fear is the opposite of faith

so, today, i continued my ongoing quest for a church to become a part of here in the area, and upon leaving the second service i attended today, i called a friend and lamented, "i hate trying to find a new place to go to church -- it feels like dating, and i hate dating!". she graciously and verbally understood me, and we talked about how we both wished that i could just wiggle my nose and find the perfect fit here. something odd that i am sensing in some of the places i am visiting is almost an apologetic tone from the pastor/teachers when they ask or direct the people to look into the Scriptures. it's Wednesday now, and i must continue to consider this topic. i have much more to say, but i am so tired that i cannot organize my little thoughts. more later.

a really bizarre collage of summer photos. 2005.

the all-time greatest small group. www.cypressvalley.org

the fam.

me and my two KK�s.

just a few fun pics!

bliss

i may or may not have any idea about how to specifically teach a kindergarten class, but i do have quite a bit of knowledge of how to love my students. today, i started my official training with the staff of my new school, and i have ridden a rollercoaster of emotions throughout the day that i would not trade for the entire world. while my previous few years of teaching have taken me on rollercoaster rides of varying degrees of terror, i have yet to experience such a genuine and collective expression of true empathy and understanding of the children we will welcome into the microcosm of our classrooms one week from today.

Super Tyrone

just got back from a nice little jaunt to nashville, music city, u.s.a. had planned to spend some time with my dad and step mom, but they were overwhelmed with some work they were in town doing. i don't really know how to put in words all of the silly adventures i had while there for less than 72 hours, but for starters, i will hook you up to look at this band i swindled my way in to see on friday night. and that is all i will tell you about friday night. http://www.supert.com/ my friend jeff played a show on saturday night that was outstanding and big fun. of course, i was still tired from aforementioned friday night, but we had a good time anyway. will write more, with all the frightening details later, but right now, even though the sun is still not completely below the horizon, i am signing off. back to work in the morning!

not-so-sleeping beauty

12:47 a.m., and i am starting my new job in less than 8 hours. "hi, i'm the new kindergarten teacher. what? big black circles? um, no i am not using drugs. but thanks for asking." i should have done a giant 3 mile walk tonight to wear myself down. instead, i unpacked more boxes and was reminded of how i was one book case short when i broke down the last apartment to move here. ack. maybe if i turn on the fan, it will make me sleepy. maybe if this giant knot were not pulsating over top of my right shoulder blade. it's an anxiety know. i know. about what? about the $7 U.S. Dollars i am about to have to last me almost an entire month. that should be interesting. no, really, i love beans and rice. daily. so, what shall i encounter on my first day? lots of fresh faces. teachers who have never been in charge of their own classroom. i did discover the other day that my immediate neighbor in my new school is one of said brand new teachers, so at least there will be one person nearby who knows less than i do, as a matter of fact. and i think i will be the only bilingual teacher on my grade level. yikes. oh, well, at least there will be no one to compare me with on a regular basis. at least proximity-wise. am chatting with pal online, and i hate to say this, but i should be sleeping.

diarios de motocicleta, parte dos

so i just watched motorcycle diaries for the third time in six months or so. this time, i just bought it. it really makes me want to ride on the back of a bike with someone i enjoy all about south america. or even mexico. although i think more south would be a little more lush and new to me. how do i make that happen?

June 11th, 2005 with pal Jeff Steele after his performance at The Weisman Center Presents...Words and Voices, Marshall, TX, USA.

