Mona Lisa's Teeth

Tell Me

2011-07-20T14:32:00.001-05:00

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
~Mary Oliver

Beauty School

2011-07-15T12:26:00.002-05:00

I had a delightful student haircut experience at Aveda Institute earlier this week. The experience begins with a scalp and shoulder massage using your choice of aromatherapy oil. Then the wash, cut, style follows. The students are usually kind and enthusiastic, and the instructors are on hand for both approval and to save the day where necessary.

As the student was blowing out my hair this week, I happened to look over at the "station" next to me. The student-stylist was sitting in the chair with a mannequin's head in her lap working intently on cutting gum out of the it's hair.

I guess that if they don't teach that in beauty school, where else are you going to learn? Who would have guessed?

My Life

2011-03-22T12:17:00.003-05:00

I have a new student named Sean who is about 8 years old. He originally started with guitar, but didn't like to practice because it hurt his fingers. He is also a very active kid and the guitar teacher couldn't be calmer and more easy-going, so probably their temperaments didn't match either. I've been working with him for about a month, and he has just been soaring in piano. His mom told me yesterday that he practices all the time and earlier this week she asked him how he was liking piano.

He stopped what he was doing and grew serious. "Mom," he said. "It's my life."

Post-Milennials

2011-03-10T11:25:00.003-06:00

In another lesson with a 9-yr-old who has a fascination with my cell phone, she begged me to let her text herself from my phone to hers. (Because she has a cell phone at 9 years old!!) Against my better judgment I gave her 30 seconds to write and send a message. She wrote "hi friend" and just thought it was the most hilarious thing she'd ever done.

The next evening I got a text message from that number..
"who are you?"

Thankfully I had the sense not to respond. The last thing I want is a flood of texts from a 9-yr-old who can text twice as fast as I can.

From the mouths of babes..

2011-02-09T08:45:00.002-06:00

A piano lesson.

I told third-grader Carla that she could play "Toccata Breve" to prove to any kid that she was a great piano player. (She played this piece by memory at the recital last June.) Then I said, "I bet you still remember how to play that one."

"Nope," she corrected. "My brain is like a computer. It can change screens,... play games,.. store new things I learn, and delete stuff that I don't need anymore."

Mom and Dad

2010-10-13T09:19:00.002-05:00

A recent photo of my mom and dad which perfectly captures this new life they call "Retirement." Think that means putzing around the house and putting your feet up? Not in the Bodine world.

Why I love my job..

2010-10-04T18:58:00.000-05:00

To Carry a Djembe..

2010-09-09T07:45:00.000-05:00

Awkward from any angle...

Wide load coming through!

Tiny Tug, Long Island Sound

2010-09-06T17:40:00.000-05:00

Love you a Latke.

2010-08-19T19:26:00.000-05:00

Potato Vegetable Latkes with... farmers' market goods, eggs from somebody's backyard, and last year's last jar of homemade applesauce. Delish.

Rainy Tuesday

2010-08-03T21:41:00.003-05:00

Tuesday mornings are lovely this summer. I am scheduled to teach from 8:30-10:30 in the morning just a few blocks away. Since it's just a few blocks away, I get to sleep in an extra half hour. Then I stop at the farmers' market on the way home to pick up our weekly CSA. I've been a frequent shopper at the flower guys' tent as well.

This morning was the first rainy Tuesday of the summer. It was the best kind of rain--gentle and no wind--which means you can leave the windows open to listen without getting wet. I woke up a little earlier than scheduled, so I sat in our sunroom with my toast and coffee, windows open, and listened to the soothing sound of steady, gentle rain. What a treat. It reminded me of the gentle rain we had every afternoon in Scotland on our visit. Peaceful. Restorative.

Perfect way to ease into the day.

You can learn a lot of things from the flowers...

2010-07-27T15:28:00.003-05:00

Enchanting summer night. Fireflies making the night air sparkle and night-blooming flowers waving in the gentle evening breeze.

Caitlyn: Did you guys know that this plant's flowers only open at night? Isn't it fun to think about flowers and bugs having little love affairs?

Lisa: I feel like if the flowers could talk, the mother flower would be saying, "all right girls, time to let your hair down.."

anyone lived in a pretty how town

2010-06-09T10:10:00.001-05:00

by e.e. cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Plastic Free Life

2010-06-02T10:49:00.006-05:00

A coworker of mine, Jeanne Haegele, will be featured on the CNN special Toxic America this Thursday, June 3^rd at 8 p.m. Eastern. Jeanne has been working for the past 2.5 years to become as plastic-free as possible. She blogs about her experiences at http://lifelessplastic.blogspot.com. Her story will be included in the CNN special to demonstrate that people can make simple, everyday changes to reduce their reliance on plastics and the potentially hazardous chemicals they may contain.

All in a Day's Work

2010-05-28T14:53:00.000-05:00

The Peace of the Wild Things

2010-05-28T09:52:00.002-05:00

The Peace of the Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

All because of the dress..

2010-05-14T11:03:00.002-05:00

Dialogue with a student.

Miss Caitlyn: Carla, what a lovely dress you're wearing today!

Carla: I hate it. My mom MADE me wear it. And I'm probably getting a D or a C in math.

Miss Caitlyn: Uhh.. what?

Carla: I hate this dress so much that I can't concentrate in math and I'm probably failing!

The Story of Stuff

2010-05-09T17:58:00.001-05:00

I saw this about a year ago, but I needed a refresher..

How long?

2010-02-23T16:06:00.001-06:00

How long can one stand in the basement with a cantankerous landlord, staring at a misbehaving washing machine, without exchanging a single word?

Pretty long, it turns out. Pretty long.

To Claim A Wife

2010-02-17T21:11:00.002-06:00

Take a look at the synopsis for this romance novel..

http://www.fantasticfiction.co.uk/f/susan-fox/to-claim-wife.htm

Too wild to wed...

March of the Goblins

2010-01-07T19:17:00.003-06:00

When I am teaching I tend to fully embrace what I'll call "kid-mode." I laugh a lot with my students, but the funny and poignant things they say don't always stick with me. Today, for whatever reason, it did. Sophia is 7 years old and is a very practical and clever little girl. The new song we worked on this afternoon was called "March of the Goblins." I played it and sang it to her so she could hear the tune, and the words went something like this:

Yo-ho! Yo-yo-ho! Marching up the mountains thunder! Gold! Gold! We like gold! And we'll guard our plunder!

