Carrie’s Blog

Last night I went to bed with music on. I was afraid the silence in between the rush of airplanes overhead would keep me awake. But then I awoke wide awake to nothing but a myriad of butterflies flittering and fluttering about in a mad storm and airplanes louder than normal today. I do believe those airplanes have conspired to act like one of those alarm clocks where the alarm tone gradually grows louder and louder to wake the sleeper. And it has worked. The planes are now annoyingly loud, waking me from my dream in Ecuador.

The problem being, I am not really wanting to wake from this dream. I can only hope this dream continues. I say this because I am liking who I have become in this dream here. I am a person who follows the cliché that goes something like ”I will never be the same.” Yes, the line is quite plain and boring, but the idea and experience behind it is unforgetable and filled with adventure and transformation.

My priorities have been influenced, my idea of energy and stress and work is evolving into something more manageable, and the need for others stands out with a new light, influenced by my latin families here, where individualism is stressed much less. We work together, we eat together, we play together and we rest together. And it is good.

What more to say? There is none. It is an experience I can only carry in my heart. Perhaps the evolution of my heart and mind here will be apparent to those at home, or maybe some will not see it at all. It doesn´t really matter. The dream is undescribable and meant for me. And once again, I am shaking hands with my new self all over again. I wonder how many hands I have inside me that I will be shaking and greeting in this life.

The planes are still here, but the city has woken up and has begun it´s everyday business, drowning out the rush above, giving me one moment more.

When I think of phobias I think of spiders, germs, and small spaces. When I think specifically of claustrophobia the first images that run through my mental filmstrip are elevators, closets, the space under your bed, and trunks of cars. Then I reached a time in my social life where I sometimes felt clastrophobic towards large social events. I would find myself, at moments, in a panic and suddenly out the door saying goodbye to the closest friend or just exiting quickly and quietly. Sometimes I would return, other times I would call from my cell phone to let a friend know I left and wouldn´t be returning. As silly as it is is as real as it was. It still happens, but to a much smaller degree. And after minimizing this Carrie type claustrophobia, I have found another. Time.

Today, looking at life in Ecuador as a countdown that has me facing the next week on the calendar as a goodbye, I found myself in tears once, watery eyes three times, and short of breath to the point of stopping on the street grabbing a rail for grounding. The lack of time has knocked the wind out of me.

I am not sure what to do about besides accept that it is happening. Then I started thinking of all the other moments in life people feel panicky and short of breathe due to lack time. Labor, of course is towards the top, the moment before you break up with someone you care about, perhaps cliff jumping or any adventure type sport for those who are less adventurous. I bet some teens are nervous when they have to merge into traffic for the first time ( or maybe it´s the parents.) The day you find out about you entrance into a program, club, university or long awaited job. I am sure the list goes on, but as I was making this list in my mind, I settled down. The list proves shortness of breathe is perfectly normal and happens to millions of somewhat normal people everyday.

I am sure my loss of breath moments are not over, but the thought that I am a nut has passed. It´s just human reaction to change you positivly or negativly fear experiencing. sigh.

I feel as though I am in confession right now: I like to watch soccer. It´s true, it is exciting and not too long and not too short of a game! Nearly the entire world knows it is the World Cup right now. I wouldn´t know if i were living in the states, but here in Ecuador you can´t miss it. Just the other week the President called off work for the afternoon to permit the country to watch Ecuador play! And let me tell you, I understand.

The whole country stopsand you can find crowds upon crowds of people at cafes and bars with every style and size TV possible. Just the energy from this is exciting! But then, the after party! It´s like the whole city just got married! We have won two games now and you can´t miss that fact here! The city air is filled with a 3 beat honk for the rest of the day. There is no peace here. Younger people file into the beds of trucks cruising the main rodes, police are heavily roaming the streets keeping an eye our for riot causers. It´s just noisy and nuts and way too fun.

So, that is my confession of the day. I like soccer and I am not afraid to watch it.

I am leaving my sweet country of Ecuador on June 29th and am looking forward to seeing my family and friends back hom SO MUCH, but I am also finding myself short of breath with the idea that my life is ending here. Before my time here I was looking at this as an incredible experience to have and to hold. Now I realize it is not an experience, seperate from life, it is life–my life. I have developed habits, routines, different food preferences, and strange ways of prounouncing english words because I have been living in Ecuador. And suddenly, it is finishing. ending. over.

We all have changes in life, but usually, in my expereince and witnessing, they happen fluidly. This is an abrupt stop. I am not sure how to deal with such an unnatural ending. panic! quick! breathe!

