It always happens. Summer flies by. Lazy days end. Bedtimes come earlier. Soap replaces chlorine. Stores stock more pencils, paper, and crayons. And another school year starts.
There’s an unspoken nervousness that parents, teachers and children share. Parents watching their babies grow a year older. Children wondering if they’ll like the teacher, whose desk will be next to theirs, and who they’ll play with at recess. Teachers nervous about parents, new kids and whether it will be possible to love this class as much as they did the last.
It always happens like that. At least for me.
The the first day that I taught my first class changed my life and after that year was over I was sure I’d never have another class like them. And I haven’t. Thank the precious Lord for that. Still, they taught me how to be a better teacher and how to make it work when all odds are stacked against you.
And I have.
I’ve taught in trailers and offered to teach in broom closets just to be next to kids. I’ve taught orphans and twins and wanna be thugs. I’ve taught in a room with no air or heat and I’ve killed cock roaches galore. I’ve run into halls that were too full with kids that are too wild when winds were too high for our trailer to stand. I’ve had not-so-polite offers to send me heavenward early. And I’ve taught in a foreign country where the best affirmation I can give parents is nods, hugs, and notes that end with smiley faces.
And tomorrow it all starts again. It’s another first day. Parents are nervous. Colombian children are nervous. I am nervous, but I am meant for this.
So, First Day, here I come.
A special thank you to Dr. Clif Mims, one of my former professors and an educational genius. Dr. Mims continues to encourage me to grow professionally, gives me opportunities to write for his blog, and offers invaluable answers to all of my teacher questions. Watch his blog for my next contribution to his 1 Thing series.
I know. I know. I’ve neglected you all, but it takes me a while to adjust.
I’ve been back in Manizales for a week now and at last there is hot water and internet and curtains that cover my wall of windows. The windows that look onto The Avenida. The windows that I can’t open. The windows that let in traffic lights and motorcycle lights and night sorts of lights.
I am here but Mississippi is never far from my thoughts. It was home and all that I’d hoped it would be.
It was Southern drawls and buttermilk biscuits. Sunday lunches and hours of laughs. It was newborn babies and vine ripe tomatoes. It was Momma waking me up and singing to the radio with Daddy. It was soaking up sunshine and snow cones and Sisser and sleepovers. And it was Thursdays at The Sizzler, disc golf, flip flops, road trips and running.
It was home again and I think it was a little harder to say goodbye this time.
I live on the busiest street in Manizales, Colombia. There’s a theatre within walking distance, a large grocery store, and a Juan Valdez coffee shop who’s wifi I can pick up occassionally. There are people wearing clothes imported from the States and fancy cars that fly by obnoxiously blowing their horns throughout the night. There are restaurants with fruity drinks and those forks that are too heavy to use for eating and there are children without shoes standing on corners begging for change, a meal, any hint of compassion. They are hungry.
Nutrir is non-profit foundation that feeds children in the two lowest social stratas of the city. They provide breakfasts and lunches for nearly 4,000 children in 21 locations throughout the Manizales. My class and I spent a day at one Nutrir location downtown. We saw the stores of food and heard about the lack of funding and the number of children for whom they are still unable to provide. And we heard about the hope that they have for increased donations, more plates, more potatoes, more full bellies. We asked questions and wandered around until we heard a clamor in the cafeteria at the front of the building.
The street children rushed in and stopped politely when they saw us. They murmured greetings and giggled in hushed whispers about the blonde teacher in their presence. Then they took their seats and waited patiently on the meal that Nutrir was providing them. They ate hungrily and we watched and I couldn’t help but wonder what life must have been like before Nutrir fed the children.
This post is part of the 40 Day Fast. Erin is writing today as well. Visit Inspired to Action to learn more about the 40 Day Fast and to read other bloggers’ posts on a needs of the world and organizations that are helping to meet those needs.
Yesterday morning I got up early to meet a friend. He’s a bit of a wanderer, too, and I like that.
Somehow it always works out that we’re together in Mississippi at some point in the year. With crazy schedules and whirlwind lives, it seems impossible for old friends to visit. And then there’s the hiccup that is home and we see each other.
We meet on the black top of this small town’s streets in running shoes. The morning is bright before us. We start at an easy jog, laughing at how the rhythm comes back to us so easily. We chat about new adventures, new jobs, new languages. We breathe in and out, our feet forming a familiar cadence in a familiar place.
Life is good.
We are together and moving forward. A series of steps that forever lead back to a hidden town, a morning run.
I like to feel disconnected sometimes. I like taking deep breaths and not thinking about deadlines or inboxes. I like the slow paced life of the South in the summertime. I like being home.
But I like feeling important and web missed, too.
I finally made my way to some internet. (Thanks, Kathryn, for letting me bum the quiet that is your house with wireless.) There were 167 messages in my inbox, half of which hounded me for more blogs. A quarter or so that welcomed me back to good ole Mississippi and then a little sprinkle of spam.
Oh, and four from the wealthy, good looking men that think they are my prince charming. (read: that last part was a lie. a BIG, FAT lie.)
So, today in this quiet house that is not mine but smells like friends, I think I just might read all of my emails and the 348 items in my Google reader. I think I might read them and walk away. No replies. Not today.
Posted in UncategorizedComments Off on i’ll reply soon. i really will.
It’s Monday. Five days since my last post. Craziness.
I rarely ever go a day without writing when I’m in Manizales. Life is slow and I don’t have a cell phone that rings. There’s wifi in my apartment and high speed internet at school.
But I’m in Mississippi today. There’s no internet at my parents’ house and no car for me to drive. There are one thousand people that I want to see and one thousand biscuits that I want to eat. There’s a grandmother to visit and gardens to weed and thick, Southern air to breathe. And I am here.