At the end of the song, Sophia said, "Uh, Miss Caitlyn, I don't really get that."

"Get what?" I asked.

"The words."

I explained that they were goblins searching for gold, defined plunder, etc, and she said, "But why do they like gold so much? All it is is a bit of shine."

"Yes, but they're goblins," I replied. "Wouldn't you like to search for gold if you were a goblin?"

"No. I would like to read. And sing."

(pause pause pause pause......................... a glance and a smirk up at me)

"...and play the piano."

I laughed. Did I mention she's also very diplomatic? Maybe she'll be a politician someday!

Auld Lang Syne

2010-01-02T17:18:00.003-06:00

I wasn't going to go into detail about my pathetic situation, but since I alluded to it and people are asking, I might as well get it over with.

New Year's Eve sucked. Everyone was either out of town or already had plans with their families or significant others, so I spent the evening alone on the couch with episodes of a PBS Special and a cup of coffee. I took a hot bubble bath and tried to convince myself that really this was what I wanted anyway, but it didn't work. It just sucked. I threw in the towel at 11:50 and got into bed. When the fireworks started to go off a few minutes later, I sang Auld Lang Syne to myself, from my bed, in the dark, alone. I felt like Bridget Jones in the opening scene where she tearfully lip-sings All By Myself over a glass of wine.

So I guess 2010 is going to come on in and make itself at home. I'm hoping that after the rocky start to our relationship we get used to each other.

Happy New Year.

Car Maintenance

2009-12-29T10:30:00.005-06:00

Car maintenance is one of those attention-to-detail aspects of my life that I really could do without. While for the most part I am self-sufficient as an independent woman, there are some things I wish I could delegate to a teammate, and car maintenance is near the top of the list. I realize it is important and I should know things, but really it just doesn't stick. I try to pay attention when someone explains or shows me something, but, entirely against my will, my eyes glaze over and I just cannot make myself care.

On Saturday this weekend Mom, Dad and I pulled out our cross-country skis for this season's virgin run through the forest preserve. My down snow vest was in my trunk in case of emergencies, so after brushing all the snow off I unlocked the trunk. However, despite all of my pulling, prying, grunting, and moaning, I could not get the trunk open. It was frozen shut! I called Dad to help me, but he couldn't get it open either. I resigned myself to other snow clothes and went on my way. Skiing was beautiful, by the way.

Sunday as I was warming up the car to drive back to Chicago, Dad threw a shovel-full of snow on my windshield as a parting gift. I tried to clear the snow using my windshield wipers, and realized then that I needed new ones. Streaks would be a generous term for how my wipers cleared (or rather, didn't clear) the windshield. The driver's side had one streak just at eye level, and the passenger's side didn't clear at all. Since it was clear that day, I sighed, waved goodbye and started on my journey. All was well until I got on the highway. My vision grew more and more obscured as one after another cars all around me threw up dirt and splatter from the road. My wipers were worthless.

The situation became urgent, and I decided I needed to purchase some new wipers STAT. I exited, pulled in to Target, and circled the lot several times looking for a space. Finally found one, bee-lined into the auto section, proudly looked up my make/model, grabbed the correct wipers and got in line. There were only 2 people in front of me, but the checker was so slow that I waited for 20 minutes listening to the deadbeats behind me pontificate about child support. Finally to the front of the line, one of the deadbeats started exclaiming about my wiper and how much it cost, but upon further inspection said, "oh, but it's only one.." WHAT??

I got out of line, went back, got the other stupid wiper, got back in line, waited, checked out, returned to my car and started trying to install a new one. Cars desperate for my parking space waited with their blinkers on, but I was going nowhere fast. I couldn't figure out the wiper installation and, feeling peer pressure, finally decided I would just make it home and figure it out later. Back in the car it started to snow, but I could see enough. Just as I came around the corner of my street, relieved to have finally made it home, my trunk, finally thawed out, popped open.

If anyone would like to volunteer for the job of Caitlyn's car care-taker, I would be much obliged. If not, sorry Dad, you're stuck with the job.

Brussels Sprouts

2009-11-16T08:24:00.004-06:00

I am wondering how these guys got such a bad reputation. Last night Mom dropped off almost an entire share of autumn produce. It was extra from her share that she was trying to get rid of! We now have a fridge full of spinach, carrots, red onion, turnips, rutabaga, kohlrabi, celeriac, cabbage, 4 different kinds of squash, and a stalk of brussels sprouts. Well actually, minus the brussels sprouts--I cooked them last night.

This was my first time cooking brussels sprouts, and I must say it was kind of fun popping them off their stalk. I trimmed off the long ends and peeled back any wilted leaves and found a recipe to carmelize them with red onion and red wine vinegar. Toasted pistachios garnished the finished dish. They were delicious!

I immediately started wondering about their reputation and decided to experiment by posting my cooking accomplishment on facebook. Within 12 hours, at least 8 people have responded with the way they most enjoy their brussels sprouts-- sauteed with golden raisins and hazelnuts, with bacon, carmelized with pistachios AND chopped dried apricot, chopped fine with pasta. These are not 8 of my notoriously "foodie" friends, either. They are just a random sample of my connections.

And so I'm happy to report that there is a place in our hearts (and stomachs) for brussels sprouts after all. And lucky us, because according to Wikipedia, "they contain good amounts of vitamin A, vitamin C, folic acid and dietary fibre. Moreover, they are believed to protect against colon cancer, due to their containing sinigrin."

Bring 'em on!

Bad Dog Tavern

2009-10-10T22:54:00.003-05:00

As situation would have it, I haven't been meeting a lot of available men lately. Having realized that this may be partially because I don't often break out of my comfortable social circle--one where I know them, they know me, and most are, in fact, women--, I accepted an invitation tonight to go to a neighborhood bar to celebrate a friend-of-a-friend's birthday. The friend-of-a-friend is a man and the bar is in my neighborhood, so it seemed promising.

Upon joining with the group, however, I looked around and overwhelmingly felt like a BABY. I have no problem socializing with adults, and I do realize that I am slowly becoming an adult myself, but all of these people seemed to be in their mid-thirties. Not old, mind you, but still 10 years older than me. Just not what I was expecting.

