Everything Is Round

I made it back to Quito last night! After nearly twenty hours of airline travel, layovers and connections, the first thing I did was sleep for twelve hours. It was some of the best sleep of my life. While traveling such long distances, I yearn for a bed above all else. Oh, to sleep in a horizontal position! Not in a constant state of motion, no children kicking the back of your seat, no turbulence, no constant announcements over intercoms, and not having to take all my bags with me when I go to the bathroom. Just peace and pillows and the cat-like stretching of my toes.

I had a wonderful month in Kansas with my family, friends, and relatives, though I didn't get to see everyone I had hoped. I di, however, get to eat amazing BBQ and make beer with my dad and see my nephew on his 3rd birthday and visit my grandmother twice and play with my cousins and get too many documents done and taken care of and cook and bak until I got burnt out and have long talks over coffee and go bowling and watch basketball. This may not sound like much to you, but to me it meant the moon and more.

Saying goodbye to everyone this time was more difficult because it was so different. Things have once more changed. I am to get married soon, I have a new contract with the university, I don't know when I will come home again. And while I try to keep in my mind the thought that every day lived could be your last, it is unspeakably strange and heartbreaking to create a worthy farewell. I am terrible at it. I do one of two things: either I bawl and blubber like a snotty-nosed kid, I cling and I whimper and I stain loved ones shoulders with mascara. Or, I try to remain in control of my tear ducts and appear totally indifferent, unconnected and therefore ingenuine. I would prefer something that lies in the middle of this wildly swinging pendulum. So it goes...

My unexpected trip home was meant to happen, or at least that's what I tell myself of everything, in order to feel grateful for the opportunity to learn from the situation. It put me close to my family for the holidays, it allowed me to get some things in order that I have been needing to do, it enabled me an opportunity to see how my relationships have changed with friends and family back home, and to take that into account.

People grow and change, there is no stopping them. It is like trying to forbid the leaves from turning into such vibrant colors, and then lazily falling to the ground where they will crisp, crumble, and mulch. Such is the way of life and who would want to stop such a beautiful thing?

That said, I am beyond grateful for all the wonderful people who are still in my life. For those of you who are no longer, I will miss you and I wish you the best.

For everyone who helped me (even those of you who think you didn't, let me assure you that you did indeed) I want to thank you with everything I've got. I am not nearly as independent as I'd like to think I am. I am like a spider, held up by a web of unconditional love and support in every sense of the word.

Home

Due to a sudden change of events, I am spending the holidays in Kansas with my family. After the initial stress of changing flights, traveling, and overcoming the sudden temperature change (around 60 degrees difference), I feel very blessed to be home.

I am focusing on flexibility. I am trying to take a deep breath and accept (not try to force change or resist things I cannot control), but just exist so that each new challenge is lived through. Like I said, I'm working on it...

I left the islands with only three days of planning. I surprised all my relatives, only my parents knew I was coming home. Every time I visit, it is intense. This is simply due to the fact that I have a very close family, it's a challenge trying to spend meaningful time with each individual. But I try.

Tomorrow I am baby-sitting my two-year old nephew, which I am really excited about, but also nervous. All he likes to play with and talk about (and boy does he talk!) are trucks and tractors and tools and farm equipment. Not exactly my strong subjects.

Talking with my mom this evening, we told each other what Christmas traditions were most important to us. My mother, being one of the most jolly people in the world (a close second to my sister, the Christmas baby), loves the music, decorations, family under one roof, all of it.

I told her that my favorite traditions were just being together: I love cooking and since I come from a long line of great cooks, there are plenty of recipes that have been handed down through the generations.

Since I've been an "adult" (legally speaking, of course, still waiting to grow all the way up), I have enjoyed waking up early on Christmas morning. There my parents already sit, coffee mugs and bath robes, quilts on their laps. The only lights on in the house are the sparkling decorations and blinking tree. Miniature villages from Mom's collection are also settled around the room. There we sit, in the glow of the holiday, talking quietly and sharing memories. Slowly, yet all too soon, the sun comes up and the day begins.

