blogs. I can't wait to see what they've posted!
Feb 10, 2008
Smile!
Click here to see two of the most beautiful smiles I've seen in a long time. The one on the left is Gammy, resident of Triangle Cross Ranch and felt-maker extraordinaire, and the other is my sister, Suzzanne aka Woolyworks, who is extraordinary and magical in her own right. Things like this make me homesick and teary, misty, wistful, and they make me bawl like a dad-gum baby.
More smiles please!
More smiles please!
Feb 8, 2008
A Day in My Life
I wrote about a typical day in my life yesterday...here it is, and I'll try to embellish it in the next few days with photos.
The alarm goes off at 5:15 This morning, and 15 minutes later, the Celeste alarm goes off. I'm warm and comfy in bed, but the dog needs to go out. We live just off a very busy four-lane throughfare, so Celeste (ignorant of wild Peruvian traffic) cannot go outside off the leash. And she needs to blow off some of that steam and stink that she accumulated during the night, so out we go to the bike path. If we get out there before 6:30, traffic will be minimal and we won't have to dodge cars to cross the street. Fifteen minutes later, she's done her business and we've both run a block or two. Back to the apartment building and upstairs to the second floor. She goes into her crate to eat her breakfast and I'm in the shower.
After a shower, I put on the tea kettle and make a quick breakfast. O snoozes obliviously until the tea kettle whistles and he smells something cooking. I have a mug of tea and get my clothes pressed for work. I throw them on, pull my hair into a pony tail, gather up my book bag and head out the door by 7 am. O continues eating. Ciao, baby. See you this afternoon.
On the street, I cross the 4-laner and catch a "combi". That's what they call mini-vans that have been outfitted with 4 rows of bench seats set so close that your knees are around your ears. It's 15 cents to go from Pachecutec to Cuba Ave. Sometimes so many people are crowded into the combi that some can't sit down and the cobrador (who take your money, yells out the window where the combi route goes, and opens and closes the door) can't close the door and uses his own body in place of the door to keep passengers from falling out while the van is moving. And traffic here in Lima is so crazy. Salaverry is a 4-lane highway, but between taxies, busses, combis, and passenger cars, it is often 6 or 7 lanes at any given time. Horns constantly blow, turn signals are a waste on most cars, because the people don't use them. Usually someone waggles a finger out a window and that's good enough. Traffic lights are only respected if there's a policeman at the corner. Sometimes it's better just to keep my eyes on the floor, especially when drivers perform that incredibly common Latin American feat of making a left-hand turn from the far right lane in front of cars that are continuing straight ahead. I have a near stroke every time I witness it, especially if I'm in the vehicle that's doing the illegal turn.
The bus rockets the length of Salaverry Avenue to Cuba and I climb out on the corner to walk the rest of the way to the institute where I teach. I arrive at the main entrance of CIVIME (Centro de Idiomas de la Virgen de las Mercedes) at 7:15 and get up to my classroom. Class starts at 7:30. This month, I'm teaching the final cycle in the 30-month series of a North American English course in the mornings. CIVIME is almost half a city block of Buildings that began as two-story buildings in a square with a patio in the center of the square. After 30 years, they have added 2 more stories onto buildings that should have been renovated several years ago. Luckily, there have been no catastrophic disasters to test the integrity of the buildings. I'm hoping we don't put a foot through the dry-rotted spots in the floors of the second story of Building D while I'm working here. My students arrive and we get started.
Class includes (usually) some vocabulary practice, a little grammar, several writing exercises, and some repetitious pronunciations. In order to be sure that the students understand everything that I'm presenting, I ask them to produce verbal examples of the grammar points, use the vocabulary, and use everything in conversation. I also include additional material that I bring from home, because this course is from the US military, and tends to get a little boring, if you're not into military life. Omar the puppet has yet to make his appearance in my daily classes, but we often produce short texts and narrations about him. Improvisation is included at the end of the class - almost anything to keep their interest and keep them talking - and then class ends at 9. I'm out of there a few moments later and downstairs to check on any news from management and say hi to my friends.
One of my friends is Pedrito, an English instructor and native of Peru, who tells anyone who will listen that he is a "near-native speaker." Although he's never been outside of Peru, he often starts a conversation with, "When I was in London," or "When I was in Manhattan..." Pedrito is a little bit effeminate and usually makes his entrance into a room with books under one arm and the other arm raised at the elbow with the limp wrist effect, kind of like a chicken with one weak wing. Or a butterfly flying along weakly with one tattered wing.
As I leave CIVIME, I usually grab a breakfast sandwich in the little cafeteria, then head out the door to catch another bus home. By the time I arrive home at 9:30, O has already gone to work and Celeste is asking to go out again. I change my clothes, grab Celeste, and we're out to the bike path again to do her business. Then to the open market to pay a couple of bills, get some vegetables, maybe a couple of pieces of chicken and a chewbone for Celeste. We're home by 10:30 and put away the few groceries I've bought. I toss a load of laundry into the washer and set it to work. Celeste's hair is everywhere in the apartment this time of year, so that has to be swept up, then she goes into her crate while I mop and the floor dries. While the floor dries, I knit on a sock and get the heel turned...YEAY! Then Celeste comes back out, I get the dishes done, and clean the rest of the apartment. We go back outside to play for awhile, then in to make lunch at noon.
Today lunch was a sandwich of herbed bread with fried eggplant, cheese, and tomato sauce; a salad of lettuce, tomato, and cubes of fresh cheese; and a small bottle of imported German beer. After lunch, I prepare my lesson plan for the aftenoon class, which is the same course as the morning class, and then at 2pm, Celeste and I go outside once more. At 2:30, I have to get ready for class again, so I change into my long skirt and a blouse again, look like a teacher again, and gather up my stuff. This evening I also have a conversation class at 6, so I take some extra material with me.
At 3:15, O comes home and I'm just about on my way out the door. I usually take a combi to Cuba Ave. once more, but today, O offers to drive me to work. I arrive 10 minutes early, get 10 copies of materials for the conversation class and get a bottle of water at the cafeteria. On my way to my classroom, out the corner of my eye, I see a little butterfly with a tattered wing fluttering along behind me. It's Pedrito. He tells me that he's planning to attend my conversation class at 6 pm. "When I was in Manhattan..." He smiles a big wide smile and bats his eyes at me. Okay. Flutter along boy, flutter along.
Pedrito is one of the funniest people I have ever met. Funny in more than just "haha" funny. He talks continuously, often not making any sense at all, but feeling that he's getting his fair share of attention from whomever happens to be in the room. While he's talking he waves a hand limply and smiles broadly, batting his eyes, then sashays from the room making a dramatic exit. I can't tell if what I suspect is true, because he has asked several of the female teachers who work there to marry him. But I suspect...I suspect...he's just a little more than a feminine man. One never knows, though.
The other men who teach there laugh at/with Pedrito good-naturedly. They like him, mostly, and don't want to hurt his feelings, so they never allude to his femininity, but tease him when he starts talking about the last time he was in Manhattan. The joke is that "hato" is slang for home, so when he says "Manhattan", they say, "Mi hato" (my home) over and over. If you say it fast enough it could sound something like "Manhattan". "Oh, really, Pedrito? Mi hato? The last time you were in mi hato?"
At 4:15, my afternoon class is in session and only one student shows up on time. Later, one more arrives, then another, and another. That's the thing about Peru - everyone arrives fashionably late. It's irritating to me, but I'm getting used to it some. The class today is pretty small, but they all participate and we have fun. We joke about the rat that ran out of the cafeteria yesterday. Everyone screamed and three maintenance men chased the rat around the compound with brooms, like something out of the Keystone Kops. The screams turned into laughter and everyone came away thinking it was some practical joke for Carnival. I have one woman in class that failed last month with a different instructor. I know she's in my class this month because I have very few students that fail and she's hoping that maybe I'll do something different and Rosario will pass with flying colors. I think I've just been very lucky so far. I've had really good students in the year I've been teaching here.
My 4:15 class flies by and we're finished at 5:45. My conversation class starts at 6 pm, so I go to the next classroom to get set up. Last Saturday, I only had 2 people come, so I'm kind of apprehensive about the way the class will go. Pedrito flutters in at 6 and then out again when more people begin to trickle in, until I've got a room stuffed full of students and we're dragging desks in from other rooms. We begin with a handout about manners, which seemed like a relatively boring topic, but turned into a huge discussion about what Peru does, culturally, that is a turn-off to the rest of the world, like the lack of punctuality across the board, spitting on the sidewalk, peeing in public (in the park, on the street, on the sidewalk, etc) which is a very common practice among Peruvian men, shoving one's way through a crowded city bus to get out the door before the bus pulls away from the bus stop, and throwing trash and garbage in the streets and sidewalks.
With each topic brought up, students were asked how they would handle it if they were confronted with a situation. They all had their strong opinions. Then each one had to put themselves in the shoes of the person who was dropping trash on the street, peeing on the sidewalk, or habitually showing up late to work. So interesting to see the way they understood why things are the way they are, and so interesting to see that they want to change things, but are hobbled by their cultural and familial inhibitions. This class also flew by and officially ended at 7:30, but many students stayed a bit longer to chew on the ends of their discussions. One student stayed to tell me how scared he was to mispronounce his words and talked nearly 30 minutes. Two more asked for a technical manual to be translated, but I had to refer them to another instructor who actually does translations. Then I caught a bus from Cuba Ave down to Salaverry, and from there, I took a combi home to Pachecutec. Whew! Home by 8:30!
It really is funny that we seem to plan our days around the dog. And I'm sure she plans her day around what she wants us to do, heh. She is involved with every activity, from making breakfast to creating a lesson plan. Right there, supervising everything from the floor, sometimes planting a paw on my foot or laying her chin on the coffee table. The only thing she can't do is help with the sweeping and mopping, and that irritates her. Oh, and she's not allowed to be left free and unsupervised in the house while we're at work, but I think she's used to it by now. But, Celeste was yelling to be let out of her crate when I walked in the door. I changed my clothes again and we went out to the bike path again, on the grass...Celeste is one of those Peruvians that pees in public. We ran and played a little while, then came inside to check e-mail and WHAT? Write about a day in my life? So here I am, writing. O has come home from work at 9:30 pm, and gone straight to bed. Celeste has gone out once more and is now in bed. I need to finish here and go to bed. Tomorrow morning comes early and I'll have be working till 10:15 pm tomorrow night...
Good Lord, this seems long.
The alarm goes off at 5:15 This morning, and 15 minutes later, the Celeste alarm goes off. I'm warm and comfy in bed, but the dog needs to go out. We live just off a very busy four-lane throughfare, so Celeste (ignorant of wild Peruvian traffic) cannot go outside off the leash. And she needs to blow off some of that steam and stink that she accumulated during the night, so out we go to the bike path. If we get out there before 6:30, traffic will be minimal and we won't have to dodge cars to cross the street. Fifteen minutes later, she's done her business and we've both run a block or two. Back to the apartment building and upstairs to the second floor. She goes into her crate to eat her breakfast and I'm in the shower.