Great, I thought, as I settled in with my pumpkin ale. Just then a handsome man walked into the bar and headed for our table. Since the only seats available were directly across from us, he made his way over to us. He had piercing blue eyes, wore a ball cap, and appeared to be closer to my age--30 max! BINGO!

He sat down and we struck up conversation. As soon as names were exchanged he mentioned his wife and new baby. And another one bites the dust.

So here I am, another Saturday night nearly gone, alone in my apartment, reflecting on another evening spent in the company of charming, but ineligible men.

Is anyone interested in going to Spain? Perhaps tomorrow?

And so it begins..

2009-09-29T10:00:00.002-05:00

Sometime over the weekend the page was turned. Gone are the cheerful sundresses, bright colors, and airy sandals. Gone is the lightness of spirit and genial air of conviviality among my fellow Chicagoans.

The wind howled last night and the virgin radiators hissed their warm greeting while we slept beneath our comforters, windows closed.

As I wade through the commuter stream this morning, we are clothed now head to toe -- somber grays, blacks, browns. Neutral, while the chilled wind whips our hair about. Do our expressions match our attire? There is an excitment, an anticipation of the splendour of fall, but it competes for space with the dread of quickly approaching winter.

With the liveliness and oppressive cheerfulness of summer behind us, we loosen the chains of our darker, melancholy and reflective selves. Solemn contemplation is now our sport as we enter the season of waiting.

Invented Good

2009-09-13T08:43:00.003-05:00

Every once in a while there comes a moment when the good you worked so hard to see in someone turns out to be all your own invention. Or maybe that only happens to me because I'm not so good at discerning character? Whatever the case, I seem to have adopted a "see with my own eyes" policy because I can't change my mind about a person until they have, without a shadow of a doubt, proved me wrong. It's actually amazing how good I am at rationalizing behavior (quite elaborately, I might add) and handing out benefit-of-the-doubts like it was my job.

A Litany of Prayer for the Uninsured and Under-Insured

2009-09-06T15:30:00.002-05:00

As read in church this morning:

Reader: We are the millions of men and women in our national community who--for a variety of reasons: downsizing, outsourcing, restructuring--will wake up one day this year to learn that we no longer have a job. Added to the stress of finding a new job, we'll also have to figure out how to continue to provide health care for our families. If we are fortunate to have health insurance, we will be faced with paying more at a time when we are trying to make due with less.

We are the 4 million people in our national community who will celebrate a 19th birthday this next year. As we blow out the candles on the cake, we may be marking the loss of our health insurance. Our society will ensure that if we call the fire department, someone will respond. It will not offer us the same guarantee for our health.

We are the 5 million children in our national community whose lack of health insurance sets up a barrier to good health. We are children in a nation that works to make sure we each have a basic education. We are chilren in a nation which ignores that we need a similar guarantee for health care.

We are the 30 million workers between the ages of 18 and 64 who earn less than $9 an hour. Those of us who work full-time earn $18,800 a year. Many of us are the store clerks, mechanics, dry cleaners, and restaurant workers you meet. Our nation relies on our work to keep America humming along. We typically have no health insurance. We make too much to get health care from public health programs. We often end up in emergency rooms for care because we have no other place to go.

We are the owners of small businesses, those businesses with less than 100 workers. We employ 38 million people in communities across the country. We support the local little league team and sponsor civic events. Because of the high cost, we often are unable to provide the proctection of health insurance for our employees.

We are the six of every 10 people in the United States who are lucky enough to have jobs that offer health insurance for our families. And yet, each year, we find that we are paying more. Deductibles and co-payments keep going up. More and more things are not covered by our insurance, which means we have to pay for them. As a result, many of us--people who own homes, who had full-time employment and insurance before getting ill--will declare bankruptcy because of our medical bills.

We are the 18,000 people who will die this year because we do not have the security of health care that comes with having insurance. Out of pride, out of shame, out of fear--or because we simply don't have the money to go to the doctor--we will ignore signs that our health may be in jeopardy. If we do get medical attention it will be too late.

We are the uncounted millions for whom preventative health care and a healthy lifestyle are a struggle. We live in the inner city where fresh fruit and vegetables are not available in our markets. We live in rural communitites with no doctors. The color of our skin or our gender disproportionately impacts the diagnosis and treatment of a medical condition.

Response: You are or have been one of us. We know or have known others. We care for you and we pray for you, remembering that we are all brothers and sisters.

Adapted from "Readings from the Uninsured" in "Vision and Voice: Faithful Citizens and Health Care," Session 1, accessed at www.visionandvoice.org.

Caitlyn and the Earthworm

2009-08-28T14:10:00.003-05:00

Yesterday while walking up the concrete steps of one of my piano families' condominiums, I noticed an earth worm inching along. I looked up and down and side to side. Concrete everywhere. I have no idea how he got there, but I wanted to help him out. Over the concrete wall there was a tiny patch of landscaping, and I decided to drop him over. I bent to pick up the worm rather reluctantly, but the moment I touched it, it practically started seizing! I leapt back in surprise, and then laughed at my squeamishness as the worm quieted down and went on his way. I tried again. Same reaction. I just could not bring myself to grasp his wrigley, wormy body! I had no idea I was such a wimp.

I shook my head as I walked away and said aloud to him, "I'm sorry, I can't save you." I wonder where he is now.

Playing for Change

2009-08-04T16:09:00.002-05:00

This is my new favorite social organization. I bought their CD/DVD that came out a few months ago, and can't stop listening to it.

The Phantom Tollbooth

2009-07-28T13:27:00.004-05:00

"There were at least a thousand musicians ranged in a great arc before them. To the left and right were the violins and cellos, whose bows moved in great waves, and behind them in numberless profusion the piccolos, flutes, clarinets, oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets, trombones, and tubas were all playing at once. At the very rear, so far away that they could hardly be seen, were the percussion instruments, and lastly, in a long line up one side of a steep slope, were the solemn bass fiddles.

On a high podium in front stood the conductor, a tall, gaunt man with dark deep-set eyes and a thin mouth placed carelessly between his long pointed nose and his long pointed chin. He used no baton, but conducted with large, sweeping movements which seemed to start at his toes and work slowly up through his body and along his slender arms and end finally at the tips of his graceful fingers.

'I don't hear any music,' said Milo.

