wow wow is the sound a dog is said to make in spanish. I mean, do they really say woof woof? I haven´t seen many dogs recently... and I can contribute that to the great guatemalan pasttime, one of the few things I will not miss.
Firecrackers.
I mean really people. Come on.
Lets give all the children a huge strip of these things. Give them candles. We will see if they come back with all their fingers and some of their hearing. As if a the people carrying their children and clothing and tortillas to sell and something very heavy looking need one more obstacle in the street.
I am with the perros... duck and cover.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Ode to the Continual Perish
An Ode
I believe a continual perish occurs
Each night, before I even have thoughts of sleep
A dog is born
Next door
Within the hour the dog lives out his life
And begins
What sounds like
A slow
torturous
death
While I try to lightly enter sleep
He loudly enters death
Or so it seems
He increases the volume
As I slip closer to dreaming
And then out of dreaming
To think these thoughts:
An ode
To the continual perish
of the next door phoenix of the dogs
I believe a continual perish occurs
Each night, before I even have thoughts of sleep
A dog is born
Next door
Within the hour the dog lives out his life
And begins
What sounds like
A slow
torturous
death
While I try to lightly enter sleep
He loudly enters death
Or so it seems
He increases the volume
As I slip closer to dreaming
And then out of dreaming
To think these thoughts:
An ode
To the continual perish
of the next door phoenix of the dogs
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Back of my Neck and Cloud Dances
My hair is long for Christine Preddy. It falls down and hits the back of my neck. I am aware of its length daily. As I walk to class in the cool, sometime cold, mornings, it is slightly wet, and very clean... and it bounces against the back of my neck. How different than the Christine of so many years past. Change is constant.
On the hike this past weekend someone, Jen from Australia to be exact, asked me, as I come into 25 if I have learned new life lessons, or if I feel different. In the small amount of oxygen my body was struggling to pull from the thin air, I responded, ´yes, notably.´ I breathe more (especially on the mountain), I move slower in life, I take time for myself, I enjoy certain personal oddities that society might deem peculiar, I stress differently, I appreciate each day differently than years past and I notice that my hair hits the back of my neck. That is not all, of course, and she shared hers, but, when I feel the length of my hair, it reminds me of this ´notable´difference from the mountain discussion.
So, it is a bit late, and I am really tired, but I owe it to myself to write down what I did this weekend, because it may possibly be one of the coolest things I have done (besides make a gingerbread treehouse cake, hah).
Thursday I found out that the trip I wanted to go on on Saturday was cancelled. Lake Chicabal with Alberto. Not that I wanted to go on trips with Alberto, i definently get enough in class, but I was stoked for Chicabal. No one else wanted to go, so they cancelled it. Agua amiragas, bathing in hotsprings on Friday, also cancelled... only one registered, Christine Preddy. I was mad. Pissed at the school and myself for poor planning and timing. Dismayed to have to find my own amusement in Xela, I inquired into a trip I heard discussion of¨: Tajumulco.
Do not get me wrong. I can find my own entertainment, but, language is usually a big help. And I am not about to hop on a chicken bus by myself with my 22 words of spanish. So I went to Quetzeltrekkers. I highly recommend this organization, by the way... check them out. All the money they make, after food and bus expenses goes to run, entirely run, a school and a dormitory for street kids.
So. I ran my 50 Q (about 6 bucks) deposit to Quetzeltrekkers during my class break on Friday. Got lost. How very different. With my shitty language skill, but damn good pointing and shrugging skills, I made my way to the door. Gringo land. Nay, fit, hiking, outdoorsy gringo land.
After a gear meeting on Friday, and a few hours of sleep. I woke at 1, 2, and 3 am to meet Alberto, our taxi and yes, also my prof. Fearing that I would hike with the shits and crummies that had started friday night, i took some oregon grape tincture, a deep early morning breath and shoved my loaned backpack into his car.
I failed at a quick name game attempt while we awaited our next car. Honestly, shouldn´t we know eachother´s names¿¿ A pick up truck ride later (standing in the back, driving through the bumpy streets of Xela, I felt like a real Guate, except for I could not feel more like a gringo either) we arrived, still in the dark, at the scary chicken bus terminal in minerva. Burning trash... smell association to the great Lebanon.