After a shower, I put on the tea kettle and make a quick breakfast. O snoozes obliviously until the tea kettle whistles and he smells something cooking. I have a mug of tea and get my clothes pressed for work. I throw them on, pull my hair into a pony tail, gather up my book bag and head out the door by 7 am. O continues eating. Ciao, baby. See you this afternoon.
On the street, I cross the 4-laner and catch a "combi". That's what they call mini-vans that have been outfitted with 4 rows of bench seats set so close that your knees are around your ears. It's 15 cents to go from Pachecutec to Cuba Ave. Sometimes so many people are crowded into the combi that some can't sit down and the cobrador (who take your money, yells out the window where the combi route goes, and opens and closes the door) can't close the door and uses his own body in place of the door to keep passengers from falling out while the van is moving. And traffic here in Lima is so crazy. Salaverry is a 4-lane highway, but between taxies, busses, combis, and passenger cars, it is often 6 or 7 lanes at any given time. Horns constantly blow, turn signals are a waste on most cars, because the people don't use them. Usually someone waggles a finger out a window and that's good enough. Traffic lights are only respected if there's a policeman at the corner. Sometimes it's better just to keep my eyes on the floor, especially when drivers perform that incredibly common Latin American feat of making a left-hand turn from the far right lane in front of cars that are continuing straight ahead. I have a near stroke every time I witness it, especially if I'm in the vehicle that's doing the illegal turn.
The bus rockets the length of Salaverry Avenue to Cuba and I climb out on the corner to walk the rest of the way to the institute where I teach. I arrive at the main entrance of CIVIME (Centro de Idiomas de la Virgen de las Mercedes) at 7:15 and get up to my classroom. Class starts at 7:30. This month, I'm teaching the final cycle in the 30-month series of a North American English course in the mornings. CIVIME is almost half a city block of Buildings that began as two-story buildings in a square with a patio in the center of the square. After 30 years, they have added 2 more stories onto buildings that should have been renovated several years ago. Luckily, there have been no catastrophic disasters to test the integrity of the buildings. I'm hoping we don't put a foot through the dry-rotted spots in the floors of the second story of Building D while I'm working here. My students arrive and we get started.
Class includes (usually) some vocabulary practice, a little grammar, several writing exercises, and some repetitious pronunciations. In order to be sure that the students understand everything that I'm presenting, I ask them to produce verbal examples of the grammar points, use the vocabulary, and use everything in conversation. I also include additional material that I bring from home, because this course is from the US military, and tends to get a little boring, if you're not into military life. Omar the puppet has yet to make his appearance in my daily classes, but we often produce short texts and narrations about him. Improvisation is included at the end of the class - almost anything to keep their interest and keep them talking - and then class ends at 9. I'm out of there a few moments later and downstairs to check on any news from management and say hi to my friends.
One of my friends is Pedrito, an English instructor and native of Peru, who tells anyone who will listen that he is a "near-native speaker." Although he's never been outside of Peru, he often starts a conversation with, "When I was in London," or "When I was in Manhattan..." Pedrito is a little bit effeminate and usually makes his entrance into a room with books under one arm and the other arm raised at the elbow with the limp wrist effect, kind of like a chicken with one weak wing. Or a butterfly flying along weakly with one tattered wing.
As I leave CIVIME, I usually grab a breakfast sandwich in the little cafeteria, then head out the door to catch another bus home. By the time I arrive home at 9:30, O has already gone to work and Celeste is asking to go out again. I change my clothes, grab Celeste, and we're out to the bike path again to do her business. Then to the open market to pay a couple of bills, get some vegetables, maybe a couple of pieces of chicken and a chewbone for Celeste. We're home by 10:30 and put away the few groceries I've bought. I toss a load of laundry into the washer and set it to work. Celeste's hair is everywhere in the apartment this time of year, so that has to be swept up, then she goes into her crate while I mop and the floor dries. While the floor dries, I knit on a sock and get the heel turned...YEAY! Then Celeste comes back out, I get the dishes done, and clean the rest of the apartment. We go back outside to play for awhile, then in to make lunch at noon.
Today lunch was a sandwich of herbed bread with fried eggplant, cheese, and tomato sauce; a salad of lettuce, tomato, and cubes of fresh cheese; and a small bottle of imported German beer. After lunch, I prepare my lesson plan for the aftenoon class, which is the same course as the morning class, and then at 2pm, Celeste and I go outside once more. At 2:30, I have to get ready for class again, so I change into my long skirt and a blouse again, look like a teacher again, and gather up my stuff. This evening I also have a conversation class at 6, so I take some extra material with me.
At 3:15, O comes home and I'm just about on my way out the door. I usually take a combi to Cuba Ave. once more, but today, O offers to drive me to work. I arrive 10 minutes early, get 10 copies of materials for the conversation class and get a bottle of water at the cafeteria. On my way to my classroom, out the corner of my eye, I see a little butterfly with a tattered wing fluttering along behind me. It's Pedrito. He tells me that he's planning to attend my conversation class at 6 pm. "When I was in Manhattan..." He smiles a big wide smile and bats his eyes at me. Okay. Flutter along boy, flutter along.
Pedrito is one of the funniest people I have ever met. Funny in more than just "haha" funny. He talks continuously, often not making any sense at all, but feeling that he's getting his fair share of attention from whomever happens to be in the room. While he's talking he waves a hand limply and smiles broadly, batting his eyes, then sashays from the room making a dramatic exit. I can't tell if what I suspect is true, because he has asked several of the female teachers who work there to marry him. But I suspect...I suspect...he's just a little more than a feminine man. One never knows, though.
The other men who teach there laugh at/with Pedrito good-naturedly. They like him, mostly, and don't want to hurt his feelings, so they never allude to his femininity, but tease him when he starts talking about the last time he was in Manhattan. The joke is that "hato" is slang for home, so when he says "Manhattan", they say, "Mi hato" (my home) over and over. If you say it fast enough it could sound something like "Manhattan". "Oh, really, Pedrito? Mi hato? The last time you were in mi hato?"
At 4:15, my afternoon class is in session and only one student shows up on time. Later, one more arrives, then another, and another. That's the thing about Peru - everyone arrives fashionably late. It's irritating to me, but I'm getting used to it some. The class today is pretty small, but they all participate and we have fun. We joke about the rat that ran out of the cafeteria yesterday. Everyone screamed and three maintenance men chased the rat around the compound with brooms, like something out of the Keystone Kops. The screams turned into laughter and everyone came away thinking it was some practical joke for Carnival. I have one woman in class that failed last month with a different instructor. I know she's in my class this month because I have very few students that fail and she's hoping that maybe I'll do something different and Rosario will pass with flying colors. I think I've just been very lucky so far. I've had really good students in the year I've been teaching here.
My 4:15 class flies by and we're finished at 5:45. My conversation class starts at 6 pm, so I go to the next classroom to get set up. Last Saturday, I only had 2 people come, so I'm kind of apprehensive about the way the class will go. Pedrito flutters in at 6 and then out again when more people begin to trickle in, until I've got a room stuffed full of students and we're dragging desks in from other rooms. We begin with a handout about manners, which seemed like a relatively boring topic, but turned into a huge discussion about what Peru does, culturally, that is a turn-off to the rest of the world, like the lack of punctuality across the board, spitting on the sidewalk, peeing in public (in the park, on the street, on the sidewalk, etc) which is a very common practice among Peruvian men, shoving one's way through a crowded city bus to get out the door before the bus pulls away from the bus stop, and throwing trash and garbage in the streets and sidewalks.
With each topic brought up, students were asked how they would handle it if they were confronted with a situation. They all had their strong opinions. Then each one had to put themselves in the shoes of the person who was dropping trash on the street, peeing on the sidewalk, or habitually showing up late to work. So interesting to see the way they understood why things are the way they are, and so interesting to see that they want to change things, but are hobbled by their cultural and familial inhibitions. This class also flew by and officially ended at 7:30, but many students stayed a bit longer to chew on the ends of their discussions. One student stayed to tell me how scared he was to mispronounce his words and talked nearly 30 minutes. Two more asked for a technical manual to be translated, but I had to refer them to another instructor who actually does translations. Then I caught a bus from Cuba Ave down to Salaverry, and from there, I took a combi home to Pachecutec. Whew! Home by 8:30!
It really is funny that we seem to plan our days around the dog. And I'm sure she plans her day around what she wants us to do, heh. She is involved with every activity, from making breakfast to creating a lesson plan. Right there, supervising everything from the floor, sometimes planting a paw on my foot or laying her chin on the coffee table. The only thing she can't do is help with the sweeping and mopping, and that irritates her. Oh, and she's not allowed to be left free and unsupervised in the house while we're at work, but I think she's used to it by now. But, Celeste was yelling to be let out of her crate when I walked in the door. I changed my clothes again and we went out to the bike path again, on the grass...Celeste is one of those Peruvians that pees in public. We ran and played a little while, then came inside to check e-mail and WHAT? Write about a day in my life? So here I am, writing. O has come home from work at 9:30 pm, and gone straight to bed. Celeste has gone out once more and is now in bed. I need to finish here and go to bed. Tomorrow morning comes early and I'll have be working till 10:15 pm tomorrow night...
Good Lord, this seems long.
Feb 4, 2008
Valentine socks
For my Valentine sock, I have chosen (drum roll please): the training sock
I hope it doesn't seem like I'm wimping out here. I went shopping for red sock yarn and found some bright and beautiful red, but after several tries and dropping stithes and all but throwing the lot out the window, I opted for the training sock. I'll still do them in a nice pinky red worsted weight yarn and with bigger needles, and maybe someone can wear them for Valentines Day (maybe Celeste!), but maybe they'll be completed and won't end up thrown across the room. I have about 3/4" in ribbing done and am hoping for the sock addiction to set in...
I hope it doesn't seem like I'm wimping out here. I went shopping for red sock yarn and found some bright and beautiful red, but after several tries and dropping stithes and all but throwing the lot out the window, I opted for the training sock. I'll still do them in a nice pinky red worsted weight yarn and with bigger needles, and maybe someone can wear them for Valentines Day (maybe Celeste!), but maybe they'll be completed and won't end up thrown across the room. I have about 3/4" in ribbing done and am hoping for the sock addiction to set in...
Feb 3, 2008
A Year in Socks
I've just joined "A Year In Socks" and am looking forward to learning to make socks. I hear how addicting they are, but have always been intimidated by DPNs. I've overcome my fear in the last little while by finishing hats on DPNs...so I think I'm almost ready to cast on my first pair of socks. I just need to decide on a pattern and go for it. I have some sock yarn in mind - alpaca hand dyed two ply yarn that we colored in November. The colorway is called "Pasture Berries" and I think it will work up into something gorgeous. I also have a skein of spring colors and a beautiful green. OH! And Bethy made a colorway that looks like a thunderstorm - I think that's what it's called, so I could make some thundercloud socks. Choices, choices...it's so hard to choose...