We start making a brunch of rich tradition and comfort food. Later, the others come with their families and we celebrate again, much later, we celebrate my sister's birthday. We play games, we visit, we give gifts that have meaning, we eat the amazing treats that have been prepared.

It is this year that is so different, though every year brings something new: I am engaged, but I had to come alone, my parents and brother are living in new homes, my nephew is too big for his own britches, and there's another on the way! As I sit in the glow of the small tree this year, I am happy to be home, knowing that this is a different Christmas, and next year will be even more changed.

There is no point to holding onto your reservations about how things should be. They won't ever be. Change is natural and beautiful, sometimes drastic and chaotic and heartbreaking. So it goes...

Holidaze

Ecuadorians don't celebrate Halloween. At least not officially, and certainly not like Americans, who reportedly spend enough on decorations and costumes and parties and candy corn for it to be the second most expensive holiday behind Christmas. Holy jack-o-lanterns.

There is a costume party at one of the bars tonight, with live music and a free drink with purchase of your ticket in. I don't have one, since I don't have a costume. Last year, as a student, I convinced myself I could pass as a flamingo and spent the entire afternoon cutting and stapling and arranging pepto-bismol pink fabric into wings and a tail of feathers. I won nothing but the compliments of my fellow students, who I think had also consumed more than their fair share of caña at that point.

José suggested that this year I go as Snow White (because I am so incredibly pale, due to the unseasonably cool and cloudy weather) and he could be a dwarf. That's right, he's a shortie.

Since the 31st falls on a Sunday this year, I also had to cancel classes for Monday and Tuesday. Let me explain: This being a Latino Catholic nation, all religious holidays are regarded as such: sacred. November first is All Saints Day. No work, no school, I'm just not sure what.

Tuesday is Día de los Muertos, Day of the Dead. This is similar to Memorial Day, with family spending the day at the cemetery, visiting loved ones and honoring their memory, eating picnics and talking to all the other people also spending the day at the cemetery.

November third is the Independence Day of Cuenca, a town in the mainland. I told my students that we would celebrate in classand to feel free to bring traditional food.

Ecuador has literally hundreds of holidays: days of remembrance for battles, saints and martyrs, flags, teachers and parents and grandparents and babies, along with birthdays and Christmas and Easter week and New Years Eve. And Day. This is why the nation is composed of such a laid-back, festive and fun-loving people. They always find a reason to celebrate.

What is also funny is that the fashion of these festivals seldom differ: there is food, there are drinks, there is music, there is dancing, there are decorations, there is more food, there are more drinks, there are babies and great-grandparents and little kids and dogs and middle aged people and teenagers and pregnant women and everyone's family and relatives and dates and best friends and neighbors and people whom you met in the street on the way to the party.

At first I was frustrated with this habit of cancelled classes, closed stores, buckets of money spent on parties, it all seemed so excessive, like it was just too much. If you know me, you know how I feel about shopping and overwhelming holidays and the lavishness of festivities. But now I see that it is the generous nature of Ecuadorians, the open hearts and doors, the ability to step back and celebrate life, that is what I love so much about these people.

Evolution

So things are changing. And I'm changing, but this is nothing new, really. It has only happened in this place that I have focused so much on change and evolution, obviously, and really chewed on the fat of why and how these changes are occurring. Time is cyclical, and I think that certain things happen in order to notice things that were always present, but unawares to you until you suddenly trip over them, like a table leg in the dark.

Biologically, I am at an age where, I hate to admit, there is an instinct to nest. I'm not traveling currently, and living in another country is a very different experience. My daily routines have not only been altered, but so have my basic interests. I am taking salsa lessons, watching soccer matches at the stadium, I take naps on the beach, and I don't ride a bike much anymore. (Only this last item is sad)

The goals that I planned and anticipated for for years have also shifted. Part of this is simply due to new opportunities and experiences. However, I finally realized that all my dreams of what I would do after school didn't involve anyone else, they were based on the fact that I would be single and solo. Forever. I never thought that status would change. But it has, I'm in love and suddenly no longer making the trek alone.