Backpacks hoisted up to the top of the chicken bus (which are us or canadian school buses, painted many colors and with an added rack inside, and no ppl limits) they were strapped, fingers crossed by a guate who rode the top and sides of the bus for a large part of the rather intense trip. Spìder man, spider man.
Rice and beans and eggs at a resto at the next stop. Back on the bus. Oh boy. talk about packing em in. We were so tight, I felt i had made a goiter of my friend, journey, next to me. She clung to me, I clung to the seat, and we held, trying not to push the poor woman off the seat also.
Perhaps the greatest moment of the whole trip, well, maybe the third greatest moment (sunrise and sunset beating it out) was the moment a baby threw up on Kim on the bus. Nonchalantly, this 1 year old opens his mouth, throws up all down Kim´s arm, and then casually closes his mouth and continues to peer respectfully around. The reaction and the ridiculous that ensued, is `priceless. Granted Kim was about to jump out the window, from my point of view, hilarious.
At the drop off we started to hike. Let it be know, as it is known, that this begins the longest ongoing internal pep talk in the past few months. You can do it. One step at a time.
Did I fail to mention we were climbing the tallest point, a volcano, in central america?¿ yes. yup. Should have really thought that one through. Or maybe, it was best I didn´t. I did make it. To everything. Sunset and sunrise, and every rid iculously difficult step in between. And clouds, clouds that move and dance in such a provocative way, I wanted to fall into them and dance the rythm of the universe (seriously you would say something similar). And you´d maybe know how breathing above the clouds feels. Altitude sickness, I know thee well.
There is more description than I can give with my lowering eyelids right now. Lets just say, getting up out of a chair is an interesting experience now... but, the soreness is going away... and it was all worth it. It may have been, like I said, an unbeatable experience.
I have yet to catch up with my sleep (after a much needed shower I went to a bar to watch the big game, sorry Xela, you were so close)... so now, maybe is the time. I shall rise and again try to build my spanish knowledge foundation with some borrowed tenacity of the mayans, whose history astounds.
Peace to you all. Wherever you may be reading this. Merry Christmas.
On the hike this past weekend someone, Jen from Australia to be exact, asked me, as I come into 25 if I have learned new life lessons, or if I feel different. In the small amount of oxygen my body was struggling to pull from the thin air, I responded, ´yes, notably.´ I breathe more (especially on the mountain), I move slower in life, I take time for myself, I enjoy certain personal oddities that society might deem peculiar, I stress differently, I appreciate each day differently than years past and I notice that my hair hits the back of my neck. That is not all, of course, and she shared hers, but, when I feel the length of my hair, it reminds me of this ´notable´difference from the mountain discussion.
So, it is a bit late, and I am really tired, but I owe it to myself to write down what I did this weekend, because it may possibly be one of the coolest things I have done (besides make a gingerbread treehouse cake, hah).
Thursday I found out that the trip I wanted to go on on Saturday was cancelled. Lake Chicabal with Alberto. Not that I wanted to go on trips with Alberto, i definently get enough in class, but I was stoked for Chicabal. No one else wanted to go, so they cancelled it. Agua amiragas, bathing in hotsprings on Friday, also cancelled... only one registered, Christine Preddy. I was mad. Pissed at the school and myself for poor planning and timing. Dismayed to have to find my own amusement in Xela, I inquired into a trip I heard discussion of¨: Tajumulco.
Do not get me wrong. I can find my own entertainment, but, language is usually a big help. And I am not about to hop on a chicken bus by myself with my 22 words of spanish. So I went to Quetzeltrekkers. I highly recommend this organization, by the way... check them out. All the money they make, after food and bus expenses goes to run, entirely run, a school and a dormitory for street kids.
So. I ran my 50 Q (about 6 bucks) deposit to Quetzeltrekkers during my class break on Friday. Got lost. How very different. With my shitty language skill, but damn good pointing and shrugging skills, I made my way to the door. Gringo land. Nay, fit, hiking, outdoorsy gringo land.