But thanks to Rani for inviting me to join the sock blog, and also for giving me a You Make My Day award! I'm so glad I can make someone's day!
But thanks to Rani for inviting me to join the sock blog, and also for giving me a You Make My Day award! I'm so glad I can make someone's day!
Feb 1, 2008
From Childhood
When I was a kid, I loved Beatrix Potter stories. That animals had stories to tell was not a foreign idea to me; after all, our farm animals had been talking to me all my life! So, look at this! This is a shot from Woolyworks on the family farm:
Jan 31, 2008
The Shell Seekers - Introduction
The Shell Seekers was originally written in 1984, published around 1987, and Ms. Pilcher was 64 years old at the time of writing. I have the 10-year anniversary edition, and she has made a few comments about the book. She alludes to the fact that it could have its roots buried somewhere in her own family and past. Lawrence Stern is a name that comes from a contemporary of her husband's stepfather...a real person quite removed, but in this story, a person of great importance.
Her publisher, she tells us, asked her to write a big, fat women's book; something that would be "a really good read, something people could really get their teeth into." So, Ms. Pilcher wrote about the times that she grew up in, she wrote about Britain and the social culture of the time. She wrote about families and the things that can tear them apart - greed, jealousy, self-victimization, and the need to acquire both social standing and material things. And along with all that, she wrote about love, men and women, and their human failings - all the things that make the world go round.
She also wrote in her introduction that she hoped some teenager might have had his or her fill of teen magazines and be ready for an adult book, something they could really dig into...and perhaps they would dig into her book and find it to be so much more than one of those glittery teen magazines full of heart throbs and kiddy fashion.
I have a twenty-one-year-old whom I think would love this story.
Her publisher, she tells us, asked her to write a big, fat women's book; something that would be "a really good read, something people could really get their teeth into." So, Ms. Pilcher wrote about the times that she grew up in, she wrote about Britain and the social culture of the time. She wrote about families and the things that can tear them apart - greed, jealousy, self-victimization, and the need to acquire both social standing and material things. And along with all that, she wrote about love, men and women, and their human failings - all the things that make the world go round.
She also wrote in her introduction that she hoped some teenager might have had his or her fill of teen magazines and be ready for an adult book, something they could really dig into...and perhaps they would dig into her book and find it to be so much more than one of those glittery teen magazines full of heart throbs and kiddy fashion.
I have a twenty-one-year-old whom I think would love this story.
Jan 28, 2008
The Shell Seekers
Today "The Shell Seekers" arrived at my door. It's been a long time since I read it - almost 14 years. When I opened the small box from Amazon.com, I know I squealed a bit; O looked sideways at me and asked, "What is it? What happened?" I replied to him that one of my favorite books of all time had arrived and he looked at it - then simply said "Oh."
Today, I can step into another time zone, with Penelope Keeling there at Podmore's Thatch. I hope it's a long, long read this time. The last time I read this book, I INHALED it, and then the sequel, September, too. This time, I intend to savor both of them. I'm hoping that my sister will join me in the reading, and I invite anyone else who has the notion to join here, too, and to post your thoughts about The Shell Seekers.
Today, I can step into another time zone, with Penelope Keeling there at Podmore's Thatch. I hope it's a long, long read this time. The last time I read this book, I INHALED it, and then the sequel, September, too. This time, I intend to savor both of them. I'm hoping that my sister will join me in the reading, and I invite anyone else who has the notion to join here, too, and to post your thoughts about The Shell Seekers.
Jan 25, 2008
Tai
These are photos of my beautiful girl and her loves: Raven (her black lab) and Chris, in that order I think...
Invasion of the body snatchers?
Well. It is here, just as I have known it was. It never really left, and I've felt the effects of it since it first arrived just after I returned to Peru from the US at the end of November. At first I thought it was something small and manageable, but then it morphed into more, although I didn't notice it before. I thought it was still small, but then it began to spread. Streptococcus is, luckily, a bacterium that can usually be taken care of by penicillin and its derivatives, provided treatment is early enough and long enough. Mine was neither early enough nor long enough. The doctors here only prescribe 5 days worth of antibiotics, which is not nearly long enough to do away with bacteria. That's only enough for the patient to begin to feel better. Then, usually the ill person runs out of money and can't afford to purchase more doses, so the weakened strain either runs its course or becomes resistent to antibiotics.
So my own little culture of strep migrated through the throat to the left side of my body, and established colonies just above the joints of the elbow, the hip, and the ankle, with the intent of taking over. The 5 day course of antibiotics was enough to get rid of the invaders in all but the ankle...and then 4 days ago, the throat started up again, the ankle flared up and turned a scary color, and I find myself insisting upon 10 full days of antibiotics. Don't hand me something to shut me up and get me out, unless it's a full 10 days worth of antibiotics that can do away with these damned bacterial squatters. After taking the antibiotics for 3 days now, the ankle is reduced in size, with the regular color returning to it, and the nose and throat, although the pain is gone, are producing massive coughing and other nasties that I envision as dead strep bodies being expelled after battle.
I've been tired, cranky, and miserable for the past 2 months, and finally, although I've been coughing my head off for the last couple of days, I can stand being on my feet for extended periods and ride home in the bus without feeling totally crappy. I have 7 days more of antibiotics to take, and by then, I hope that enough strep bacteria will have been thrown into barrels of boiling amoxicillin that the rest will either consent to leave or commit suicide by throwing themselves into the rush of oncoming white blood cells.
So my own little culture of strep migrated through the throat to the left side of my body, and established colonies just above the joints of the elbow, the hip, and the ankle, with the intent of taking over. The 5 day course of antibiotics was enough to get rid of the invaders in all but the ankle...and then 4 days ago, the throat started up again, the ankle flared up and turned a scary color, and I find myself insisting upon 10 full days of antibiotics. Don't hand me something to shut me up and get me out, unless it's a full 10 days worth of antibiotics that can do away with these damned bacterial squatters. After taking the antibiotics for 3 days now, the ankle is reduced in size, with the regular color returning to it, and the nose and throat, although the pain is gone, are producing massive coughing and other nasties that I envision as dead strep bodies being expelled after battle.
I've been tired, cranky, and miserable for the past 2 months, and finally, although I've been coughing my head off for the last couple of days, I can stand being on my feet for extended periods and ride home in the bus without feeling totally crappy. I have 7 days more of antibiotics to take, and by then, I hope that enough strep bacteria will have been thrown into barrels of boiling amoxicillin that the rest will either consent to leave or commit suicide by throwing themselves into the rush of oncoming white blood cells.
Jan 20, 2008
The Creation Of A Recipe
I've made a new recipe of garbanzo bean soup. Inspired by Capriel Pence's book, Bistro Soups and Sandwiches, I set out to replicate "Yellow Tomato and Garbanzo Bean Soup"...
Start with half a bag of dried garbanzo beans, soaked the morning in water. Capriel calls for a can of cooked garbanzo beans, but all there is in the kitchen is the dried ones, so after soaking for about 4 hours, pop them into a pot of water and set them on the stove to cook. Bring them to a boil, then go read your current novel till you smell burning beans in the kitchen. Cut off the fire and rinse the burnt beans under cool water. Transfer to a medium bowl and scrub out your cooking pot. Put a lot of water in the pot, and return the beans to the pot, too. Turn the fire on again under the beans, at a medium heat and take the dog out to pee.
When you return, cut up two over ripe roma tomatoes and toss them into the pot. Cut up some mushrooms that are beginning to smell and cook them in olive oil, then add to the cook pot with the beans and tomatoes. Cut up that extra chorizo sausage that you couldn't eat for lunch and toss it into the pot, too. Add a handful of rubbed dried oregano. Think about all those tomatoes you bought that are bound to go bad before you make a salad, and chop up three of them and throw them in with the beans mixture (that's 5 tomatoes total). Get a headache and pour yourself a glassful of white wine that's sweeter than you remembered. There's only about 1/2 cup left in the bottle, so dump that in with the beans, stir well, add a cube of chicken bouillon into the mix and stir well. Put on a cd of Fleetwood Mac. Simmer your beans until the Fleetwood Mac cd is finished. Start the cd again, sit down, and try a cup of your soup.
I just finished a cup of this, and Fleetwood Mac is singing "The Chain", Lindsey Buckingham is a little over the top, and I've also finished my glass of wine...it was too sweet, but the bean soup was good...though probably not what Capriel had in mind.
Start with half a bag of dried garbanzo beans, soaked the morning in water. Capriel calls for a can of cooked garbanzo beans, but all there is in the kitchen is the dried ones, so after soaking for about 4 hours, pop them into a pot of water and set them on the stove to cook. Bring them to a boil, then go read your current novel till you smell burning beans in the kitchen. Cut off the fire and rinse the burnt beans under cool water. Transfer to a medium bowl and scrub out your cooking pot. Put a lot of water in the pot, and return the beans to the pot, too. Turn the fire on again under the beans, at a medium heat and take the dog out to pee.
When you return, cut up two over ripe roma tomatoes and toss them into the pot. Cut up some mushrooms that are beginning to smell and cook them in olive oil, then add to the cook pot with the beans and tomatoes. Cut up that extra chorizo sausage that you couldn't eat for lunch and toss it into the pot, too. Add a handful of rubbed dried oregano. Think about all those tomatoes you bought that are bound to go bad before you make a salad, and chop up three of them and throw them in with the beans mixture (that's 5 tomatoes total). Get a headache and pour yourself a glassful of white wine that's sweeter than you remembered. There's only about 1/2 cup left in the bottle, so dump that in with the beans, stir well, add a cube of chicken bouillon into the mix and stir well. Put on a cd of Fleetwood Mac. Simmer your beans until the Fleetwood Mac cd is finished. Start the cd again, sit down, and try a cup of your soup.
I just finished a cup of this, and Fleetwood Mac is singing "The Chain", Lindsey Buckingham is a little over the top, and I've also finished my glass of wine...it was too sweet, but the bean soup was good...though probably not what Capriel had in mind.
Jan 19, 2008
Saturday ramblings
I had a pretty good class today. It was only the conversation, and one would think that would be the easy one. It should be a place where people can just chat, without worrying about homework or grammar all the time, where they can choose the topic and yammer to their heart's content. It should be a class where we have some fun and challenge ourselves or just take it easy and laugh. It IS all that, but wow...trying to get it started is a nightmare.
I try to make the class interesting and fun. Some days I have to all but turn handsprings to get people to participate. They seem to be content with letting me talk and talk and talk. If I did not insist that they participate, they would come every Saturday to listen to that nut-ball teacher from the U.S. talk her head off. They come with empty heads and just wait for me to fill them up with something. I bring "Omar" the boy puppet. I bring word games. I bring books on tape and cd, tv and radio shows on tape and cd. I bring conversation topics. The problem seems to be that they do not understand that there are two parts of a conversation. People also do not seem to remember how LISTENING is as much a part of communication as speaking is. The bottom line seems to be that if they are not the topic of the conversation, most people aren't interested. Hmmm.