'That's right,' said Alec; 'you don't listen to this concert--you watch it. Now, pay attention,'

As the conductor waved his arms, he molded the air like handfuls of soft clay, and the musicians carefully followed his every direction.

'What are they playing?' asked Tock, looking up inquisitively at Alec.

'The sunset, of course. They play it every evening, about this time.'

'They do?' said Milo quizzically.

'Naturally,' answered Alec; 'and they also play morning, noon, and night. Why there wouldn't be any color in the world unless they played it. Each instrument plays a different one,' he explained, 'and depending, of course, on what season it is and how the weather's to be, the conductor chooses his score and directs the day.

The last colors slowly faded from the western sky, and, as they did, one by one the instruments stopped, until only the bass fiddles, in their somber slow movement, were left to play the night and a single set of silver bells brightened the constellations. The conductor let his arms fall limply at his sides and stood quite still as darkness claimed the forest.

'That was a very beautiful sunset,' said Milo.

'It should be,' was the reply; 'we've been practicing since the world began.' And, reaching down, the speaker picked Milo off the ground and set him on the music stand. 'I am Chroma the Great,' he continued, gesturing broadly with his hands, 'conductor of color, maestro of piment, and director of the entire spectrum. Now I really must get some sleep.' Chroma yawned. 'Be a good fellow and watch my orchestra till morning, will you? And be sure to wake me at 5:23 for the sunrise. Good night, good night, good night.'

.........

One by one, the hours passed, and at exactly 5:22 Milo carefully opened one eye and, in a moment, the other. Everything was still purple, dark blue, and black, yet scarcely a minute remained to the long, quiet night.

'I must wake Chroma for the sunrise,' he said softly. Then he suddenly wondered what it would be like to lead the orchestra and to color the whole world himself.

And so, as everyone slept peacefully on, Milo stood on tiptoes, raised his arms slowly in front of him, and made the slightest movement possible with the index finger of his right hand. It was now 5:23 AM.

As if understanding his signal perfectly, a single piccolo played a single note and off in the east a solitary shaft of cool lemon light flicked across the sky. Milo smiled happily and then cautiously crooked his finger again. This time two more piccolos and a flute joined in and three more rays of light danced lightly into view. Then with both hands he made a great circular sweep in the air and watched with delight as all the musicians began to play at once.

The cellos made the hills glow red, and the leaves and grass were tipped with a soft pale green as the violins began their song. Only the bass fiddles rested as the entire orchestra washed the forest in color.

Milo was overjoyed because they were all playing for him, and just the way they should."

-The Phantom Tollbooth
by Norton Juster

In Mourning

2009-07-16T18:34:00.003-05:00

Today I weep. I waited and planned for this day with such tender care. I designed the craft and gathered my tools. The mozzarella was smooth and fresh; I sliced it lovingly. I chose my first tomatoes of the summer from the farmers' market, marveling at the thinness of their skin and the sweetness of their swollen flesh. At just the right moment, I plucked fresh basil leaves from the backyard garden and breathed in their heady aroma. All was set. All was ready. Let the feast begin.

But the last piece, the one to bring it all together, the crust, was never meant to be. A misunderstanding led to a frantic plan B which led, to my dismay, to a substitute that could never withstand the weight of such a summer bouquet. How disappointing to lose such a dream just before it came to fruition. One that's been desired and anticipated for so long! A winter of waiting dashed by a simple turn of events.

So my sweet, aborted pizza, I weep for you and for the summer celebration quelched by your sudden absence. More summers and more pizzas will come, it's true, but on that one special July evening you were all I wanted. All I needed. You.

Everything's Coming Up Roses

2009-07-08T12:03:00.003-05:00

My fear-conquering music gig hasn't really panned out. Why, you ask? Well, the guitar-playing friend has been a little, shall we say, unreliable. That is, I have suspicions that he may not be a guitar player at all. He might be a hit man. Or a spy. Or in fact, Superman. I haven't actually seen inside the guitar case. It might be a cover.

IF he makes an appearance at the time and place he said he would, he tends to disappear without a word or a trace at some point before the night is over. Last time my friend Irena saw him she pulled him aside and intimated, "We just want you to know, that we KNOW..." She reported that he looked worried.

However, while my cafe-singing dream may be temporarily postponed, I had an inspiring music moment of a different sort. A week after we held our Spring Recital for all the children, we held a Musicale evening for our adult students. Lisa and I both teach only one adult student each, so decided to host an informal gathering over wine and appetizers where they could play for each other. Both students invited their husbands and their parents came as well!

Lisa and I arrived early to decorate our sweet little studio space with flowers and candles. It was beautiful! We had just enough space to get everyone into the little room, and with the night falling outside the enormous window over the leafy trees, and the candles twinkling all around the room--on the piano, on the fireplace, windowsills, etc--, it was such a warm ambiance.

Both students played well, and then Lisa and I took our turn. Lisa played a gorgeous Nocturne by Chopin and I played and sang a little Italian art song. It was so much fun to be in such an intimate space, having community and sharing music! After listening to Lisa's rendition of the Chopin, I have a renewed appreciation for classical piano music. I've started learning a few new pieces, and I haven't seriously undertaken any new pieces since I was taking lessons in college!

I can't wait until we organize the next Musicale, and I hope to do them regularly. I'm feeling nostalgic about Gram's memories of her dad on the cello, her mom on the piano, and the neighbors coming over in the evenings to play and enjoy music together. Oh life, before we had so many mind-numbing things to grab at our attention!

I invited Mom and Dad to play too on the next one since they are both doing an independent study. We'll see if I can convince them...

An Inefficient Pleasure

2009-07-02T17:47:00.003-05:00

When an economist looks at a cherry tree, he or she sees inefficiency. The excess of flowers will yield an excess of cherries, each with its own fertile pit, all of which can't possibly grow into cherry trees. What a waste! A poet who considers a cherry tree--particularly a Japanese poet who considers a cherry tree heavy with blossoms--will inevitably feel a surge of melancholic verse well up inside about the beauty and fleeting nature of Earth's creation. A cherry lover looking at a cherry tree will mainly think of the delicious bounty of cherries it will produce.

The best thing you can do with fresh, ripe cherries is to bite them off at the stem immediately, eat them and, if you're outdoors, spit the pits as far as you can. With any luck they'll grow into cherry trees. After all, the more cherry trees, the better.