I remember being a little girl visiting my uncle´s farm in southern Minnesota and loving following him and my cousins around as they fed the cows and chickens. I remember firmly standing amongst the hay bails claiming I didn´t want to be city girl, I wanted to be a country girl.

There was something about being outdoors and being physically exhausted from the labor of the day, working with animals, that appealed to my senses.

I remember this becasue yesterday I went horseback riding, and acheieved a level of comfort 1 hour into my ride. It was wonderful to be out of my concrete jungle and more a part of the earth. I saw fields of greens, trees of wisdom, and shared laughter with friends I had just made.

This picture was the first time I had thought, ‘’something like this could make me stay.” It was the first time I had a desire to learn and know more. I wanted to know the staff and their lives, I wanted to wake up with them and clean stables and get dirty. I wanted to finish my day with a quiet ride on a dirt road. And, again, I wanted my dad with me to share it.

Nothing but a moment, but oh, it was a good moment. I like it when something stirs inside.

I was at a funeral last week. The mother of one of my favorite students died. Another friend and I went to the funeral together. On our way to the ”funeral home,” my friend and I passed flower stand after flower stand, all convienently prepared with a variety of arrangements for the funeral home nearby. I bought some bright peach roses. Bright colors are encouraged to bring life to the setting of the funeral.

The service was interesting. Before the priest came in, a woman was singing with a guitarist. The last song was the kicker. The room was filled with weeping, and after the song was finished, the singer made her rounds to every person and handed out her business card. It was strange and obviously so normal here.

The service was filled with habits of known prayers, sitting, standing and sitting and standing. I was introduced to many friends and family. One woman asked me if I was a relative of the family. I guess I am ecua after all, ha!

But then came the walk to the cemetery close by. We all gathered, close family and friends in the cemetery and walked behind the truck with the casket. My friend and I took apart some of the flower arrangements and handed the flowers to the others. It was a beautiful parade of sorts, if you will. We were walking up and down a hilly cement cemetery. The lots were not covered with grass or flowers, they were covered with tile or cement. Then we entered another part where I suddenly felt like Alice in Wonderland. We were in a roofed area where we were surrounded by drawers of sorts. A walk in closet, perhaps.

The layers of drawers went up maybe 15 feet. And each drawer was for a casket. When our crowd began to slow, I noticed a young boy waiting at the top of some roll-away stairs. Suddenly, without warning, the casket was hoisted vertically up to this young man and slid into one of the empty drawers. The casket door slapped open once or twice and the final push was by the oldest grandson. And the air filled with wails I have rarely heard. The screams of mourning filled the cement closet of drawers.

I saw my friend. A petite woman screaming bloody murder, ”mommy! my mommy!” and her brother had to wrestle her away as she tried to charge the stair the young man was standing on. My friend was literally surrounded by her family because the act was not finished. After this drawer was filled, it needed to be closed. The next duty of the young man on the stairs is a job I wish on no one. In front of the family, he needed to close the hole. He slide some sort of sheetrock, perhaps, in front of the hole and began cementing it in place. My God, my God, the wails I heard were unbelievable. ”Mommy, my mommy! I don´t believe it! I don´t believe it! Moommmmy!” I had no choice but to cry with her. There are no words, no thoughts, nothing but tears to share and a terrible ache in the soul.

Then it was over. We walked away. My friend composed herself, thanked her friends and family and walked out of the little closet of drawers. Just like that. It was so fast, so brutal. Then I met some friends for sushi. Stunned.

Saturday was another day i completely was consumed by many thoughts, including those of my father.

I went on a 4 hour motorcycle ride to a lake that rests in what some claim to have once been a volcano. It was breathtaking. The way there my eyes were filled with greens of every color on the mountanious terrain of Ecuador. And every person I passed was an Indian of this country. From another time. I was awe struck by the depth and dimension of the land.

When we arrived to our destination I reached the edge of this great crator and looked down upon ice cold blues of a lake, and it reminded me of a hike I took with my dad in the Big Horn Mountains. A hike I treasure in the depths of my heart.It was still and wonderful.

It took about 30 minutes to hike down and we were passed by mules and horses and the indeginous of this country with old skirts, colorful tops, and durbey hats.