But today, after only 45 minutes of coaxing, we got a spontaneous conversation going. Three of them, in fact! All about different topics, all mostly in English, and late comers happily joined in! What a relief! I turned my last handspring at 11:15 this morning and then the conversations began to flow! It was wonderful!
What really sucks is that next week, there will probably be a whole new group that comes and I'll have to start over again, talking till I'm blue in the face...with a side of handsprings.
Apparently the decision to have Celeste spayed is not a popular one amongst the friends and relatives. Each one bemoans the surgery. I found out last evening that nearly all of them were counting on a free blue-eyed puppy when Celeste inevitably got pregnant. They knew we wouldn't have space to raise a litter and would probably be desperate to place the pups as soon as possible, thereby practically guaranteeing a free dog for the kids. Maybe even more than one - one for the family and one to sell on the street somewhere. Hmmmm.
I have my own ideas about what a dog owner should do and what the owner's responsibility to the dog is. Celeste will never be a street dog. She will never live in a home where it is overly populated with dogs. People who do not have expertise in canine genetics and who do not have sufficient room to let them run and exercise freely should not engage in indiscriminant breeding (that would be me). And certainly there are enough unwanted dogs out there already! And here, there are enough dogs put out on the street during the day that there certainly will be indiscriminant breedings. What are people thinking when they kick the dog out on the sidewalk for the day? Hmmmm...
As I look at the jagged, 6-inch incision on Celeste's belly, I know she hurt for a while, and may still have some pain. I know it looks like I tried to gut my dog. I know it was an insult to her body and that I forced her into something I wouldn't want inflicted on me. But I still have this overwhelming feeling that I have to do the responsible thing. It will always be this way. I will never have an un-neutered dog, male or female.
My only regret is that Celeste has been dubbed "Lamperina", because of the lampshade collar she's wearing.
I've been on a time out from fiber for a little while, since I got strep. I still have pain in my left leg and some swelling, but it's better than it was. Maybe it will just take time to get over. But now, I'm ready to continue. I have almost finished Greenlee's skirt. I have a brown fleece dog in the works. I have probably enough white Celeste hair to make a life-sized fleece dog. The best thing is that I'm motivated again!
I try to make the class interesting and fun. Some days I have to all but turn handsprings to get people to participate. They seem to be content with letting me talk and talk and talk. If I did not insist that they participate, they would come every Saturday to listen to that nut-ball teacher from the U.S. talk her head off. They come with empty heads and just wait for me to fill them up with something. I bring "Omar" the boy puppet. I bring word games. I bring books on tape and cd, tv and radio shows on tape and cd. I bring conversation topics. The problem seems to be that they do not understand that there are two parts of a conversation. People also do not seem to remember how LISTENING is as much a part of communication as speaking is. The bottom line seems to be that if they are not the topic of the conversation, most people aren't interested. Hmmm.
But today, after only 45 minutes of coaxing, we got a spontaneous conversation going. Three of them, in fact! All about different topics, all mostly in English, and late comers happily joined in! What a relief! I turned my last handspring at 11:15 this morning and then the conversations began to flow! It was wonderful!
What really sucks is that next week, there will probably be a whole new group that comes and I'll have to start over again, talking till I'm blue in the face...with a side of handsprings.
Apparently the decision to have Celeste spayed is not a popular one amongst the friends and relatives. Each one bemoans the surgery. I found out last evening that nearly all of them were counting on a free blue-eyed puppy when Celeste inevitably got pregnant. They knew we wouldn't have space to raise a litter and would probably be desperate to place the pups as soon as possible, thereby practically guaranteeing a free dog for the kids. Maybe even more than one - one for the family and one to sell on the street somewhere. Hmmmm.
I have my own ideas about what a dog owner should do and what the owner's responsibility to the dog is. Celeste will never be a street dog. She will never live in a home where it is overly populated with dogs. People who do not have expertise in canine genetics and who do not have sufficient room to let them run and exercise freely should not engage in indiscriminant breeding (that would be me). And certainly there are enough unwanted dogs out there already! And here, there are enough dogs put out on the street during the day that there certainly will be indiscriminant breedings. What are people thinking when they kick the dog out on the sidewalk for the day? Hmmmm...
As I look at the jagged, 6-inch incision on Celeste's belly, I know she hurt for a while, and may still have some pain. I know it looks like I tried to gut my dog. I know it was an insult to her body and that I forced her into something I wouldn't want inflicted on me. But I still have this overwhelming feeling that I have to do the responsible thing. It will always be this way. I will never have an un-neutered dog, male or female.
My only regret is that Celeste has been dubbed "Lamperina", because of the lampshade collar she's wearing.
I've been on a time out from fiber for a little while, since I got strep. I still have pain in my left leg and some swelling, but it's better than it was. Maybe it will just take time to get over. But now, I'm ready to continue. I have almost finished Greenlee's skirt. I have a brown fleece dog in the works. I have probably enough white Celeste hair to make a life-sized fleece dog. The best thing is that I'm motivated again!
Jan 15, 2008
Forever innocent
Today's probably not Celeste's best day. She woke us up at 5 am this morning. Grrrr...I didn't want to play. So we went back to bed for an hour. Then she realized that she wasn't offered any food - at all. Hmmm...something's weird...she's usually offered food and she always exercises her pleasure at turning her nose up at it, until it becomes obvious that our breakfast is not going to be hers, and only then will she eat her dog food. But this morning I didn't offer her anything. I just let her play and then when it was time to go to work, she went back into her crate. She looked at me quizzically, and I went on to work.
When I returned from my morning class, at 9:30, I changed my clothes and we both bounced out the door. Off we went...to the veterinarian's office. She usually bounds into the office and leaps on whoever's closest, but today, she knew something was up. The office smelled different, looked different, the people were masked and gloved and gowned. Here came a technician she didn't know. He had a syringe in his hand and he gave her the shot like he was shooting a dart gun - from a distance and with a lot of force. Obviously, he was scared of her. She freaked out, but the woman who is a technician there took charge of Celeste and let me know I could pick her up at 6 pm this evening. That was the first time that Celeste wasn't just having a heyday with the people in the office, and basking in their adoration and attention. She actually wanted to go home with me. I was amazed. Don't worry Celeste. I'll be back this evening to take you home.
Señorita Celeste will always and forever be a señorita after today. No children, no lovers, no more hoards of street dogs peeing on the front door, no more security guys washing the door with vinegar to get rid of the urine odor of prospective male suitors who come to call. She will be forever sweet and innocent.
O nearly cried when I told him that today was Celeste's little surgery. We'll never have Siberian grandchildren...
When I returned from my morning class, at 9:30, I changed my clothes and we both bounced out the door. Off we went...to the veterinarian's office. She usually bounds into the office and leaps on whoever's closest, but today, she knew something was up. The office smelled different, looked different, the people were masked and gloved and gowned. Here came a technician she didn't know. He had a syringe in his hand and he gave her the shot like he was shooting a dart gun - from a distance and with a lot of force. Obviously, he was scared of her. She freaked out, but the woman who is a technician there took charge of Celeste and let me know I could pick her up at 6 pm this evening. That was the first time that Celeste wasn't just having a heyday with the people in the office, and basking in their adoration and attention. She actually wanted to go home with me. I was amazed. Don't worry Celeste. I'll be back this evening to take you home.
Señorita Celeste will always and forever be a señorita after today. No children, no lovers, no more hoards of street dogs peeing on the front door, no more security guys washing the door with vinegar to get rid of the urine odor of prospective male suitors who come to call. She will be forever sweet and innocent.
O nearly cried when I told him that today was Celeste's little surgery. We'll never have Siberian grandchildren...
Jan 14, 2008
We got hair
Yes we do. Celeste has begun to blow her coat, and I exactly WHY they call it "blowing the coat". It's because the hair blows all over the house! We have Celeste hair on the floor, on the sofa (hey, wait a minute - she's not allowed on the sofa, so what the...?), on the bed (not allowed on the bed, either), in the cupboards, in the fridge (what the...?), on the dining room table, and in the bathroom.
I've been combing and combing. She hates me for it. The metal comb tickles, I think, because I don't apply pressure. The bristled brush is completely ineffective, except around her face and ears. I've been collecting the hair and saving it for making a fleece dog. It's not long enough to spin, only about 1/2 inch long, but I think it could be needle felted into a nice tiny, flexible toy dog.
The rest of the hair, goes into the vacuum cleaner or the dust pan. Big fluffy wads of dirt and hair fill my trash can. When the recyclers (trash pickers) come to sift through the trash bags at night, they'll probably walk away with moustaches of Celeste hair.
I've been combing and combing. She hates me for it. The metal comb tickles, I think, because I don't apply pressure. The bristled brush is completely ineffective, except around her face and ears. I've been collecting the hair and saving it for making a fleece dog. It's not long enough to spin, only about 1/2 inch long, but I think it could be needle felted into a nice tiny, flexible toy dog.
The rest of the hair, goes into the vacuum cleaner or the dust pan. Big fluffy wads of dirt and hair fill my trash can. When the recyclers (trash pickers) come to sift through the trash bags at night, they'll probably walk away with moustaches of Celeste hair.
Jan 12, 2008
Mrs. Pollifax
I love Mrs. Pollifax. I discovered her by accident several years ago, when I was stalking a different book at the public library. She turned out to be such a refreshing change of pace for me that I was immediately drawn into her adventures. Who would have imagined that an elderly lady from New jersey, living in a tiny apartment with a couple of geraniums would turn international, globe-trotting spy and be such a fantastically fun read?
Mrs. Pollifax has 14 adventures...and I have read 3 of them. The Whirling Dervish in one of my favorites, so far. I may well have to invite Mrs. Pollifax to visit Peru this year.
Maybe the grass isn't greener on the other side
Today we talked about CHANGE in my conversation class. It was a hit. We went from discussing what we would change of our physical appearance in a free makeover to social and political change to what is so hard about changing. Why people do a lot of TALKING about change, but very little actual DOING. All the participants in the conversation talked about how terrible things are in Peru in general. The plight of the oppressed poor, the over-taxed middle class middle class, the greedy upper class, the uneducated, and the revolutionary students. We covered it all, I guess. Now it was time to go out and change the world from the safety of our classroom.
They were all for change, they said. Change was what Peru and the whole world needed. My question to them was, "Are YOU willing to sacrifice in order to bring about change?" Absolutely, they affirmed. Okay. I said, "In order to effect a change for the better, you must board an airplane bound for parts unknown. You must leave behind your life as you now know it. We don't know where we are going and we don't know what we'll do when we get there. All we know is that the world will be changed. Let's go right now."