If the cherries are over- or underripe, or if you have so many you want to do something other than stick them all into your mouth, make a cherry pie, and be grateful Mother Nature never studied economics.

--Elbrich Fennema

Conquest

2009-06-12T11:58:00.003-05:00

Something has happened to my nerve. After the completion of my capstone recital at SU 4 years ago I fell off the performance bandwagon. That recital was such a positive experience! I felt confident, I sang well, and most of all, I enjoyed doing it! I was nervous though. Leading up to it, as I put on the dress, as I walked on stage, as I breathed deeply during the intermission, as I took my bow. Nerve city. But I did it. I overcame. I triumphed. Well, I won't get carried away.

But since then, I don't know what happened! I feel crippled by performance anxiety. I started taking voice lessons again, I even made a demo recording, but I never got up the nerve to submit it to the amateur open-mic events. No way. I joined a chorus. That's safe. Safety in numbers.

But even so, my daydreams often include a little band, me at the mic, a dark, intimate space with candles on the tables... But any time someone finds out I'm a singer and asks me to sing something or gives me a lead for gigs/other musicians, I sieze up. The whole package--the adrenaline courses through my body, my breathing shallows, my heart starts pounding, my hands get clammy, and I get that hollow feeling in my gut. It's ridiculous.

And I'm going to conquer it.

I met a musician. Who knows a musician. Who knows a musician. And together we have a voice, a guitar, a cajon drum, a double bass, and a taste for Latin American music. The owner of the little cafe where I take tango has already claimed us for our first "concert." All that's left is getting us together to practice and setting a date.

Give me victory or give me death.

Alone in a Crowded Room

2009-05-27T13:30:00.003-05:00

Urban areas are the cultural centers of the world--meccas for the arts, music, religion, politics, technology, etc. People flock to cities in the hope of finding better economic opportunities, or perhaps drawn by the hustle and bustle--the vast and diverse population.

And yet, I find that despite the enormous number of residents and commuters--the constant flow of people on sidewalks and streets, and the population density of a small city block that soars 40 stories into the sky--living in the city can be isolating. People tend to create or join "selective communites." These are not dependent on the frequency of encounters/interactions or geographic proximity, but rather made up of people who share an interest.

For example, I have lived in the same apartment for 2 years, and I know the name of only one neighbor on my entire block. Everyday I take the same train and see the same people on the platform, but I've never spoken to any of them. In fact, we don't even acknowledge each other. The friends that I've made over the years claim different connections to me -- we worked together once, we sing together in a chorus, we met in a dance class, we had a friend-of-a-friend connection, etc. I set dates to meet with them--over coffee, for a walk, at a bookstore, to a concert, dinner, but rarely, if ever, do we run into each other by chance, nor do we stop by unannounced.

This leaves little opportunity to keep an eye out for the common welfare of the community. I think it's a little sad and a little ironic. A crowded room of people where no one makes eye contact or acknowledges that there are other people present in the room. I wonder if the suburbs fare any better.

Life Before Cell Phones

2009-04-24T17:27:00.003-05:00

Hard to believe, but there was indeed life before cell phones. And it ran smoothly.

Wednesday afternoon I left the office to head to my next place of work. Halfway there, I reached into my bag searching for my phone so I could see what time it was. To my astonishment, all of my rummaging left me empty-handed. At first I was incredulous. How could I have left my phone behind? I NEVER do that. Knock on wood, but I have never lost a phone. But then as soon as I realized I was phone-less I started worrying. What if something happened, what would I do? What was I going to do on my commute since I had forgotten a book? What if I needed to call someone in the evening? What if someone needed to reach me?

Interesting to remember that I've only owned a cell phone for 5 years.

Thursday morning I walked in, and there was my phone to greet me. It had a message or two on it for me to return a call, but surprisingly the world had not ended that night. In afternoon I got home from teaching piano and went to call my landlord. Once again, to my astonishment, the phone was not to be found. I berated myself under my breath for being such a moron and drove back to the piano studio to get my phone. What were the odds? 2 times in 24 hours!! The phone was waiting for me on the piano where I'd left it.

Thursday night I ran out the door to tango class, got in the car, and went to call and give my friend the 20-minute warning. Guess what? No phone. I had left it AGAIN on the dining room table. I was befuddled but I had to chuckle. Clearly the universe was trying to tell me something. "Get unconnected" or "talk is cheap" or "lay down your arms" or something. I got to my friend's, got out of the car and rang the doorbell (because I couldn't call from the street), then I enjoyed the unfettered freedom of enjoying the moment without a clock, without being accessible to the outside world.

When I got home I had a message from tonight's date: "do you want to go out after the show tomorrow?" Being that it was close to midnight, I decided to answer in the morning. After closing my eyes my phone chirped again. And again.. and again. (stupid phone that keeps beeping until someone pays attention to it) Muttering to myself I got up to turn it off, but peeked at the message before I did. From tonight's date: "I haven't heard from you, so I assume tomorrow night is a no go. I'm making other plans." (Even though when we spoke 3 days ago we confirmed our theater plans.)

Yes, ladies and gents, because I didn't respond to a text message within 4 hours, I'm now stuck with tickets to a show and nobody to go with. Excuse me for having a life. Maybe the purpose of my bad cell phone karma this week was just to show me that tonight's date wasn't it. And another one bites the dust.

Soul-Thirsty

2009-04-03T13:15:00.003-05:00

Sometimes my soul gets thirsty. I'm not really sure what it's thirsty for. Perhaps inspiration. My ears perk up when I hear about various projects that are making a difference for people around the world. I've had cravings to read poetry. My heart is reaching out to forge or re-forge connections with the people surrounding me physically, emotionally, and conceptually. Call it nostalgia, call it spring fever, I call it soul-thirsty.

I get really good ideas at times like these, but I don't usually get them off the ground. Maybe because I fail to get the right people on my team. Maybe because I look at my calendar and realize I am booked a month out. Maybe because I look at the end result and get overwhelmed or discouraged rather than looking at the baby steps involved along the way.

Do I want to do something great in this life? Yeah. Do I have any clue what or how? Nope.

All I know is that my soul is thirsty.