fantasías

i'm getting more and more in touch with the starving artist phenomenon. although, clearly, i am not starving, i am working in a limited funds situation, at least for the next couple of months. today, i went out to pick up the saturday dallas morning news from my leafy green yard, and i brought it in to read over a few cups of coffee. and i was completely overwhelmed. sort of the same feeling you get when you go off to college for the first time, and you realize you are surrounded by the top 5% of every graduating class in america. no more big fish little pond, if that had previously applied to your life place. there are millions of multi-cultural opportunities. even in choosing what grocery store to shop in. millions of recipes to try. millions of art installations. i read the whole thing, front to back, and i sat stunned. i have been living for the past three years in a situation very much unlike this one, and i had to stop and pray and ask God to help me focus on being who He wants me to be. and to make wise choices about what to do with my time and where to seek my place. but i still have been nursing a few new fantasies. thus the title of this entry. first, in the paper yesterday, i learned that there is a new IKEA store opening in nearby Frisco, Texas. (all gift cards and donations appreciated!) that's big fun, because it is simple and affordable and will likely be unapproachable until after i start making my real new salary! which made me start thinking about this funny girl i met in nashville once who declared, "if i'm not married by the time i'm 35, i'm just going to start registering for stuff i want to see if people will give it to me out of pity." too funny. second, i am listening to some music this morning, and i'm really being encouraged to re-start guitar lessons which i took in nashville years ago from a fabulous teacher named rob jackson. he was taken aback at how quickly i took to the guitar, and how i had hands large enough to make bar chords, "most girls can't make a good bar chord. you're good." and why am i sitting here in this house with fine acoustics not practicing the guitar? because i'm a chicken, i guess. so i took that fantasy one step further and said, "well, if i really hone that skill, then i can take voice lessons to remind me how to sing properly and find that voice i know is in there and maybe actually sing in front of people." sheryl crow was well into her thirties before anybody really cared who she was, right? i don't have any need to be famous, i've seen how that milks the joy out of too many talented people. but, i think it would be fun to sit around a camp fire with friends and have a valid contribution every now and then. which led me to ponder, "what are the first songs i would learn how to sing and play?" should fantasy find its way to fruition? 1. broken things / julie miller 2. you don't even know who i am / gretchen peters 3. delta dawn / alex harvey & larry collins 4. echoes of love / kim richey & tim krekel 5. mil besos / emma elena valdelamar 6. you take me for granted / leona williams 7. from the ashes / austin cunningham & hilary lindsey 8. less like scars / sara groves 9. if you want me to / ginny owens 10. i would be stronger than that / gary burr we'll see. that's all i have for now. time to continue my self-pedicure.

Annette is the lovely and VERY interesting lady with an omelette shop in the French Quarter in New Orleans. Go eat there. It's by the Chateau Sonesta on Iberville.

packing boxes is not my idea of fun

i'm sure it appeals to someone. somewhere. why that person is not my soulmate and here supervising this godforsaken move preparation is beyond me. i am writing to distract myself from the fact that i have packed nothing since returning home from church tonight AND from the other fact that i really just want to go through the drive-through at taco bell. i will not go to taco bell at 10:44 pm. i will not go to taco bell at 10:44 pm. i will not go to taco bell at 10:44 pm. my friend karen came to visit me friday night, and we went to get a drink at the local bar. it was fairly low-key upon our arrival, but then the crowd picked up a little. and my extremely overt admirer walked in. ack. i guess if there is only one nice bar in town, you have to understand that you are going to continue to run in to the same people over and over. and smoke-free is worth it to me. to sum it all up, i will transcribe four text messages said admirer sent to my cell phone (no, i did NOT give him my number. it is published on promotional materials for a music series that i manage, so don't judge me!): (oh and all messages are transcribed exactly as written as much as it hurts me to not edit the grammar): 1) your beautiful 2) your even more beautiful than mere words can say 3) U R! Believe in your beauty i do 4) Damn I wish I could speak Spanish (why? so you could be annoying in 2 languages?) the longest conversation i have had with this man, mind you, consisted primarily of discussion of spiritual matters and the life of Christ. so i really don't believe i've encouraged him in any other realm. i refuse to become the girl who is just rude to people -- how would i ever know if i was throwing away an opportunity to effect an eternal change in someone's life? yoiks. i'm concentrating really hard trying not to let the fact that my move is next week overwhelm me. or the fact that a silly little thing called money is going to be more than a minor obstacle for the next three months. it will work out. where, oh where, is the easy money fairy when you need her? speaking of, the natural vanilla bean ice cream fairy dropped by last week and spread a lot of joy. and hips. see http://www.bluebell.com/icecream_flavors.htm for one of the greatest reasons in the world to live in texas. although i hear it's making its way 'round the nation. and i just learned that for the low, low price of $89 (US Dollars), you can ship 4 half-gallons anywhere in the U.S. good lord, would someone (other than, say, delta burke or kirstie alley) really do that? that is more than $22 per half gallon for ice cream? isn't crack cheaper? that's two printer ink cartridges! that's a barrel-and-a-half of oil. more importantly, that's about seven tubes of MAC lipstick, not including tax. and if you take the lipstick route (www.maccosmetics.com), your arse won't grow. the taco bell urge has almost dissipated. i've packed almost my entire kitchen. i think i left out 3 boxes of pasta and 2 bags of microwave popcorn. highly unmotivating, even for a midnight snack. i'm rambling about horribly unimportant things. see below if you are looking for poetry, philosophical musings or real reactions to real life! i'm going to sleep now. no tacos. no packing. no worries.