Only two were willing to make that kind of change. Only two were willing to exchange the comfort of the known and familiar (no matter how miserable they thought it was) for a better, but uncertain future. Aha. Now we understood, hypothetically speaking, why those poor people in the Andes don't do something different than what they always do in the winter: witness their children and elders freezing to death for lack of a heat source in the house. Change is so scary that most people here would rather die in their beds than take the plunge and buy a stove to put in the house. The two who were willing to give up everything to effect a change called the others cowards.
To those two, I said "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence." They paused to ponder that. They hadn't thought of it before. They asked for clarification. Okay, I said.
"Imagine that I am in my modest home. My husband is a mechanic. I have a dog that barks all night. We live modestly, always on a budget. My husband walks to work to save a little bit more money through the month. I take care of my own house and yard.
The house next door is larger. The husband wears a suit to work. He takes a bus to work. The wife sits by the window until just before her husband comes home, but she never goes outside during the day. What a life of leisure she has, I think. How much more does he earn when he works at his job that requires a suit? I wonder. How nice to be able to ride the bus in comfort, instead of walking to scrape up that last dime. It must be great to be able to afford to hire someone to do the yard work.
I dream about what it must be like to live in that house next door, even though I've never been inside. I WISH, I WISH I could have a life like that. The more I wish, the less shiny my own little home seems. It looks almost shabby to me.
One day, I get my nerve up to knock on the door of the house next door. I've made a pie and I take it over to offer to the neighbor lady who lives in that big house that I dream about living in. The door opens. The husband pushes past me with a hurried and tense look on his face. I hear him shout to the driver that he has to get all the way across town by 8 am...could he step on it please? Wow - I'm glad my husband only has to walk 10 blocks to work. I see the wife coming to the door. She's got a black eye and an ugly yellow bruise on her cheek from some other day. She whispers that she never has company. She tells me that she ran into the bathroom door in the middle of the night last night. She's clumsy that way. I see a little tear travel the length of her cheek.
I find out, when I wake up at 2 am, that my dog is barking all night because he hears them fighting next door. She says too loudly that he isn't living up to his potential because he in only a receptionist at an office. The bus costs too much, but he works a long way from the house. The house is too expensive to keep. They fight about money, or the lack of it. She cries about broken promises and abandoned dreams. I hear a crash and I hear her high-pitched scream. A door slams and the lawn mower starts up. I peek out the window and see the husband pushing the mower around at 3 am.
My modest little house with my jeans-clad husband looks pretty good to me now."
My little group of conversationalists look at me. They are still willing to sacrifice to make their changes, but now they think about going into change with open eyes, at least on paper.
They were all for change, they said. Change was what Peru and the whole world needed. My question to them was, "Are YOU willing to sacrifice in order to bring about change?" Absolutely, they affirmed. Okay. I said, "In order to effect a change for the better, you must board an airplane bound for parts unknown. You must leave behind your life as you now know it. We don't know where we are going and we don't know what we'll do when we get there. All we know is that the world will be changed. Let's go right now."
Only two were willing to make that kind of change. Only two were willing to exchange the comfort of the known and familiar (no matter how miserable they thought it was) for a better, but uncertain future. Aha. Now we understood, hypothetically speaking, why those poor people in the Andes don't do something different than what they always do in the winter: witness their children and elders freezing to death for lack of a heat source in the house. Change is so scary that most people here would rather die in their beds than take the plunge and buy a stove to put in the house. The two who were willing to give up everything to effect a change called the others cowards.
To those two, I said "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence." They paused to ponder that. They hadn't thought of it before. They asked for clarification. Okay, I said.
"Imagine that I am in my modest home. My husband is a mechanic. I have a dog that barks all night. We live modestly, always on a budget. My husband walks to work to save a little bit more money through the month. I take care of my own house and yard.
The house next door is larger. The husband wears a suit to work. He takes a bus to work. The wife sits by the window until just before her husband comes home, but she never goes outside during the day. What a life of leisure she has, I think. How much more does he earn when he works at his job that requires a suit? I wonder. How nice to be able to ride the bus in comfort, instead of walking to scrape up that last dime. It must be great to be able to afford to hire someone to do the yard work.
I dream about what it must be like to live in that house next door, even though I've never been inside. I WISH, I WISH I could have a life like that. The more I wish, the less shiny my own little home seems. It looks almost shabby to me.
One day, I get my nerve up to knock on the door of the house next door. I've made a pie and I take it over to offer to the neighbor lady who lives in that big house that I dream about living in. The door opens. The husband pushes past me with a hurried and tense look on his face. I hear him shout to the driver that he has to get all the way across town by 8 am...could he step on it please? Wow - I'm glad my husband only has to walk 10 blocks to work. I see the wife coming to the door. She's got a black eye and an ugly yellow bruise on her cheek from some other day. She whispers that she never has company. She tells me that she ran into the bathroom door in the middle of the night last night. She's clumsy that way. I see a little tear travel the length of her cheek.
I find out, when I wake up at 2 am, that my dog is barking all night because he hears them fighting next door. She says too loudly that he isn't living up to his potential because he in only a receptionist at an office. The bus costs too much, but he works a long way from the house. The house is too expensive to keep. They fight about money, or the lack of it. She cries about broken promises and abandoned dreams. I hear a crash and I hear her high-pitched scream. A door slams and the lawn mower starts up. I peek out the window and see the husband pushing the mower around at 3 am.
My modest little house with my jeans-clad husband looks pretty good to me now."
My little group of conversationalists look at me. They are still willing to sacrifice to make their changes, but now they think about going into change with open eyes, at least on paper.
Jan 6, 2008
Chicken Dance
Last night, we went for dinner at the house of one of O's cousins. The cousin's name is Juan, but they call him Paco (I have no idea why). After a nice meal of pork chops, choclo, potatoes, and a side of shredded cabbage on it's salty way to becoming sauerkraut, they cranked up the music and began to dance in the living room. They are all from the Tumbes area, which is right up north, only 40 minutes from the Ecuadorian border. The music was Ecuadorian, and it all sounded pretty much the same to me even though they played several different pieces.
One thing that I always notice about ethnic Peruvian dances is that they all resemble something from the animal kingdom, in particular, birds. And most notably, chickens. I may just have an overactive imagination. This is going to sound terrible, but Paco reminded me of "Panchito", the Mexican charro rooster of Walt Disney's "Three Caballeros" cartoon. Paco dances with his chest thrown out, sway-backed with the rear-end stuck out (I could imagine long tail feathers sweeping back and forth), and employs fast, fancy footwork in a crazy-legged roosterly way. To top it all off, the women dance putteringly around the rooster with tiny mincing steps with a shimmy of the shoulders, clucking away to the strutting gallito. At the end of one particular piece, half the men in the room cheered Paco, crying "Que viva el gallo!" (long live the rooster!) Heh, I knew it all along. I'm not the only one who's been envisioning the strut around the hen house. Clara Cluck is still Panchito's girlfriend in European Disney comics where she is also called Chiquita. According to the "The Panchito Song." Panchito has relatives in Peru, Brazil, Mexico, El Salvador and even in Dallas, Texas. Maybe Paco is one of them!
The men in the room, however, had imagined that Paco resembled "Claudio", whom we know as "Foghorn Leghorn". I haven't figured out what Ms. Prissy's Spanish identity is. I do know that Tweety Bird is Piolin here in Peru, but Sylvester is still Silvestre.
One thing that I always notice about ethnic Peruvian dances is that they all resemble something from the animal kingdom, in particular, birds. And most notably, chickens. I may just have an overactive imagination. This is going to sound terrible, but Paco reminded me of "Panchito", the Mexican charro rooster of Walt Disney's "Three Caballeros" cartoon. Paco dances with his chest thrown out, sway-backed with the rear-end stuck out (I could imagine long tail feathers sweeping back and forth), and employs fast, fancy footwork in a crazy-legged roosterly way. To top it all off, the women dance putteringly around the rooster with tiny mincing steps with a shimmy of the shoulders, clucking away to the strutting gallito. At the end of one particular piece, half the men in the room cheered Paco, crying "Que viva el gallo!" (long live the rooster!) Heh, I knew it all along. I'm not the only one who's been envisioning the strut around the hen house. Clara Cluck is still Panchito's girlfriend in European Disney comics where she is also called Chiquita. According to the "The Panchito Song." Panchito has relatives in Peru, Brazil, Mexico, El Salvador and even in Dallas, Texas. Maybe Paco is one of them!
The men in the room, however, had imagined that Paco resembled "Claudio", whom we know as "Foghorn Leghorn". I haven't figured out what Ms. Prissy's Spanish identity is. I do know that Tweety Bird is Piolin here in Peru, but Sylvester is still Silvestre.
Jan 4, 2008
New old books and a pottery puzzle
I got a wave of nostalgia this afternoon, and ordered "September", by Rosamunde Pilcher. I remember reading it in the '90's and loved it. That one and The Shell Seekers were wonderful books. I took advantage of a gift certificate that I received for Amazon.com (thanks to Woolyworks!). Maybe next time I'll get The Shell Seekers.
I also bought "Little Heathens" because it sounded good:
From Publishers Weekly
Kalish's memoir of her Iowa childhood, set against the backdrop of the Depression, captures a vanished way of traditional living and a specific moment in American history in a story both illuminating and memorable. Kalish lived with her siblings, mother and grandparents-seven in all-both in a town home and, in warmer weather, out on a farm. The lifestyle was frugal in the extreme: "The only things my grandparents spent money on were tea, coffee, sugar, salt, white flour, cloth and kerosene." But in spite of the austere conditions, Kalish's memories are mostly happy ones: keeping the farm and home going, caring for animals, cooking elaborate multi-course meals and washing the large family's laundry once a week, by hand. Here, too, are stories of gossiping in the kitchen, digging a hole to China with the "Big Kids" and making head cheese at butchering time. Kalish skillfully rises above bitterness and sentiment, giving her memoir a clear-eyed narrative voice that puts to fine use a lifetime of careful observation: "Observing the abundance of life around us was just so naturally a part of our days on the farm that it became a habit." Simple, detailed and honest, this is a refreshing and informative read for anyone interested in the struggles of average Americans in the thick of the Great Depression.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From Booklist
This unpretentious yet deeply intelligent memoir of growing up on a central Iowa farm in the throes of the Great Depression radiates the joy of a vanished way of life as Kalish recounts what appear to contemporary eyes as unendurable deprivations. Those who share Kalish's midwestern farm background will immediately identify with her recollections of winter nights spent under layers of quilts in unheated bedrooms. Others for whom agrarian life is uncharted territory will learn both the harsh rigors of days governed by unforgiving work cycles and the irreproducible sensual pleasure of savoring a just-picked, sun-drenched, ripe strawberry or tomato. In prose that never yields to mawkish sentimentality, Kalish details the roles of family, religion, thrift, and education in her upbringing. The complexities of wash-day chores will bring up short those who know only today's appliances. Kalish's disquisition on outhouse etiquette will simply amaze those accustomed to their own bathrooms. Mark Knoblauch
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
I ordered the paperback version, but it won't arrive until May...not released yet. Hey! What if it coud be the Purple Coo spring or summer reading selection!?