The Children and Their Dog

2009-03-03T12:31:00.004-06:00

As I go to the homes of about half of my students, sometimes I encounter strange situations outside of my control. One family in particular has a big dog we'll call Bowser to protect the innocent. Bowser is a nice dog, but he jumps. I do not like being jumped on. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy animals on occasion. Actually, I like my own pets, but I don't really care for other people's. The first few lessons, the family left Bowser in his crate so that he wouldn't bother our lesson. However, Bowser's crate is parked right next to the piano, so Bowser made his presence known throughout the lesson.

After the first few when Bowser was "used to me," I was left to my own devices. They hold Bowser back long enough for me to walk in the door and close it behind me, and then they let him loose. And he jumps and wags and noses around and jumps some more. Meanwhile, I'm trying to take off my coat, and my scarf, and my hatt, and my gloves, and my BOOTS. Taking off boots means bending over, and then Bowser is right in my face. I put my purse on the floor, and Bowser is in my purse.

Bowser bounds down the stairs after me and proceeds to jump on my back as I sit down at the piano. If I stand beside the bench while the children sit at the piano, Bowser jumps onto the bench. Needless to say, it makes for an interesting lesson.

A few weeks ago, after packing up for the day, I said goodbye as I let myself out. At the exact moment that I opened the door, a neighbor was walking by with 2 or 3 unleashed little dogs trotting along behind. Bowser got a glimpse and tore out the door. Oh crap, I thought.

I ran outside to try to grab Bowser, but Bowser had no collar on and I was mentally deciding whether or not I should lunge for him. The owner of the other dogs was a distressed-calm in her fur coat as she panted how sorry she was for not having her dogs on a leash. Finally I got Bowser to go back in the direction of the open door, but before I could stop it, one of the little dogs ran into the house after Bowser. The the fur coat cried, "Oh no! My boots are snowy, I don't want to go into your house!" To which I grumbled, "it's not my house," and plunged back in, snowy boots and all. The dogs were chasing each other around the kitchen, the boys were screaming, and I was yelling to the foreign babysitter to capture the little dog. He didn't understand me.

I caught the dog, handed him over to the fur coat, closed the door, and RAN to the bus stop.

All in a day's work.

Made for TV

2009-02-16T09:30:00.003-06:00

Since starting a few new jobs, I haven't had much time for TV. Friday night I took an opportunity to veg-out in front of a few mindless shows, and the censorship caught my attention. I was watching a movie that had been edited to be shown on television, and I noticed that they had dubbed over all the swear words. Obviously, this is not a new revelation, but what set it apart on Friday night, was the fact that none of the violence had been edited out.

Interesting that we deem cursing as behavior too inappropriate to show on television, but fighting, blood, and killing are ok.

The other thing that was making me antsy was that in EVERY commercial break they played an advertisement for the Bad Girls Club with Amber and Amber. I had never heard of the Ambers before (pardon my ignorance, if this is a household name), but it looked AWFUL. There are TOO MANY trashy reality TV series. Ewww.

So perhaps the period of absentia made these things stick out like glaring sore thumbs, but I was not impressed. Does that make me old? Or uptight? Or wizened? Or enlightened?

Letter to My Body

2009-01-29T21:06:00.002-06:00

Dear Body,

I just want to point out that you had six months of rest, relaxation, and downtime amid volitile weather conditions. Freezes and thaws and freezes and thaws. You worked with children, you traveled abroad, and yet through all this you remained strong. Why did you decide that the night before I started my new job was the ideal time to get sick? To tighten up the chest, clog up the sinuses, flood my eyes, and pound around in my head? Was that really necessary?

I made a wonderful impression on all my new coworkers--coughing, sneezing, blowing my nose-- "I'm Caitlyn! I'm so excited to be working here!" I'm sure it will pave the way for my success.

I appreciate the fact that after the initial onslaught you agreed to compromise and let me feel a little better each day. But that episode this morning with the little tickle in the back of my throat that gave me the uncontrollable urge to cough for hours in the middle of the packed, silent traincar was really uncalled for. I tried to suppress it by breathing slowly and calmly, but it only made the tears start streaming down my cheeks and my entire core start convulsing. I think that might have been more alarming to my fellow passengers than the incessant coughing.

Anytime you could start acting like a normal body instead of one that's out to get me, I would appreciate it.

Love,
Caitlyn

PS-Please stop craving potato chips all the time. Try to crave something like celery sticks.

Just Wondering.

2009-01-23T09:27:00.001-06:00

Does it make me un-American if I don't care about or watch the SuperBowl?

Just wondering.

Yoga

2009-01-18T09:05:00.003-06:00

Each yoga session I attend (which is unfortunately not very consistent), the participants are asked to mentally set an intention for the session--whatever it was that brought us to our yoga mats that day. Could be physical, mental, spiritual, anything. I was there for the works. Bring it on, thought I.

The quiet of the room and the intimacy with my own body almost always gives me some insight. Some of them more profound than others. One time I couldn't help but reflect on those few awkward moments as people wander into the room and settle in, but before the class has started. Do you say hello to your yoga mat neighbor?

This past week however, I got a flash of insight that discouragingly sounds like an old-person insight. Just because you CAN do something, doesn't necessarily mean that you SHOULD. Let's face it, I'm not as young as I used to be. I remember dance classes when I was 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 bounding up into backbends and sinking into the splits like it was my job. But when faced with the CAMEL POSE this week (pictured to the right) I either felt my age or my out-of-shapeness. I watched the teacher thinking, "yeah, right," but then as I leaned backward I thought, "hey, this isn't so bad!" And then I was there feeling the thrill of accomplishment radiating from my outstretched heart. And then the teacher said, "on your next breath, go ahead and roll back up." Oh crap. My head felt like a ton of bricks, and I wondered how I would even give a distress signal so the teacher could come and rescue me. I panicked for just a moment when I thought that the only way out was for someone to push me over, when finally I figure out how to move without losing my balance.

When I was finally upright again, the teacher was already guiding the class into a second camel pose. Luckily she added a little caveat that if we felt like one was enough, that was ok. THANK GOD. I went straight into the corpse pose to wait and let my blinding flash of insight sink in.

Darkness

2009-01-10T12:31:00.004-06:00

I wanted to see if I could keep my poinsettia growing all year so it would bloom again next year. While reading about their care, I learned that starting in October, poinsettias need 14 straight hours of complete darkness per night in order to bloom. No indoor light, no street light, nothing. Interesting metaphor.. darkness before blooming.