The root of my dreams hasn't changed: I want to travel, I want to work in education and conservation, I want to live in a non-traditional manner, simple and grounded, yet free and flexible. I yearn for fresh experiences, chances to learn.

I read an article recently about how my generation is waiting until much later in life to "grow up" and become independent adults, which was basically defined as professionals and home owners and drivers of SUVs. You know, functional members of society with plenty of plastic in their wallets and security or dependence on such systems as mortgages and outrageous school loans, however you want to describe it.

I often have to remind myself of my own age, and then I spend a few baffled minutes trying to remember how I got here. I kind of like that. I like being lost in the moments which make up life, only to occasionally be given brief lapses of reprieve, to stop and look behind you at the trail you've created. It only proves that you are only as old as you feel, since some days I feel like a teen, while others like an abuelita.

The short of it is that I can feel my constructs shifting. My goals are changed. My outlook on marriage and family and even friendship is altered. In the meantime, I find myself doing things I never foresaw: helping in a tourism outfitter store in the Galapagos, translating for tourists, editing brochures for the National Park, growing endemic cacti in my bedroom window like any other houseplant, taking my handmade cloth grocery bag to the market on Saturdays, watching Latin American politics create headlines in my country of residence, the list goes on.

Bottom line: I am adapting. Like the plants and animals have done here for ages, I am meshing and evolving, I am changing and my future is as bright as the break of day. I won't forget, but will let go of the past as I walk towards the sun.

Cooking With Music

I love music. I love listening to virtually anything, and I love dancing. I am learning to salsa and merengue, but have always been awed by any form of dance: ballet, tango, belly dancing. I grew up watching musicals and reenacting my favorite scenes dressed in a homemade costume with random props. Seriously.

I can't play music, I've tried an eclectic mix of instruments (piano, guitar, harmonica, ukulele, hand drums), and just never seem to pick it up. No heartbreak, though, I'd rather be groovin'.

I also love to cook. I insist on making a spectacle of weekend breakfasts. I always took study breaks to try a new recipe as a way to relax. I spent rainy, cold afternoons next to a hot oven, doling out dishes that were reminiscent of what my grandmothers or mom made. Good old-fashioned comfort food. From hearty breads and bagels and biscuits, to jam and apple butter, chili or soup, casseroles, pasta or dumplings, ribs to roasted chickens, you name it. I also love borrowing ethnic cookbooks from the public library, or getting a recipe as a gift from someone. Of course, I can never stick completely to a recipe, I must make alterations, corrections, impromtu substitutions.

These two facts stated, it should come as no surprise that while I am cooking/baking/inventing in the cocina, I must also be listening to music. It has a serious and direct effect on the flavor of the food.

While living in San Cristobal, this has not changed. When I am preparing almuerzo at home, I must be listening to salsa. Otherwise the soup and rice just don't taste right. They are bland and Jose asks for more salt and a fried egg to drape over the top of the plate.

Today, after visiting the market, I decided to make some apple butter. I bought a few red crisp apples (unfortunately imported to the island), and cinnamon and brown sugar. I made a quick playlist of folk music, some of my favorite songs from what seems like so long ago (?) and began peeling apples.

I immediately was transported to my youth, collecting Golden Delicious apples from the trees in the backyard of my childhood home. And of my Grandpa Fritz and Grandma Isa peeling apples at the picnic table. We would try and peel the whole apple in one, springy spiral.

Sometime around the time Bob Dylan handed the mic to Neil Young, I had boiled the apples and mashed them down as they oughta be. Pouring in the cinnamon and pinching in the sugar, I realized that the music that I demand during these savory sessions has always acted as a main ingredient, if not only secretly.