If I knew how to spell out a sigh, I'd do it. I have a new puzzle to put together - as soon as I find some good epoxy. Celeste got to playing too wild this afternoon. The coffee table flew, the flowers flew, the vase flew into several pieces...and as soon as the vase hit the floor with that "I'm Broken" sound, Celeste flew into her crate without being asked. She KNEW she'd gone too far this time. She is resting comfortably in her safe haven and I am pondering shards of pottery. The flowers are still on the floor - I'm too pissed off to pick them up right now. At least they're fake and don't wilt or mash easily.
Jan 3, 2008
Dog About Town
This was one of the cutest mysteries I've read in a long time. Randolph, Labrador Retriever and detective extraordinaire, is quite the gentleman in black with a nose for sniffing out crime and "sidewalk patè".
Humor emerges...
Celeste has finally consented to have her picture taken without crawling into her crate, without the mad face, without cringing. She took a couple of minutes out of her busy, busy day to ham it up for the camera:
And just a couple of "co-pilot" photos. Even though she's way too big, she couldn't resist hopping up in my lap to help with the computer...
And just a couple of "co-pilot" photos. Even though she's way too big, she couldn't resist hopping up in my lap to help with the computer...
panetone
This is an example of panetone. It's a fruit cake, but not the usual nasty, dry fruit cake that comes in one of those Christmas tins. This is moist and flavorful and stands between 12 and 15 inches tall. I'll try to get a picture of our last panetone before we eat all of it...
Jan 1, 2008
A toast to the New Year
Whew! The New Year celebration is done. I stayed home on New Year's Eve, and watched a movie with Celeste. O went visiting his cousins, who came here to pick him up. I bowed out, blaming my still puffy ankle. Before they all went, we had a toast to the New Year with Peruvian champagne that we got in a gift basket at work - and it was absolutely the WORST champagne I've ever tasted. Thank heavens there were seven people to share the bottle. Each of us got a little bit of champagne in a flute, raised our glasses, cried "Salud!" and tossed back the champagne. I sipped mine and nearly choked on the sickeningly sweet taste, similar to alka-selzter-plus-cold-medicine. As I looked around the room, I noticed that they all had the same look on their faces - kind of a frozen smile with bulgy eyes that relaxed once the nasty stuff was swallowed. Then everyone grinned and talked up a storm.
I've never had sweet champagne before. I've also never had expensive champagne, either, and O told me that this was cheap champagne. Vino espumado...sparkling wine. The cheap champagne that I tasted in the US had a flavor similar to beer.
Happily, we have paneton for breakfast tomorrow - YUM! O is a paneton addict, but we forgot about the one that's sitting on top of the cupboard. I like paneton, too, but I don't think I'm an addict yet. It is good, though.
I've never had sweet champagne before. I've also never had expensive champagne, either, and O told me that this was cheap champagne. Vino espumado...sparkling wine. The cheap champagne that I tasted in the US had a flavor similar to beer.
Happily, we have paneton for breakfast tomorrow - YUM! O is a paneton addict, but we forgot about the one that's sitting on top of the cupboard. I like paneton, too, but I don't think I'm an addict yet. It is good, though.
Dec 30, 2007
Dec 28, 2007
purple moebius scarf
One purple moebius scarf plus a blue-eyed Siberian siren equals pure drama...
It took a little doing to get comfortable...
And we are always our own harshest critic...the mirror is sooo unforgiving!
But in the end, there is a little babushka in every girl!
been tagged...
Okay, so I was tagged by The Goddess in the Groove (who I must link back to) to write a letter to my 13-year-old self. And, I must tag 5 more people to inflict this upon, whom I will list below the letter. Gads, I don't even like to think about my early teens...
Dear me at 13,
If you can overcome your shyness, please read this. Shyness CAN be overcome! Don't worry! You'll do fine in your life. Things don't always go according to society's plan, nor according to the family's plan, but things do change with age and experience. Don't stress so much over not fitting in. You will NEVER fit everywhere. No one does. Don't stress so much over school. If you could learn to TAKE NOTES in class, especially in any mathematics class, you would do better. And that math teacher that wears a grass skirt, hits students with his yard stick, and yells at people in class? He is only crying for some kind of attention. His son is teaching English across the hall and is outshining the old man. Don't take it as a personal affront. In time, you will be teaching, too.
Remember that you need to check your answers on tests. Check them twice. You think one thing and write another. I know you won't find this out for years to come, but if you could make this little change right now, it will save you years of bad grades and a poor self-image. You aren't stupid. You're just careless and don't take the time you need to to be sure you marked the correct answer. This is a problem that continues throughout your life, so make the change right now, and maybe you could actually go to college instead of joining the military.
Now that you are in a different school you will probably not hear your teachers constantly compare you to Debbie, so don't carry that around with you anymore, okay? Teachers don't really know how much they effect their students' thoughts and self-esteem; many of them aren't really teaching - they're experts in their field, but they don't really know how to teach what they know. So you have to lead them into the area that you need help with. Ask them questions. They're clueless, but they won't admit it to anyone, so you have to look past the teaching degree and see that they don't know about kids and what they need. Otherwise, they're just spewing facts.
And as far as going to college, you need to know right now that your counsellor will not be able to help you. He'll be busy chasing the senior girls, and won't be able to do his job. So know this right now: you can get a scholarship only if you apply for one. There's a lot of information about it, but you won't be able to get it from the counsellor. I know you don't even know where his office is, but if you talk to people in the front office where the principal is (and don't be to shy to go over someone's head to get the info you need), you'll be able to study at the college in town.
In fact, this is the very information you need! The part about being persistent and insistent enough to go over the head of a non-performer to get the information you need to do you own job well. You learn this later, but if you could figure this out right now, it might help.
Stop worrying about what people think about you. You will be fine. You will be so fine, in fact, that you overcome abuse and adversity. I wish you wouldn't have to go through all that you will, but maybe it's necessary to build you into the person you will become. The trials will continue throughout life, so throw off that shyness and poor self-image right now, stand up and be proud of yourself.
Now, for the unlucky 5 who are now tagged:
1. Green Fingers
2. Rani Knits
3. La Gringa
4. Maggie's Farm
5. The Wild Tomato
Dear me at 13,
If you can overcome your shyness, please read this. Shyness CAN be overcome! Don't worry! You'll do fine in your life. Things don't always go according to society's plan, nor according to the family's plan, but things do change with age and experience. Don't stress so much over not fitting in. You will NEVER fit everywhere. No one does. Don't stress so much over school. If you could learn to TAKE NOTES in class, especially in any mathematics class, you would do better. And that math teacher that wears a grass skirt, hits students with his yard stick, and yells at people in class? He is only crying for some kind of attention. His son is teaching English across the hall and is outshining the old man. Don't take it as a personal affront. In time, you will be teaching, too.
Remember that you need to check your answers on tests. Check them twice. You think one thing and write another. I know you won't find this out for years to come, but if you could make this little change right now, it will save you years of bad grades and a poor self-image. You aren't stupid. You're just careless and don't take the time you need to to be sure you marked the correct answer. This is a problem that continues throughout your life, so make the change right now, and maybe you could actually go to college instead of joining the military.
Now that you are in a different school you will probably not hear your teachers constantly compare you to Debbie, so don't carry that around with you anymore, okay? Teachers don't really know how much they effect their students' thoughts and self-esteem; many of them aren't really teaching - they're experts in their field, but they don't really know how to teach what they know. So you have to lead them into the area that you need help with. Ask them questions. They're clueless, but they won't admit it to anyone, so you have to look past the teaching degree and see that they don't know about kids and what they need. Otherwise, they're just spewing facts.
And as far as going to college, you need to know right now that your counsellor will not be able to help you. He'll be busy chasing the senior girls, and won't be able to do his job. So know this right now: you can get a scholarship only if you apply for one. There's a lot of information about it, but you won't be able to get it from the counsellor. I know you don't even know where his office is, but if you talk to people in the front office where the principal is (and don't be to shy to go over someone's head to get the info you need), you'll be able to study at the college in town.
In fact, this is the very information you need! The part about being persistent and insistent enough to go over the head of a non-performer to get the information you need to do you own job well. You learn this later, but if you could figure this out right now, it might help.
Stop worrying about what people think about you. You will be fine. You will be so fine, in fact, that you overcome abuse and adversity. I wish you wouldn't have to go through all that you will, but maybe it's necessary to build you into the person you will become. The trials will continue throughout life, so throw off that shyness and poor self-image right now, stand up and be proud of yourself.
Now, for the unlucky 5 who are now tagged:
1. Green Fingers
2. Rani Knits
3. La Gringa
4. Maggie's Farm
5. The Wild Tomato
Dec 27, 2007
Back to life, mostly
Here's my teeny tiny little nativity scene in the lower right hand corner under the teeny tiny little Christmas tree, and the stereo - O's pride and joy.
I am just getting over a bout with strep throat, with complications. Who knew that strep throat turned into swollen hand, swollen elbow, swollen hip, and swollen ankle just on the left side? I wish I'd have known it was strep - I would have asked for penicillin long before things started to go downhill (the snakeskin cocktail didn't work, by the way). Anyway, all is better now, except for the ankle, which is still somewhat swollen and now has tiny blisters erupting on it in the portions of skin that have been stressed by the swelling. No gory details here, just happy to be back among the living.
Christmas was uneventful for the two of us. We gave one another no gifts, except wishes for continued love, happiness, and the sweetness of life. We did finally get a painting to put on the wall above the sofa - one bare wall down, several more to go!
Our Christmas tree was quite small and not a real tree, but we do still have the two avocado trees that seem to be flourishing! The jade tree is surviving, although it's either shedding its leaves or replacing them at kind of an alarming rate. A "love plant" also found its way into the house. Happily, Celeste hasn't shown much interest in the plants, so maybe her weeding binge in her puppyhood was just a passing fancy. Apparently, she is not an aspiring gardener anymore. Whew! That's a relief to me - and to the plants too, I'm sure.
My purple winter reading selection has arrived! "The People's Act of Love" is the chosen book for the reading discussion. It came today and I got the first chapter finished. Along with it came "The Red Tent", "The Thirteenth Tale", and "Deception Point". We aren't posting comments until February, so that should give me time to read through it. I haven't belonged to a book discussion group for a very long time, so I hope it will be fun. Sometimes my point of view is 180 degrees out from most everyone else's, which tends to make things difficult.
Yesterday was O's birthday, and we had some friends and a few of his cousins over. I have some pictures of that. I made appetizers and everyone expressed their complete surprise that I was able to make them and that they were edible. They were not made in the typical peruvian style, and everyone here knows that people from the US never learn to cook (we only eat in restaurants, you know). Aside from me feeling very insulted by all that, things went well.