After a gear meeting on Friday, and a few hours of sleep. I woke at 1, 2, and 3 am to meet Alberto, our taxi and yes, also my prof. Fearing that I would hike with the shits and crummies that had started friday night, i took some oregon grape tincture, a deep early morning breath and shoved my loaned backpack into his car.
I failed at a quick name game attempt while we awaited our next car. Honestly, shouldn´t we know eachother´s names¿¿ A pick up truck ride later (standing in the back, driving through the bumpy streets of Xela, I felt like a real Guate, except for I could not feel more like a gringo either) we arrived, still in the dark, at the scary chicken bus terminal in minerva. Burning trash... smell association to the great Lebanon.
Backpacks hoisted up to the top of the chicken bus (which are us or canadian school buses, painted many colors and with an added rack inside, and no ppl limits) they were strapped, fingers crossed by a guate who rode the top and sides of the bus for a large part of the rather intense trip. Spìder man, spider man.
Rice and beans and eggs at a resto at the next stop. Back on the bus. Oh boy. talk about packing em in. We were so tight, I felt i had made a goiter of my friend, journey, next to me. She clung to me, I clung to the seat, and we held, trying not to push the poor woman off the seat also.
Perhaps the greatest moment of the whole trip, well, maybe the third greatest moment (sunrise and sunset beating it out) was the moment a baby threw up on Kim on the bus. Nonchalantly, this 1 year old opens his mouth, throws up all down Kim´s arm, and then casually closes his mouth and continues to peer respectfully around. The reaction and the ridiculous that ensued, is `priceless. Granted Kim was about to jump out the window, from my point of view, hilarious.
At the drop off we started to hike. Let it be know, as it is known, that this begins the longest ongoing internal pep talk in the past few months. You can do it. One step at a time.
Did I fail to mention we were climbing the tallest point, a volcano, in central america?¿ yes. yup. Should have really thought that one through. Or maybe, it was best I didn´t. I did make it. To everything. Sunset and sunrise, and every rid iculously difficult step in between. And clouds, clouds that move and dance in such a provocative way, I wanted to fall into them and dance the rythm of the universe (seriously you would say something similar). And you´d maybe know how breathing above the clouds feels. Altitude sickness, I know thee well.
There is more description than I can give with my lowering eyelids right now. Lets just say, getting up out of a chair is an interesting experience now... but, the soreness is going away... and it was all worth it. It may have been, like I said, an unbeatable experience.
I have yet to catch up with my sleep (after a much needed shower I went to a bar to watch the big game, sorry Xela, you were so close)... so now, maybe is the time. I shall rise and again try to build my spanish knowledge foundation with some borrowed tenacity of the mayans, whose history astounds.
Peace to you all. Wherever you may be reading this. Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
volcanos and such.
written dec 10, 2009
during my class today we went onto the roof and saw the volcano, santa maria. i learned that the stuff i am coughing on in the mornings on the way to class is volcanic ash, as well as the good ole car belches. bueno. muy interesante.
good times.
during my class today we went onto the roof and saw the volcano, santa maria. i learned that the stuff i am coughing on in the mornings on the way to class is volcanic ash, as well as the good ole car belches. bueno. muy interesante.
good times.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Kindergarden
To my online diary. First, the S key, doe not work well... see!
Hm. Well it is almost 6 on my first full day. I find myself laughing at myself sometimes, when I do not fully know what I get myself into. And then, I{m there, committed.
I like this. Im learning spanish and I will have enough spanish when I return to make choppy speech with people and understand choppily. Thats the goal, thats the plan, thats the course of action.
I woke early, with the question in my head, did I actually sleep? How many people were born on Monday the 7th of December, or is this many firecrackers normal?
Anyways, my day, was, as follows¨
my host mom put out a grey and banana gruel, as i am calling it. it was tasty, but weirdly gruel like. Coffee (which, I am not filled with negativity towards my family or this country) which tasted like lightly coffee flavored socks and two sweet crackers, which were super tasty in the sock coffee.
I got my prepacked backpack, and headed out the door in my pre layed out outfit. In the cool fog on a morning in the highlands, myself and enough car exhaust to knock out a cow (I´m not sure why I made that comparison) headed to school.