It was a long, emotional trip, but I am here. I am sleeping in that house on a hill in Nowhere, MS.
It’s a running joke that Manizales shouldn’t even have an airport. Nine out of ten flights don’t make it out and I knew that, but some secret optimistic part of me thought that my 7:00 a.m. flight would be the one that actually took off.
Yeah, right.
At 9:30 a nice lady from Avianca milled through the waiting crowd and found the only blonde in the joint. That’d be me. I followed her to the ticket counter where Hugo informed me that there was no way I’d make my Miami connection. He was really nice about it, but bless his heart, he had no idea what he’d done.
I felt that little chin quivering thing coming on and in less than ten seconds my tired eyes looked like artesian wells. My Spanish stinks to begin with. Top that with a little whipped frustration, a smidge of confused, and a dash of I-miss-my-momma and well, I couldn’t say a word.
Nada.
Poor Hugo looked like most men in the presence of a hysterical woman- terrified, wide-eyed, desperate for the nearest escape route. I felt bad for the guy. I really did, but I felt worse for myself.
And the sobbing continued. Not the whimpering, gentile sort of sob a Southern lady should possess. It was more of a gurgling, slobbery, can’t catch your breath, red faced mess. Trust me, friends, it was ugly. Really, really ugly.
I cried in front of everyone in that airport.
And now I’m in Bogota waiting on a 6:00 flight that will take me to Miami and leave me there for the night. And I’ve cried in front of everyone in this airport, too. I’m sitting in the corner on the floor, bumming the wifi from Juan Valdez, talking to Mom on skype, and crying like a homesick child.
Boomama says that blog readers don’t like moody. Oh, well. Today I don’t like airplanes or mountain weather and I’m moody.
Momma says that everyone needs a good cry now and then and I think she trumps Boomama this time. I did need a good cry. I deserve a good cry. I mean, yesterday’s really official thingy sort of warmed me up for it, right? Unfortunately, my really good cry has been witnessed by over half of the Colombian population.
At least you guys won’t have to see it. I mentioned the whole wailing, gurgling, red-faced, puffy eyed thing, right? Yeah, you don’t wanna see it. Trust me.
There’s just something about airports. The waiting. The rushing. The waiting again. Waiting on people you’ve missed. Waiting on weather to change. Hoping for good winds. Praying for less waiting.
I’m sitting on the floor in a Colombian airport. My plane should have taken off two hours ago. Manizales is covered in clouds and sprinkled with rain. There’s an uneasy hiss of people scattered about- whispers of uncertainty, prayers for just a glimpse of blue and I am praying, too.
Hey, God. I’m so glad that you sent me. Sometimes I wonder why you chose a girl like me for an adventure like this, but as always, I’m glad that you did.
It’s been a good year, Jesus. It has. I’ve grown and changed and learned to see and hear you in all sorts of places. Coffee plants and mangoes. Congas, clarinets, and Colombian people. In miloja and frijoles and abuelitas and monacitas. You are in all of it.
But, God, I’m ready for home. I’m ready to see Momma and go ridin’ with Daddy. I’m ready to sing with Sisser and go walking with Mamaw. I’m ready to sweat in a Mississippi summer. So, God, if you would, clear the skies a little. Let there be blue.
It’s 10:30 and I just sat down. It’s been that kind of day. I had hoped that the day before I came home would be all full of hugs and laughs and time spent with friends. Not so much.
I had tons to finish up at school this morning, so I dove right in. (Seriously, I only checked my email four times before I really, really started working. Four times. Before 8:00.) And THEN I dove right in. I’m productive like that.
8:20. I’m all over it. Working my little hiney off. Human resources lady walks in and politely informs me that I have to go and renew my Colombian identification card thingy. “I can’t.” And I couldn’t. I mean I really couldn’t. I had 157 billion things to do.
10:00 In the car with human resources lady, driving too fast. I think I might vomit. Thirty minutes later. We’re in the really official building where my new card thingy is. Human resources lady has forgotten all of the official papers that the official people in the official building need to give me my official card thingy before I leave in the morning. At 5:00 a.m.
Oh, we need our passports? Weeeellll, we’ll just go right ahead and get those. Through all that traffic, to all five houses, of all five Americans that need those passports to please those official people.
11:30 “Oh, we’re sorry. You’re too late. We go to lunch at 12:00 so we can’t start all of your official paper work because it officially takes about 40 minutes to complete and see, we can’t do all of your paper work before we go to lunch. Soooooo, you’ll just have to come back in the morning.”
11:30.5 I cried. I’m blaming it on hormones. It wasn’t pretty.
12:10 Official card thingy in hand. Kiss on the cheek from really important man that evidently has daughters with emotions they can’t control.
(tune in tomorrow for updates from airports and perhaps a story involving the rest of my day, mangoes, and herpes. I’m so not kidding)
I was so excited about last week’s Ragamuffin Top Challenge that I made my first video after Blake gave me a little tutorial. I waited approximately 52 hours before giving up on the forever upload. And well, this Saturday. I was just lazy and sad that my video (my very first video!) wouldn’t upload.
Finally, I went to the bloggy video queen. Oh, yes, friends. She is funny. And a flippin’ genius. So, at last here’s a little video for your viewing pleasure. (albeit a bit tardy)
Goal/video update: I ran 5 miles on Saturday and didn’t hurt too badly. Some ice and advil after and I was good as gold. Now, about that 5 lbs. I wanted to lose before I head home… yeah. Let’s talk about it later.
August 11, 2008 
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