In the photo above, O is wearing birthday cake frosting on his face. It seems to be a tradition here, at least with this group, that when one blows the candles out on the cake someone comes from behind and pushes the birthday person's face into the cake. Last night they pushed him so hard that the whole cake nearly hit the floor. I don't find it a particularly fun tradition.
The living room and Celeste, post-birthday party:
Dec 20, 2007
Got the bug
Wah. Last evening, about 5:30, I got the shakes and the chills and a sore throat. All at one time. I was teaching a class, we were reviewing vocabulary and listening skills in preparation for the final exam on Friday. I was writing on the board and I began to shake so badly that I couldn't write. Later, I went to the cafeteria for a cup of tea and a friend noticed that I looked tired or just a little off. In my last class, I was freezing and had a headache and burning eyes. Couldn't think straight. When one of my students asked a question about grammar, I had to tell her that I'd have an answer for her on Friday, because I just couldn't think at the time. Today, I'm slow moving. I'm no longer freezing or shaking, but my throat is so sore and I feel tired and washed out. Celeste doesn't get it and today is probably the only day in her entire 11 month life that she doesn't want on my bed. I think I'm too cranky. I do not want to play.
I've opted for one of the local remedies that seemed the least nasty: hot lime juice with strong black tea. A 1/4 cup of Pisco (Peruvian brandy) should be added to it, but I can't stand the taste of it, so I've opted against that. Another remedy was to take Alka Seltzer in vinegar...luckily I don't have any Alka Seltzer in the house. There are 5 curanderas and a witch doctor in the artisan market down the block, but I'm not up to being smoked in copal resin incense with a chaser of snake tincture. For now, I think I'll stick to the tea and lime juice, and go to bed. If I'm not better by the weekend, maybe I'll go for the snakeskin cocktail.
I've opted for one of the local remedies that seemed the least nasty: hot lime juice with strong black tea. A 1/4 cup of Pisco (Peruvian brandy) should be added to it, but I can't stand the taste of it, so I've opted against that. Another remedy was to take Alka Seltzer in vinegar...luckily I don't have any Alka Seltzer in the house. There are 5 curanderas and a witch doctor in the artisan market down the block, but I'm not up to being smoked in copal resin incense with a chaser of snake tincture. For now, I think I'll stick to the tea and lime juice, and go to bed. If I'm not better by the weekend, maybe I'll go for the snakeskin cocktail.
Dec 18, 2007
Looks can be deceiving
I've been looking at Celeste's "mad face" for the past few days, and I feel bad that it doesn't reflect how she is most of the time. It doesn't show her giggling as we go down the stairs to play outside. It doesn't give anyone a clue as to how she bats her eyes, grins like a fool, and stumbles over her own feet as she's oogling the lovers that sit kissing on the bench on the bike path. And there's no hint of the happy go lucky gal that runs into a lamp post because she's busy rubber-necking while making eyes and flirting with the school kids walking behind us. No trace of the smooth mover as she steals a sniff of a passing grocery bag or briefcase, of the laughing pup that leaps into our arms when we open the front door, of the dog that throws herself at the unsuspecting passer-by who calls to her, just to get a look at those ice-blue eyes...and I mean ALL of herself. Call Celeste, and you've got her - every bit of her, all in your lap at once. She's an outgoing, no-holds-barred kinda gal.
Actually, if not for the camera, she would never have a mad face at all. I can't figure out why she's so adverse to having her picture taken.
Actually, if not for the camera, she would never have a mad face at all. I can't figure out why she's so adverse to having her picture taken.
Dec 15, 2007
Saturday stuff
Guess what we have again: a washer! Yeah! and it works very nicely. I've already done a load of clothes and they SMELL WONDERFUL! And they are spun almost dry. So now, even though we don't have much in the way of direct sunshine, the clothes should dry in a very short time, thus avoiding the mildew odor. I will only be taking the big stuff to the laundry now - heavy blankets and such.
Today I had a conversation class at the institute, and following that, there was a short Christmas get together. All the instructors were given Christmas "baskets"...actually, a small duffel bag containing a jar of strawberry preserves, two cans of condensed milk, a couple of bags of pasta, a liter of cooking oil, a half-kilo bag of sea salt, a bag of rice, a panetone, and a bottle of champagne. That was quite a surprise and quite heavy to haul home on my shoulder. I had to stop halfway home and catch a bus. The contents of the duffel bag is enough to make a couple of good meals for O and me. Celeste has been eyeing the duffel bag...maybe she's suspicious of the strange black lumpy thing in the living room, or maybe she can smell the panetone inside, I'm not sure which. I hope the panetone will be safe in the kitchen cupboard until Christmas... got two bites of the last one we had. Where the rest of it went I can only guess....
There is a fireworks fair in the park down the street from us. The other night, they shot off several displays and Celeste and I ran down to the park to watch. They were beautiful and very close. Celeste was intrigued by the lights and the booming of the pyrotechnics, but not afraid. Until the last, that is, when they shot off several at the same time for the finale. The noise was MUCH louder than before and it caught Ms. Blue Eyes off guard. She jumped some, but after this, I don't think she'll be one of those dogs that tries to hide under the bed on New Year's Eve.
Today I had a conversation class at the institute, and following that, there was a short Christmas get together. All the instructors were given Christmas "baskets"...actually, a small duffel bag containing a jar of strawberry preserves, two cans of condensed milk, a couple of bags of pasta, a liter of cooking oil, a half-kilo bag of sea salt, a bag of rice, a panetone, and a bottle of champagne. That was quite a surprise and quite heavy to haul home on my shoulder. I had to stop halfway home and catch a bus. The contents of the duffel bag is enough to make a couple of good meals for O and me. Celeste has been eyeing the duffel bag...maybe she's suspicious of the strange black lumpy thing in the living room, or maybe she can smell the panetone inside, I'm not sure which. I hope the panetone will be safe in the kitchen cupboard until Christmas... got two bites of the last one we had. Where the rest of it went I can only guess....
There is a fireworks fair in the park down the street from us. The other night, they shot off several displays and Celeste and I ran down to the park to watch. They were beautiful and very close. Celeste was intrigued by the lights and the booming of the pyrotechnics, but not afraid. Until the last, that is, when they shot off several at the same time for the finale. The noise was MUCH louder than before and it caught Ms. Blue Eyes off guard. She jumped some, but after this, I don't think she'll be one of those dogs that tries to hide under the bed on New Year's Eve.
Dec 14, 2007
Great Gray Owls
I found this article and video clip about owls on Bird Chick's blog. Apparently, great gray owls are again coming to visit Minnesota, but not in the huge numbers that were recorded at the time this article was written. It's a very interesting article, and after the video, there are a few others to enjoy.
Dec 12, 2007
The day in photos
I finally managed to get some photos today. The yarn is alpaca, from the Wooly Works. We spent a couple of days doing hand paints. What a blast it was! We managed to get it all finished just before it turned really cold. The dog, of course is Celeste...still taking herself too seriously, still showing her mad face. She's not realy mad, but every time I get the camera out, she puts on that face. Maybe she's just self-concious.
Colorway: Storm Clouds (hand painted by Bethy) and beautiful blues!
This carpet is MINE!
The mad face (and this carpet is MINE):
Colorway: Storm Clouds (hand painted by Bethy) and beautiful blues!
This carpet is MINE!
Avocado tree #1.
The mad face (and this carpet is MINE):
Please don't take my picture. And the carpet is mine. Just so you know. But don't take my picture with that soul-stealing electronic box.
Beautiful purple!
Colorway: Pasture Berries. 
And just for laughs, I stumbled upon this gem of a story, for those of us who know and love chickens. I laughed so hard I almost cried. And look at the indignant face on that chicken...I'll never show that to Celeste - she might come up with a new mad face.
Dec 11, 2007
The washer...err...
So we bought a new washer on Sunday. At least that was how it was billed.
The machine arrived last night at about 9:30. The delivery men dropped it in the laundry room and promptly skedaddled. No removal from the box, no set-up, no nothing, just dropped it and ran. Hmmm. We removed it from the box and we hooked it up to the electricity and water. We read through and followed the directions, step by step. Turn it on - YES! There's power to it. Program the wash cycle and put 3 shirts in it, just to try. Fill the detergent cup. Hit the INICIO button - YES! Water fills the tub. Then some noise starts and the tub moves ever so slightly. More noise. The instruction manual assures us that some noise is normal. We watch as our clothes sit quietly in the tub of the washer, soaking up detergent and water, but not getting any closer to being clean. The wash cycle is complete. The clothes haven't moved from their original position. They are still soaked with water and detergent, no cleaner than before. We are enjoying the noise - a soft, non-irritating noise. But no movement and no clean clothes. The tub drains and the rinse water comes in, but no agitation and no spin in the spin cycle. The sign on the machine in the store said that the clothes finished the cycle and came out of the washer 90% dry. Why are mine still wet? Hmmm.
O says, "This is Peru. Everything happens in its own time." I wonder how long it takes for a Peruvian washing machine to decide to wash the clothes. Hmmm. Creo que la maquina no funcciona...I'm thinking the machine doesn't work as advertised.
I called the service line today, and after talking with two customer service people, arranged for a technician to visit Thursday morning, between 9 am and 2 pm. It's not really morning after noon, is it? In the meantime, I'm still washing clothes in the laundry tub by hand. The washer IS very pretty and modern-looking, though. Hmmm.
The machine arrived last night at about 9:30. The delivery men dropped it in the laundry room and promptly skedaddled. No removal from the box, no set-up, no nothing, just dropped it and ran. Hmmm. We removed it from the box and we hooked it up to the electricity and water. We read through and followed the directions, step by step. Turn it on - YES! There's power to it. Program the wash cycle and put 3 shirts in it, just to try. Fill the detergent cup. Hit the INICIO button - YES! Water fills the tub. Then some noise starts and the tub moves ever so slightly. More noise. The instruction manual assures us that some noise is normal. We watch as our clothes sit quietly in the tub of the washer, soaking up detergent and water, but not getting any closer to being clean. The wash cycle is complete. The clothes haven't moved from their original position. They are still soaked with water and detergent, no cleaner than before. We are enjoying the noise - a soft, non-irritating noise. But no movement and no clean clothes. The tub drains and the rinse water comes in, but no agitation and no spin in the spin cycle. The sign on the machine in the store said that the clothes finished the cycle and came out of the washer 90% dry. Why are mine still wet? Hmmm.
O says, "This is Peru. Everything happens in its own time." I wonder how long it takes for a Peruvian washing machine to decide to wash the clothes. Hmmm. Creo que la maquina no funcciona...I'm thinking the machine doesn't work as advertised.
I called the service line today, and after talking with two customer service people, arranged for a technician to visit Thursday morning, between 9 am and 2 pm. It's not really morning after noon, is it? In the meantime, I'm still washing clothes in the laundry tub by hand. The washer IS very pretty and modern-looking, though. Hmmm.