The first to arrive... like california, 8am doesn´t really mean 8am... it means 8:15. But, I wanted to be on time (unlike me). Anyways, I entered the school, got better coffee and tried to make friendss with the students who had been there longer than I. The students (an older quaker couple from Oregon) that were also new did not want to speak english that much (I don´t blame them) so they were off my list of friends to have outside school. I did however, proceed to realize that just south of them, in teh great sstate of California, a huge production of Xela bound people dwelled. It was my luck that they were bound for Xela the same time as me.
After the morning meetin and greetin I sat down to my first class. I felt like I was five... only minus those awesome fat crayons and the apple juice that I assocation with Mrs. Zanawick´s pm kindergarden class. My prof, Alberto, was cool. And I think that word describes our class and his chill demanor. I struggled with a desire for structure, for him to TEACH me in a sstructured, yet free and integrated and yes and creative way. No, Christine, you are learning a language, letter by letter and word by word without blocks, pictures and playdough (although I do have some).
Anyways, after class I went to lunch with my family. WOW meals can be akward when you really can´t respond or interact effectivly. Rice and peas and tortillas, and I was back out the door. I wandered the town for the first time, a description needed for a different time when my words, spanish or english have ripened a bit more into perfection for the colors, smells and sights (which, I must say... I have not given justice to those thing in Morocco, which are stronger and stranger than this). After not being able to find the suggested La Luna of Laura Reardon and every other visitor, I hurried back to school to watch the film Men with Guns in spanish.
The noise of the street made reading the subtitles my only option, but, honestly what with english being pretty forefront in my mind, I was coooool with that. It was a sad film, really sad... but interesting, telling and vivid. I left not really knowing how to feel or think about the story of a latin american country experiencing guerilla warfare and genocides and the discovery of a committed citizen doctor that all his students have been killed in the attempt to help. It was a lot, and I decided to leave the emotion in the room, and take the knowledge with me.
I started this entry and then headed home, in the dark... a warning I have been given repeatedly not to do... but, it seems I can´t heed them all. However, it was still early, and I know not to go out past 7 by myself... I´ve heard the stories from the students... enough to scare me into compliance.
A late dinner of a store bought tamales, yum, a bit of some movie I´ve seen in the states, but with terrible spanish dubbing, my forced ritual of my ´tile exercises´and i read myself to... yes... wow, a quiet sleep.
Day one of kindergarden. Success.
Hm. Well it is almost 6 on my first full day. I find myself laughing at myself sometimes, when I do not fully know what I get myself into. And then, I{m there, committed.
I like this. Im learning spanish and I will have enough spanish when I return to make choppy speech with people and understand choppily. Thats the goal, thats the plan, thats the course of action.
I woke early, with the question in my head, did I actually sleep? How many people were born on Monday the 7th of December, or is this many firecrackers normal?
Anyways, my day, was, as follows¨
my host mom put out a grey and banana gruel, as i am calling it. it was tasty, but weirdly gruel like. Coffee (which, I am not filled with negativity towards my family or this country) which tasted like lightly coffee flavored socks and two sweet crackers, which were super tasty in the sock coffee.
I got my prepacked backpack, and headed out the door in my pre layed out outfit. In the cool fog on a morning in the highlands, myself and enough car exhaust to knock out a cow (I´m not sure why I made that comparison) headed to school.
The first to arrive... like california, 8am doesn´t really mean 8am... it means 8:15. But, I wanted to be on time (unlike me). Anyways, I entered the school, got better coffee and tried to make friendss with the students who had been there longer than I. The students (an older quaker couple from Oregon) that were also new did not want to speak english that much (I don´t blame them) so they were off my list of friends to have outside school. I did however, proceed to realize that just south of them, in teh great sstate of California, a huge production of Xela bound people dwelled. It was my luck that they were bound for Xela the same time as me.
After the morning meetin and greetin I sat down to my first class. I felt like I was five... only minus those awesome fat crayons and the apple juice that I assocation with Mrs. Zanawick´s pm kindergarden class. My prof, Alberto, was cool. And I think that word describes our class and his chill demanor. I struggled with a desire for structure, for him to TEACH me in a sstructured, yet free and integrated and yes and creative way. No, Christine, you are learning a language, letter by letter and word by word without blocks, pictures and playdough (although I do have some).