large print edition

today i found the font i will use to make my change of address cards. and yes, i will send them via the u.s. postal service. for old time's sake. perhaps you just felt the earth move under your feet. i packed a box. with towels and bed linens. not all of either but enough to call it a portion of the mission accomplished. what attracts us to each other? sameness? or opposite-ness? the talents we have or the talents we covet? certainly, it's to be understood, don't you think? why can it be so blinding? is it that everyone does not have some passion? or is it that some embrace their passions and let their passions embrace them back? and then they are unavoidable and transparent. why are so many uncomfortable with their passion? from whence comes that kind of oppression? it seems to me that what happens more often than not is that one sees another consumed by their passion and rather than excavating their own, they decide to resent the former. we should all make it our mission to show the world the joy of following your heart. and love them for it. maybe it's the temptation of the all-or-nothing way of life. responsibility has its place. but all the responsibility in the world in the absence of loving your life sort of renders the fulfillment of the obligations lifeless. it's a few hours past when i started this writing now, and my mind has clearly jumped the track. i'll ruminate on the topic a little more and be back when i'm all here.

holding hands

does anyone else but me truly believe that holding hands is one of the single most intimate acts that two people can engage in together? i truly do. i think it speaks volumes. louder than sex, louder than kissing on the mouth. why? i don't know. perhaps it has something to do with the innocence of it. or the promise of what is to come. sometimes, it fulfills the need. maybe it's to do with the sameness of our hands. or the mirroring effect. the fit. somewhere along the way, the way i hold hands evolved into something very special. that is where my hands go. some hands fit better together than others.

Taco-Thon 2005, San Felipe, Guanajuato. Did you know there are NO calories or fat in tacos consumed at 11:30 pm while in Mexico?