Dec 10, 2007
¿Que Frio?
A couple of months ago, the mother of a friend died. I had the opportunity to observe the local customs regarding death. A lot of it was confusing to me, appeared disrespectful to the family and the one who has just passed on, and it all gave me pause for a few days. When I discussed the differences in the way I have known people to handle the arrangements of burial and everything related with the way it is all handled here, plus the differences in attitudes, I was judged as being very cold.
This past weekend O had an attack of gastritis, during which he was bent double and sweating bullets. We went to the hospital emergency room and O's friend Mario went with us. When we arrived, I was told to wait in the car. In the shadows, literally. What a load of crap that was. When I went in, there was no doctor attending O, or anyone else. No one would talk to me; in fact, they completely ignored me. All the nurses were flitting around, comparing new shoes and uniforms. I looked in the waiting room, where other families were waiting, and had been waiting since before we arrived. No report of any progress, no information about patients was given, nothing. The families were completely left out of the loop there, waiting for hours with no idea of what's going on with their person or people in the emergency room. Their person could have died, and they wouldn't have known until it was convenient for one of the nurses to break away from the "best shoe" competition inside the treatment area.
I guess this weekend was my turn to think how very cold and uncaring this all appeared. Once again, I'm struck by how different things are. People seem to revere people once they're dead, but in the process of getting to the dead part, nobody gives a hoot. I asked O about this, and he said that the emergency room is very inconvenient. No one wants to work there, it's always on a weekend that things happen, it cuts into other people's time, weekends are party times and people resent being called to work, etc., so the care is less than it should be.
Oh my. God forbid we be inconsiderate and have a health "inconvenience" on the weekend. How very cold.
This past weekend O had an attack of gastritis, during which he was bent double and sweating bullets. We went to the hospital emergency room and O's friend Mario went with us. When we arrived, I was told to wait in the car. In the shadows, literally. What a load of crap that was. When I went in, there was no doctor attending O, or anyone else. No one would talk to me; in fact, they completely ignored me. All the nurses were flitting around, comparing new shoes and uniforms. I looked in the waiting room, where other families were waiting, and had been waiting since before we arrived. No report of any progress, no information about patients was given, nothing. The families were completely left out of the loop there, waiting for hours with no idea of what's going on with their person or people in the emergency room. Their person could have died, and they wouldn't have known until it was convenient for one of the nurses to break away from the "best shoe" competition inside the treatment area.
I guess this weekend was my turn to think how very cold and uncaring this all appeared. Once again, I'm struck by how different things are. People seem to revere people once they're dead, but in the process of getting to the dead part, nobody gives a hoot. I asked O about this, and he said that the emergency room is very inconvenient. No one wants to work there, it's always on a weekend that things happen, it cuts into other people's time, weekends are party times and people resent being called to work, etc., so the care is less than it should be.
Oh my. God forbid we be inconsiderate and have a health "inconvenience" on the weekend. How very cold.
Dec 9, 2007
Thank heaven for small favors
I'm happy to report that the avocado trees seem to be thriving! Yeay! There's one thing that I'm doing right, for now. The jade tree is also still alive. So maybe I don't have a "brown thumb" after all, or maybe it's just that Celeste hasn't taken an active interest in gardening again. She ripped my last two plants out by the roots several times, until there just weren't enough roots to sustain the poor things. I suppose getting transplanted over and over gets tiresome, too, so they eventually gave up and just quit on me. I wonder how big the avocado pits will grow to be...I haven't actually SEEN an avocado plant, although I believe they are trees.
Yes, Toady, the jade plant is one with a woody stem and cushiony leaves. Kind of a succulent or cactus relative. No thorns, but a desert plant.
For the time being, Celeste is preoccupied with getting herself into our bed. She seems to be obsessed with the idea. She's big, though, and a dog her size in the bed makes it uncomfortable for the two of us. Yesterday afternoon, I looked in when O was taking a nap, and she was there on the bed in the usual dog posture: head toward the foot of the bed, with the butt end almost on the pillows. It was just a mercy that she didn't have her usual case of noxious fumes...poor O might have passed away or at least passed out while Celeste was passing gas.
Our Big News today is that we got a washing machine. It will be delivered and installed tomorrow. Yeay! We are rejoicing here - no more weekly trips to haul dirty clothes to the laundry; no more washing heavy jeans and coats by hand; no more clothes hanging for three days in a row and smelling nasty. I can't seem to wring enough water out by hand to get them to dry in less than three days. And I've even got a clothesline to hang them on! And they threw in a vacuum cleaner with the purchase of the washer. Woot! We killed two birds with one stone!
I have only two fiber projects in the works for now and lots of reading: a purple moebius scarf/shawl and a black alpaca skirt for Greenlee. Both are progressing at a decent rate, so I hope to have them finished in about a week. And, while I was in the US, I discovered that I was STARVING for reading material. So I bought a few of the latest spy novels and some other literature, and Suzzanne gave me a couple of good ones to read too...8 good-sized books in all. One of them I read while at the farm. I whizzed through "The Mistress of Spices" on the plane back to Peru. Yesterday I finished "Spy", by Ted Bell. Presently, I am reading "Angels and Demons", by Dan Brown of The Da Vinci Code fame. Oh no! I can see the end of my summer reading before the end of the summer! Thank goodness for Amazon.com. I'll be perusing the best seller list for my next reading adventure. Any suggestions for good reads?
Yes, Toady, the jade plant is one with a woody stem and cushiony leaves. Kind of a succulent or cactus relative. No thorns, but a desert plant.
For the time being, Celeste is preoccupied with getting herself into our bed. She seems to be obsessed with the idea. She's big, though, and a dog her size in the bed makes it uncomfortable for the two of us. Yesterday afternoon, I looked in when O was taking a nap, and she was there on the bed in the usual dog posture: head toward the foot of the bed, with the butt end almost on the pillows. It was just a mercy that she didn't have her usual case of noxious fumes...poor O might have passed away or at least passed out while Celeste was passing gas.
Our Big News today is that we got a washing machine. It will be delivered and installed tomorrow. Yeay! We are rejoicing here - no more weekly trips to haul dirty clothes to the laundry; no more washing heavy jeans and coats by hand; no more clothes hanging for three days in a row and smelling nasty. I can't seem to wring enough water out by hand to get them to dry in less than three days. And I've even got a clothesline to hang them on! And they threw in a vacuum cleaner with the purchase of the washer. Woot! We killed two birds with one stone!
I have only two fiber projects in the works for now and lots of reading: a purple moebius scarf/shawl and a black alpaca skirt for Greenlee. Both are progressing at a decent rate, so I hope to have them finished in about a week. And, while I was in the US, I discovered that I was STARVING for reading material. So I bought a few of the latest spy novels and some other literature, and Suzzanne gave me a couple of good ones to read too...8 good-sized books in all. One of them I read while at the farm. I whizzed through "The Mistress of Spices" on the plane back to Peru. Yesterday I finished "Spy", by Ted Bell. Presently, I am reading "Angels and Demons", by Dan Brown of The Da Vinci Code fame. Oh no! I can see the end of my summer reading before the end of the summer! Thank goodness for Amazon.com. I'll be perusing the best seller list for my next reading adventure. Any suggestions for good reads?
Dec 4, 2007
The Daily Grind
Well, I'm back to the daily grind. I returned home last Thursday, went to work on Friday, then we traveled to Trujillo (an 8 hour bus ride) to celebrate Juan Carlos's birthday, then back in the bus Sunday night to return home at 7 am...and to work an hour later. Can I say that I'm WHUPPED?
I've caught my breath, though, and have a few things to report:
First, my avocado pits have sprouted both roots and stalks! I dismounted them from their toothpick harnesses and transplanted them from their jelly jars of water to regular pots with soil in them. I did that today, just about an hour ago, so there hasn't been time for me to see if they will survive and thrive. I know there will be a period of transition while they make the jump from a liquid diet to the earth diet - I'm hoping they don't go into shock and die. At least not both of them.
And, I augmented my plant population with a little jade tree that I found in the street market. I have my fingers crossed for that one, too. It, at least is already established in its own pot, so at least I can't accidentally ruin it while transplanting it.
While I was home, I picked up a few word games to help get my conversation students talking. One is called "Mad Lib", where one makes sentences using only the words on their cards. The idea is to construct a grammatically correct, but outrageous sentence. An example would be something like "gigantic hairy eyeballs bashfully bulldoze greedy fingernails." This seems to be a problem with my students. They find the combination of words to be difficult. After all, who has ever seen hairy eyeballs? Can fingernails actually be greedy? The answer is NO, so they tried telling me that they could not possibly play this game. I wouldn't accept that, so they resigned themselves to making the sentences, but I could see the distaste on their faces. Hmmm. Maybe next Saturday, I'll try "In a Pickle" or Scrabble and see if that goes over any better.
I also got some books from my sister, Suzzanne, to play with. One is "Hot Illustrations for Youth Talks". Yesterday, we worked with one that talked about changing the world by changing oneself. It's interesting to hear the differences in opinions and viewpoints. My next topic will be how total distruction might make way for something more beautiful than before...think Yellowstone Park! Burnt to the ground and back more lush and vibrant than ever.
I've caught my breath, though, and have a few things to report:
First, my avocado pits have sprouted both roots and stalks! I dismounted them from their toothpick harnesses and transplanted them from their jelly jars of water to regular pots with soil in them. I did that today, just about an hour ago, so there hasn't been time for me to see if they will survive and thrive. I know there will be a period of transition while they make the jump from a liquid diet to the earth diet - I'm hoping they don't go into shock and die. At least not both of them.
And, I augmented my plant population with a little jade tree that I found in the street market. I have my fingers crossed for that one, too. It, at least is already established in its own pot, so at least I can't accidentally ruin it while transplanting it.
While I was home, I picked up a few word games to help get my conversation students talking. One is called "Mad Lib", where one makes sentences using only the words on their cards. The idea is to construct a grammatically correct, but outrageous sentence. An example would be something like "gigantic hairy eyeballs bashfully bulldoze greedy fingernails." This seems to be a problem with my students. They find the combination of words to be difficult. After all, who has ever seen hairy eyeballs? Can fingernails actually be greedy? The answer is NO, so they tried telling me that they could not possibly play this game. I wouldn't accept that, so they resigned themselves to making the sentences, but I could see the distaste on their faces. Hmmm. Maybe next Saturday, I'll try "In a Pickle" or Scrabble and see if that goes over any better.
I also got some books from my sister, Suzzanne, to play with. One is "Hot Illustrations for Youth Talks". Yesterday, we worked with one that talked about changing the world by changing oneself. It's interesting to hear the differences in opinions and viewpoints. My next topic will be how total distruction might make way for something more beautiful than before...think Yellowstone Park! Burnt to the ground and back more lush and vibrant than ever.
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