More literally, I'm wondering since we are almost never in complete darkness--there's always a street light or a house light or building security lights--how have we changed the planet and the life it sustains? I wonder if there are species that have died out or don't exist here simply because we don't let them have darkness.

Sometimes I get far enough out of the city to look up into the night sky and see it full of stars. Every time it startles me. Not seeing the stars, per se, but the fact that I had forgotten their presence. They are always there, constant and beautiful, but I become accustomed to their invisibility. Glimpsing them turns into a miracle.

Dar Williams wrote a lyric that resonates with me:

"What kind of people make a city

where you can't see the sky and you can't feel the ground?"

What kind, indeed?

A World Transformed

2009-01-07T23:29:00.003-06:00

I woke up this morning to a world transformed. Outside my window the branches were dark tangles lined with a thin layer of bright white. What a contrast! The magical night that goes from no snow to a sparkling blanket always makes me catch my breath in the morning. Despite the bitter cold air that bites at your cheeks and sends snowflakes swirling down any gap between your neck and scarf, there are some luscious things about winter. Somehow, the world looks new.

Civil Rights of the 21st century

2006-10-18T20:35:00.000-05:00

I watched a very well-done and moving PBS documentary on the Civil Rights movement ca. 1963-5 the other night. I was horrified at the cruelty of people and the hatred that existed between humans. As they documented both sides of the story using footage from the era and interviewed both sides of the story present-day, it became clear that although we look back now horrified at such atrocities and blatant racism, at the time it was the accepted way of life. It seems ludicrous now, but those offenders really thought the way they acted was ok.

My initial reaction was to become angry as I smugly sat in judgement of the southern, white people who had behaved so badly and sometimes violently toward other people. My next thought was to put myself in those southern, white shoes and wonder who the people are today who are oppressed acceptably. Who are they? I concluded that they are the poor, the homeless, those living in poverty who we send aid to in other countries but we don't see on our own streets.

Immediately I thought about the man that stands on the corner of Sheffield and Armitage every day around 6. I had walked past him on my way from work to the train station almost every day, and never had I acknowledged him. Every day as I passed he mumbled passively and plaintively something that I never understood as though asking but already accepting rejection. Every day I walked by without even turning my head, as you are supposed to do in the city--steeling myself. Every day I felt guilty about it, but something kept me from turning, and by the time I got home, I had forgotten him.

What am I so afraid of? I tried to convince myself that I have to be cautious of my physical safety being a small, young woman who lives alone in Chicago. But I know that's not it. I wish it were that easy. And then I realized that if I acknowledge that man, I have to see him. And if I open my eyes to him, then I will see more and know more. And once I begin to see the hurt and suffering around me, there will be a leak in my happy, safe life. At that point, if I choose to ignore it, I choose something vastly different than being ignorant in the first place. In 50 years will someone do a documentary on the way we treat our poor and underprivelaged citizens today? Will our grandchildren be horrified by the way we closed our eyes and hands to them? If they interview me in 50 years about my actions (or lack thereof), will the fact that I was afraid keep me from being culpable?

I wished my activist, peace-monger friends from college were here to talk to that man first, so I could smile and wave at him by association. And then I stopped myself. Did I really get my education so that I could ride on someone else's coattails? Why do I have to wait until someone else has the courage to initiate something in order to jump on that momentum?

Yesterday I looked at that man on the corner. I asked him what he was selling. I didn't want it, so I smiled and said, "No, thanks," and he smiled back. I kept on walking. He is a person afterall. I don't know what to do next. Maybe I'll learn his name. I'm scared and uncomfortable, but maybe I'm making a difference?

Thoughts on shopping.

2006-06-04T21:11:00.000-05:00

I think I need to start buying my clothes in units. Do NOT buy 1 piece at a time in the hope of recmobining. All that does is make you feel good in the moment, and then fill your closet with articles from which the tags are never removed.

Today I bought an "outfit." I bought the whole thing, accessories and all.. everything but the shoes. I'm excited to wear it, but I'm handicapped by the lack of appropriate footwear. So the question now is, will I go and buy a less-than-wonderful pair with the pressure of the rush, or will this "outfit" become yet another tagged article in the closet as I wait for another "good" time to do some shopping?

Am I the only one who falls prey to this buyer's blunder?

Re: Stories from the Front Lines

2006-03-30T21:21:00.000-06:00

Thanks to the Hinsdale team for adding me to their ranks, even though my bio is slightly less kosher than all the rest. We keep it in the office, so as not to worry our clientele.

Is it truth?

2006-03-25T22:09:00.000-06:00

Lord Byron once said that the love of a man is something set apart in his life, while that of a woman is her entire existence.

Is it truth?

Dijo Lord Byron alguna vez que el amor del hombre es algo aparte en su vida, mientras que el de la mujer es su existencia entera.

Es verdad?

Long Island on my Mind

2006-03-23T20:30:00.000-06:00

Jen, Kevin, Elinore, Laura and I spent last weekend out on Long Island visiting the Bodine clan. It was wonderful to spend time with my sisters and brother-in-law, my rosy cheeked niece, my sweet Gram, and all the crazy Bodines and Bodine-derivations.

8 of Gram's 10 great-grandchildren were able to pose for a photo-shoot.

It was a great weekend, though entirely too short.

Stories from the Front Lines

2006-03-23T20:16:00.000-06:00

March, March, yet another month of learning and bloopers on the job. Here's a rundown:

1. I recently left this message for a woman who called to inquire about our programs:
".... give us a call back at ***.***.**** (pause) Oh God. That's my home number. Please don't call that."

2. Just today I spoke with a VERY inquisitive mother who was asking very complex and specific tuition calculations as well as detailed logistics questions about summer programs. She must have called 3 times with more questions. The last time she called, my coworker answered and when she mentioned who was calling, I had my back to her. As I reached for the phone I said "greeeeaaaaaaat. I hope she's calling to ENROLL this time!" And when I turned around, Kelly had a horrified look on her face as she frantically indicated that the receiver was live and the woman had probably heard my response. Note to the public: Help your coworkers save a little face, and put a person on HOLD when you pass them off. PS-Her tuition for 10 weeks of summer programming came to $1182. She called back to ask if that was the per week rate. I nearly choked.. this is not boarding school!