Tradition Vs. Betrayal

(click on the title above to see a great photo gallery of the May 2005 mission trip!) my words have been locked up inside of me for over two months now, and i have decided to let them come out and play. since i last wrote, i have resigned one job, secured a new one, given notice on an apartment, found a house in my new city, heard some incredible music, been to mexico, heard more incredible music and had some very peaceful days and nights. in that order. the title here? i was recently in mexico on a mission trip and as seems the pattern, i find myself very focused when visiting there, whatever the mission. this time, it was actually a mission. a mission trip with my church (www.cypressvalley.org) in a little town in Guanajuato, called San Felipe. about the size of my own hometown and also famous for hand-turned pottery. when i was in school in mexico last summer, i was enrolled in a mexican folklore course taught by a highly educated man named sergio. it was in that class that i first became aware of just how deeply steeped in mysticism and superstition the mexican version of catholicism is. i was thinking about those lectures, and it occurred to me a startling, yet not coincidental, distinction: in the Spanish language, there is only one letter's difference for the words meaning "tradition" and "betrayal". the letter D. for "Dios" perhaps? i might be giving away a Masters' thesis topic here, but it just struck me, especially there where the tradition of the rituals and religion associated with the people's upbringing has a grip on their souls that only God can loosen. i was visiting with a little girl there who had said that she wanted to be baptized, and we were having a little Q&A. one of my Q's was, "if your mom tells you that you are not to leave the house and go outside to play, but you decide to do it anyway and disobey her, what will happen?", and she responded with real conviction, "i'll go to hell". chilling. let me back up. on Saturday May 28th, we left east Texas on a bus decorated all about its exterior with a rainbow. we might have known that we were faced with more adventure than usual when it took us two-and-a-half hours to go the first twenty-three miles. that bottle-neck shook loose, and we went another fifty or sixty miles and encountered another. then we (a 33 passenger bus and a giant truck pulling a trailer) made these extremely cowboy moves that resulted in 180º turns on the interstate and led us to the alternate route. that was the bulk of the first adventure. stop to eat in waco. my turn to drive. the truck pulling the trailer. as fate would have it, the first part was smooth sailing but shortly thereafter, it began to rain. the torrential kind. and i could barely see the road. and anyone who knows me well knows that there are very few things on this planet that put fear in my heart. driving in the rain while being responsible for other human lives is certainly at the top of the list. we survived. on to the border. we had a spanish speaker on the bus, and i was the designated spanish speaker on the truck. we pull into the customs area/border crossing, and we go through one checkpoint. then we get to the next. david (who over the course of this account will be dubbed "king david") gets out to talk to their agent. i, having freshly applied my new favorite lip gloss (MAC "wonderstruck"), jump down and go to see if david needs any help communicating. i see that he has the keys poised to unlock the padlock on the trailer and swings the doors open wide. i talk with the agent in spanish a little, he asks me what we have loaded on the trailer and what we are going to use it for, and begins verbally considering if he is going to make us unload everything so that he can confirm. and then ...he was wonderstruck. and he motions to david to shut and lock the trailer and proceed to the next step. we get back in the truck and dave says, "whatever you do, do not lose that lip gloss!". we pull in and park our vehicle and wait for the bus carrying the remainder of our 22-person party. we see them in the distance, and we see them being detained. finally they come to us, and they have been given their tourist visa applications. i am handed one that i filled out the previous december, and i am to find out if i can still use that one or if i have to fill out a new one. we go inside, and i walk up to the counter where the silver-haired man is sitting. i hand him my december visa, and he begins to scold me harshly, telling me i should NOT still have possession of this document, that i am in violation of the law, that my visa expired seven days after it was issued and that i will be slapped with a fine. una multa. a strong one. una muy fuerte. fabulous. fabuloso. so i turn around, while trying to show him respect so he can finish screaming at me, to try and tell my three other friends who are returning with me from the december trip to rip up and/or hide their old applications. one multa fuerte is enough. no need for 20% of the team to be punished. so we are shuttled through the visa application process. i just remembered in this instance that we were not asked for our passports. just our money. generally, we are asked to turn in our passports with the visa application so that they can put a face or at least an original legal document with each visa applicant's form. i don't remember doing that this time. unlike december, however, i do remember our being charged $22 U.S. per person for entry into the country of Mexico. on to securing the vehicle permission stickers. the vehicle permission stickers. you should recognize that this process is begun in confusion, for even though they have their service windows identified with giant numbers -- 1, 2, 3, 4 -- they are placed in reverse order -- 4, 3, 2, 1. somewhat unsettling, but not as much so as the process of working your way through them. we secure the truck permission first. not without incident but certainly quicker that what you are about to read. then the bus permission. first of all, every vehicle that is going into mexico has to have this sticker. if you make it in without it, congratulations, but your vehicle will be seized, no questions asked, if you do not have it just below and to the left side of your rearview mirror. 