When we arrived to the bottom the water reminded me of Superior. And there were kyaks. My heart raced, I had forgotten how much water is a part of me. It was beating so hard, like the moment you know you will get your first kiss. Alas, to rent was $5, which i did not have with me. I had to look up at the mountains and keep my back to the lake because i couldn´t bear to know other people, with no skill whatsoever, were allowed to ride that kyak, and I, a daughter of a jack-of-all-trades, was not. OH! to feel the water glide beneath me with the push of an oar was too much to bear! How I miss Minnesota lakes!

The climb back up was terribly difficult, we were at an elevation higher than Quito, i was beginnig to wonder if any oxygen at all existed in the air.

And while climbing my mind was racing of new adventures. Then continental divide, the appalachian trail….I always forget how important sleeping under the stars and being surrounded by trees and water is until i have revisited. I am not the city girl I thought i was. not at all. and i am glad to have been reminded of this.

I have poor Spanish speaking skills, but I am not afraid to try. I enjoying practicing and using what I know where ever I am because I know that the people around me will be patient. I always get a big smile and a relaxed patient look from the person I am speaking with. I constantly come upon people willing to wait and talk things out with me.

Then, I sit in cafes that are popular amongst tourists and I sometimes witness English speaking tourists getting upset because one of the wokers doesn´t understand the English they are using…which leads them into speaking louder for no reason. And they have no patience. I become so embarrassed for them, I usually give up my computer time to go and help if I can. Calm the tourist and relieve the worker.

Are we patient with our neighbors who are learning English in our neighborhoods or do we get annoyed they aren´t adapting fast enough or the way we want them to?

In a predominantly Catholic country, you can count on LOTS of days off around those ”religous holidays,” such as Easter. So, at 6:30 on a Thursday morning I took off for the coast with my two good friends here. And in the evening we found ourselves in a hippie village filled with good music, no gringos, and a beach essentially to ourselves. It was a perfect weekend away from our lives in the city.

We were there two full days. My first day I went on a walk with one of my friends and we discovered a beach filled with sandollars and butterflies. We swam like babies in a bathtub and shared our lives. And it was good. My second day I went on a walk with my other friend and we discovered fish we had only seen on the discovery channel or in a Disney movie and shared our lives. And it was good. Our last night, before we traveld by bus at night to find our city again, we found ourselves in a Chinese restaurant remembering it was Easter. And it was good.

One of my friends pulled out one of her textbooks she has been practicing Spanish with and read to us in Spanish, I posed as the translator and reported the message into English, and my other friend listened as an audience member (and to make corrections; she has the best Spanish among us.)

We read about the holiday´s traditions and answered a quiestionare at the end. We did it for entertainment, nothing else, but it led us into the stories we hold as well. One of my girlfriends noticed me commenting how unfamiliar I was with some of the traditions we read about and so she asked me to share what Easter meant to me. And so I began with Jesus in the Garden and his arrest to Pilate and the crowds, to the denials of faith, to moments on the cross, to a Sunday filled with Adventure for two Marys. It was told from a child´s point of view, I have to admit. But my friend thanked me. She said when she has asked others, she gets a two sentence story and was thankful she finally knew.

Then my two friends shared some of the Jewish traditions their families hold which led all three of us into retelling the Passover story together in rememberance. I think it has been the best church service yet. I hadn´t realized we were having church in a Chinese restaurant until later, I only noticed we had an intimate and special moment.

So, although in this weekend, I missed my family and friends at home terribly, I was provided with 2 wonderful friends here. And because we have trusting friendships we were safe to share a deeper part of us, and this is good.

Somedays I sit in my room alone and sad and wonder what I am doing in a country away from all I knew. Every once in a while, someone will enter my life and ask me what my goals are for the time being here or do I feel that I “made the right decision” (referring to living in another country)

Well, my goals. I am curretly in a goal that is long term, which means I won’t get the cute and tidey diploma after a few moths declaring “SHE DID IT!” It’s more like a tiny scrap paper that was found on the floor that says, “She’s in process.” And I am great with that. I don’t need a diploma or a loud fiesta, I am just tring to become a better citizen and teacher.

I honestly feel it is not only an opportunity, but also a responsibility for me to live in another place immersed in culture and lonliness in order to gain greater understanding and empathy for the students and families and friends I will return to and a language I can finally use to converse with for those families and friends and help them. I believe this is AT LEAST the one thing I really can do to access more people and love them in they ways they need.

So as lonely as I am at times, I signed up for it romantically knowing I would feel this way, and in reality aching from it, but it is grounds for discovery in the deep and later, emerging, not as a superhero, but as someone who can show up in an office, school, supermarket, post office, library or home and ask if I can be of help and bring comfort and relief.

Yes, this is the responsible decision.