3. One Thursday morning when I was the only director covering the center, our substitute Spanish teacher got his signals crossed and went to the wrong location. We were 5 minutes into the class when we realized he would be arriving VERY late, and with no other alternative, I grabbed the session plans and the Spanish teacher whose program didn't start until 9:15 and said, "Quick! You have 3 minutes to train me in teaching a class." In a flash she taught me how to lead 2 activities, and sent me into the room of seven particularly active 4 and 5 year olds waiting for my teaching expertise. I began the first activity where I pulled prizes out of a bag for the children to claim. (This is to get them to practice saying "I want such and such, please" in Spanish) Of course, the first prize I pulled out of the bag nobody wanted. Nor the second. Nor the third. Crap. Finally I dumped the contents of the bag on the floor and made them pick what they wanted.

Part II of this activity was then to go around to get them to say what they had. When I started leading the prompt.. "Who has the ... " I realized that all the prizes where things like magnifying glasses, skateboards, chinese yo-yos, all things I have NO IDEA how to say in Spanish! The panic set in and I began to sing "Who has the thing, who has the thing..?"

Meanwhile there is a parent actually KNOCKING on the door of my classroom with 7 on-the-edge 4 year olds, to ask to speak to the director. (Sidenote: When I followed up with her later to find out what was so urgent, she informed me she just wanted to schedule her daughter's make up!) There are children telling me in English that they have to go to the bathroom, and seeing how I, as the director and not normally IN a classroom, am normally the one to escort the children to the bathroom, I had to get a mom out of the lobby to take the children.

I finally get them to the table to eat snack and I try to drag it out as long as possible. I gave them all as many goldfish as they wanted, but soon I had some children still at the table eating, others climbing onto their chairs, running around the room, screaming, crashing into walls, CHAOS. And sweet Monica in the adjoining room with her Parents and Tots class is trying to help me by signing through the window while keeping the parents from looking through it! It was 9:40 and the missing substitute still had not arrived.

I had to move on, even though I had NO idea what to do. I hoped I would think of something during the 2 second walk to the carpet. Nothing came. One little girl told me she would just sit at the table since she wasn't feeling well. I made the rest get in a circle and make the circulo GRANDE and circulo PEQUENO. They all looked at me confused because we'd already done this as a warm-up activity. Meanwhile little Meg, sitting at the table, pipes in "Teacher, you're doing it wrong! This isn't how Spanish class goes!" WELL, NO KIDDING. Finally just before 10, the teacher arrived, and I bolted.

After I took some deep breaths I went into the office to call a non-Spanish speaking coworker in management and tell my story. He laughed as he told me of his experience getting stranded in a class with 18 children and a parent staring at him. He, of course, jumped right in with.. "Raise your hand if you have a birthday this month!" 4 little hands went up into the air. My coworker then proceeded to lead the group in singing "Feliz cumpleanos a ti (Happy Birthday).." 4 TIMES. Thank GOD the teacher had arrived by the end. I guess it can always be worse.

They say that an idle mind is the devil's playground (or something like that), so at least I don't have to worry about that! Boredom at work is definitely not high on my list of concerns.

Giant Feet in a Small World

2006-02-03T15:34:00.000-06:00

Considering this was my third trip to Chile, don't get me wrong, but I didn't expect to "discover" very many things about Chilean culture. I guess I somewhat smugly assume that I am an "old hand" when it comes to Santiago. However, I was able to spend just enough time down south to not be overwhelmed by the differences, but to be amazed at how I'd overlooked them on my previous visits.

#1. (And this was not so much a discovery as a confirmation/reminder of a previous discovery) US Rules of the Road DO NOT APPLY in Chile. Lanes are mere suggestions to motorists, and in fact, really have nothing to do with turning at intersections. You are free to turn left, right, or continue straight ahead from whichever lane you choose in Santiago. Rolling down your window while the light is red to inform the other driver that you will be turning in front of him or her is considered good etiquette, but is by no means necessary. One will use judgment however when deciding whether or not to turn in front of the big yellow micros.

#2. When Angela, Irache, and I went to the mall in search of wedding outfit accessories, the food court at lunch time was packed. (You'll notice the wonderfully traditional fast food joints that we could choose from) I followed as they searched out a table with 3 chairs and 1 old man sitting peacefully, finishing his lunch. My heart began to beat wildly as Irache sat down at the table next to the man, Angela pulled out a chair for me, and then Angela stood near the man waiting for him to finish so she could take his seat. I was appalled by my friends' rudeness in pressuring the poor man to choke down those empanadas, until I realized that this must be normal behavior. Knowing that Chileans and Americans have different concepts of personal space should have made this not quite so momentous, but it was a phenomenon that I somehow missed before.

#3. The world is not too small to meet the student who is currently staying with your host family (in CHILE, I might add) and find out he is from Naperville.

#4. Being an ambassador of the US Culture can range anywhere from refusing to be silent when it becomes clear that Chileans do not understand the "YMCA" (I was horrified to observe that those brave souls who did not walk off the dance floor when the YMCA began to play, all waved their arms around during the "Y.... M.. CA", but did not make the letters!!), to teaching your host brother the art of the S'MORE. (Everything was authentic except the campfire)

#5. (And this was shocking indeed) According to Chilean standards, I have GIANT feet. I don't mean to say large, I mean GIANT. Now for those of you who are scrolling back up to see if my feet have made it in any of the pictures, let me just say that I wear a US size 8. That's just about as average as they come. HOWEVER, while shopping for shoes in Santiago I was discouraged to find out in the first few stores that when I asked for a particular shoe in a size 38-39, the shoe attendant looked at me a little surprised and shook his head no. Angela ended up walking into every store before I even started looking at their shoes to ask if they even carried anything in a 39. When finally they would say yes, she would ask them to just bring whatever they had. Oh the shame! I eventually was able to find a winning shoe, but I will think twice before taking these colossal feet for Chilean outfitting again any time soon.

As Jen and Kevin recently said in reference to their trip in Thailand, the best travel stories come when things go wrong. I could tell you all about the wedding, the beach, the 90 degree weather, the ice cream, the sea lions, the kiwi, pear, papaya, strawberry, raspberry, apricot, peach, and cactus fruit nectar I got to drink on a daily basis, but that's not nearly as fun as recreating the moments when I found my inner-self shouting "What is going on?!"