4, 3, 2, 1. once you get to 3, you begin considering a sigh of relief. and then they send you to the copy stand to get a copy of one of your pieces of paper. then you go back to the front of the line, which, even though it's policy, undoubtedly enrages all the hordes of people who have been standing in line forever. the agent's cell phone rings. she answers. no she does not. oh yes, she does. and she giggles. and she turns to the side. and chats. at this point, i'm going on fifteen hours without a shower, which is not terribly uncommon considering how busy and ambitious we Americans are. but, i am fifteen hours without a shower, and i am guaranteed at least another twelve hours in the same condition. she sees the impatience on my face, perhaps. or maybe she finished her conversation. she puts her phone down and tries to get us through window 3 so we can go on to 4, and there is a problem. she asks someone to show us where our bus is. he goes out and scribbles a few numbers on a piece of paper. he returns. she tries again. shakes her head. back to 1. go make copies. scribble down numbers. back to 2. make some more copies. what about this guy? where's the bus you brought here in december. oh yeah, all the air conditioning stopped working, so we brought another one. you cannot get another vehicle permission because you did not cancel that one in december. can anyone else here take out the permission in their name? perhaps. wonderstruck. wonderstruck. wonderstruck. there's no place like home. there's no place like home. wonderstruck apparently has no same sex powers unless you use it expressly for that purpose. we run to get someone else whose name is at least on the permission letter from the church. here he is. so, thankfully, we use the written language barrier to convince the agent(s. yes, agents. there are multiple puberty-pushing officials now on our case, tossing their heads back and laughing smugly from time to time). so now we have copies of all the wrong documents because we have changed permission-getters. back to copy station. back to 1. back to 2. go to the head of the line. ...to be continued the long and the short of it is...wait, there was no short of it. we were detained for six-and-a-half hours trying to unravel the mystery. after our third or fourth pass through the numbered windows, someone comes from behind the counter to peruse our documents then says, as if surprised herself, "oh. this is a bus. yes, it's the same bus you have sent three different agents outside to confirm is a bus. we do not issue vehicle permissions for buses in this office. are you kidding me? since when? about two months ago. the law changed. we did not get the memo. where do we get said bus permission now then? at the federal palace, about six blocks from here. six blocks from here. walking. because we do not have permission to drive our vehicle. walking through the bullet-riddled, drug-war-torn streets of nuevo laredo, mexico. gringos. (http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/international/AP-Mexico-Lawless-City.html?). but the federal palace does not open until 8am. it's 5:30 in the morning. so we sit around. most everyone boards the bus, and i remain inside with the ones who are involved in the vehicle near-transactions. i climb the stairs to go to the restroom, introduce myself to a guard, and i ask him where is the federal palace and how do we get there from here. he explains it to me. then says he would be happy to be our guide to getting there when his shift ends. in an hour-and-a-half. Jorge. so, we wander over to the in-house restaurant -- it's like they know they are going to keep you waiting, so they provide sustenance -- and decide on plain coffee. outside to get fresh air and drink it. time passes. jorge's free. so, david, russ, martin and i take off walking with a complete Mexican stranger in the general direction of the federal palace. i chat with jorge. he asks me if i'm single. and which one of these gentlemen is my father. perhaps he's going to ask for my hand right there in the street. mi vida loca. we arrive at the federal palace, which is not very palacial at all. and it's also not very open. why? it's Sunday. it does not open until 8am on Monday. great. however, in a fit of extreme hopefulness, we circle the building twice. and look at the closed for business sign. twice. we confirm with a local policeman that it is a fruitless mission. at least for today. we walk back through the war-torn streets of nuevo laredo at sun-up, and we thank jorge for his time and efforts and re-enter the customs building. new strategy? wait for a shift change. another hour. we avoid the scary old man from the first phase of the experience, and i find another gentlemen who looks far gentler. he dispenses a little hope and notes that he will have to consult his supervisor who apparently does not punch the same clock as he does and who is likely to arrive in another quarter-hour. so we sit. and loiter. i check back in. another member of personnel asks to go inspect the bus. we are given written, special dispensation to take out a vehicle permission for the bus, and we are sent back to the head of the line. window 1. we get as far as 3, and one of the same agents looks at us quizzically, as if to say, haven't i seen you here before? haven't i denied you entry once today already?. she takes all of our papers, marches us back down to the customs window and asks what the special note is all about. and says that it does not really clarify that she can give us the sticker. her writes a little more. stamps it again. and she seems satisfied. back to 1. a boy comes up and begins hand-writing a vehicle permission form, takes our payment and hands me the form through the little 3-inch opening in the glass. i notice that he has not signed it. which undoubtedly renders it worthless. i point it out. he laughs. as if his oversight would not have cost us our bus and however many thousands of dollars it would have taken to get 22 people back the the United States without it. he signs it, returns it. i go to the bathroom, and we roll out of there. at about 10am. 22 hours without a shower. only 12 more to go. i never knew how much i enjoyed being clean. on we go, pretty much without incident. that's the story of the point of entry. the rest will have to wait.

A true moment. A nice summary of many many years of friendship and late-night talks at the Waffle Houses of Music City.

Here's a glimpse of the strange duck-age that we encountered at Nick and Rudy's for a wine tasting. weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!