Anyways, after class I went to lunch with my family. WOW meals can be akward when you really can´t respond or interact effectivly. Rice and peas and tortillas, and I was back out the door. I wandered the town for the first time, a description needed for a different time when my words, spanish or english have ripened a bit more into perfection for the colors, smells and sights (which, I must say... I have not given justice to those thing in Morocco, which are stronger and stranger than this). After not being able to find the suggested La Luna of Laura Reardon and every other visitor, I hurried back to school to watch the film Men with Guns in spanish.
The noise of the street made reading the subtitles my only option, but, honestly what with english being pretty forefront in my mind, I was coooool with that. It was a sad film, really sad... but interesting, telling and vivid. I left not really knowing how to feel or think about the story of a latin american country experiencing guerilla warfare and genocides and the discovery of a committed citizen doctor that all his students have been killed in the attempt to help. It was a lot, and I decided to leave the emotion in the room, and take the knowledge with me.
I started this entry and then headed home, in the dark... a warning I have been given repeatedly not to do... but, it seems I can´t heed them all. However, it was still early, and I know not to go out past 7 by myself... I´ve heard the stories from the students... enough to scare me into compliance.
A late dinner of a store bought tamales, yum, a bit of some movie I´ve seen in the states, but with terrible spanish dubbing, my forced ritual of my ´tile exercises´and i read myself to... yes... wow, a quiet sleep.
Day one of kindergarden. Success.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Yo no say.
I know that that is wrong. And I know that the ss key sticks. But I also know that I am writing on my blog from my host family´s computer, which is so great.
Wow three days of planes and buses later, and here I am. Xela, Guatemala.
It is due, really, to Laura and her time here. Inspiration and motivation. Something I have always wanted to do, but moved away from the reality of it when it seemed intimidating and impractical. Well, all impracticalities have been removed, and now to deal with the intimidation... can do!
Tomorrow I start the journey, well, I guess it has started, but tomorrow I start the ´tofu´of it all... school.
Things are sunny side up and Im going to do my best to keep it that way, overwhelming or not.
Wow three days of planes and buses later, and here I am. Xela, Guatemala.
It is due, really, to Laura and her time here. Inspiration and motivation. Something I have always wanted to do, but moved away from the reality of it when it seemed intimidating and impractical. Well, all impracticalities have been removed, and now to deal with the intimidation... can do!
Tomorrow I start the journey, well, I guess it has started, but tomorrow I start the ´tofu´of it all... school.
Things are sunny side up and Im going to do my best to keep it that way, overwhelming or not.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
poems
i seem to think in poems lately.
i never addressed the invitation
and all along, have wondered
would i have sent it out
after all that time
or would i have known better
and waited until
my heart found the right space
to slowly scribe the note
that never needed to be sent
and folded it away
satisfied that choices
about invitations
and addresses
had been made.
--
yesterday
i saw
a very neat bug.
I'll tell you all about it.
I wish you were there.
you'd have seen it too.
---
i've crossed over.
he says, pulling his hair away from his forehead
yeah? she asks
yeah, he replies
how do you know? she leans in a bit, adjusting her shirt.
well-- he chews his lip--
nothing needs to be the same anymore, he stops.
smiling, hands behind his head:
yeah, that's right.
i never addressed the invitation
and all along, have wondered
would i have sent it out
after all that time
or would i have known better
and waited until
my heart found the right space
to slowly scribe the note
that never needed to be sent
and folded it away
satisfied that choices
about invitations
and addresses
had been made.
--
yesterday
i saw
a very neat bug.
I'll tell you all about it.
I wish you were there.
you'd have seen it too.
---
i've crossed over.
he says, pulling his hair away from his forehead
yeah? she asks
yeah, he replies
how do you know? she leans in a bit, adjusting her shirt.
well-- he chews his lip--
nothing needs to be the same anymore, he stops.
smiling, hands behind his head:
yeah, that's right.
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