Question

Is it possible to throw a surprise party with 75-100 people attending, only having two people working on the planning of the actual event, one who lives several states away? I sort of think it's going to be hard. My cohort seems to think we can pull it off.

Aaaaaand They're Off!

The 2007-2008 school year has officially started around these parts. Not smoothly, but better than it could be. More bumps will be encountered along the way, I'm sure. The first problem was the schedule. Online one of my classes said it met from 4:30-5:45 Tuesdays and Thursdays but I forgot which room it was in. I tried to check on my way into the building, they usually have that sort of thing posted the first few days. But it said that my class was meeting from 3 - 4:15. Had I already missed my first class? How in the hell did that happen? I ran to a computer to check thinking that maybe I had the wrong information or was unsure as to my course name and number. No, my schedule said 4:30 and gave me the room number. So up I went. And the class was there. Except the very first thing that my instructor said was that the time should have been rescheduled for the 3 pm time slot. This pretty much sucks because I had arranged my work schedule in such a way that I could leave for class on Tuesdays and Thursdays at about 4:25 and not look back. I wouldn't need to come back to my office for anything, I was done with work for the day. This 3 pm thing throws a very large wrench in that arrangement. I might have to come into work at 8 now. Ugh. Eight am and I aren't good friends unless I'm in the shower or drinking coffee or, preferably, not awake at all.

But... as we were reading through the syllabus for this first class my instructor just decides to remove the final! We do have a big final paper/project due at the end of class so I think he realized it was going to be a lot of grading and reading he would need to do before submitting our final grades.

My second class is Tuesday evenings. The first person I encountered in the room was someone with whom I dread taking classes. He was one of the people I was compelled to apologize for in my last course evaluation (different class and instructor, same annoying classmate). Very knowledgeable but comes off as a know-it-all. Do you really need to cite II Enoch in the first first class of Intro to Ministry, often the first class for a crop of brand new students? I'm thinking probably not. This course, not a heavy course. A couple of papers, nothing terribly long, nothing terribly strenuous, no quizzes or tests. And one of my friends from around the work place to sit and giggle with.

One of the nice things about seminary here is that most of the professors have been pastors recently. Academia was not what they initially thought they would do so they still have a pastor's heart when it comes to their students. Some are more academically minded than others but there is a sense of understanding that seems to exude from them. Understanding is a good things. As is truth-telling.

Someone is drilling into the room right above my head. I might have a headache by the end of today. On the bright side, only two more work days before a bit of vacation.

Biblical Proportions

There have been bad storms coming through my area of the country lately. Lots and lots of rain. My boss had a lake in her yard yesterday. That went up to her rather tall son's chest. A lake that isn't normally there. She was up all night trying to keep her house from flooding.

Massive trees have been felled by high winds. I had a persistent leak in my apartment yesterday evening. Thankfully I didn't have to do anything but put a bowl under it and say "Meh, that'll have to do for now." The north branch of the Chicago River is very full. I expect to see dead things, raccoon and bunnies, perhaps the odd elephant or antelope, float by as I look out at it every now and then. Apparently the next round this evening will be worse.

Next week school starts. Next week my classes start too. I'm happy to be back to taking classes but I hope I'm not overdoing it. Six semester hours total, two classes. I think I can do it. They are both classes that I need to take in the first year of my degree which strikes me as funny since I'm almost done with all my required classes. I think. I could be vastly overestimating how far I am in my program. I know that I will have to complete field ed. hours. Far too many of them for me to contemplate at this moment. Ah well. It's taken me five years to get here. Another two won't kill me, the water will probably get me first.

Identity

I've struggled the past few days (Hah! I laugh. More like my entire lifetime...) with identity - figuring out who I am and who others think I am and also how I present myself to others to give them the impression I want them to have so that they think what I want them to think about me.

It's the beginning of the school year. I work at a university. My role has changed over the summer and I feel like I need to step things up, whatever "stepping things up" means. In my mind it means presenting a more professional appearance, creating this aura about myself that exudes confidence and professionalism. Smarter looking clothing, or at least something that doesn't have a stain on it. But heels and ironing, they are not my friends so it makes it a bit more difficult.

Yesterday I was reading in front of most of the school's full-time staff and faculty in a language that was not my own, someone made the assumption that because soy latina, then I speak Spanish. I learned Spanish in middle school, high school and college, and I struggle with it sometimes. I have just as soon learned French or German or Portuguese. I have to figure out something to say to this person, because even though their intentions were nice, they're working from stereotypes and I'm not much of a stereotype person. Then I had to figure out what to wear yesterday in front of all these people. Subdued? Ethnic looking? Professional? Professional ethnic looking? They're all different Hannitas. I've got them all in my closet - plus a few others - depending on the the occasion.

Today I wandered among all the new students and their parents at lunch looking for faces that I should connect with - a reassuring smile - it will be OK. There are a few people here who look like you or your sister or your daughter, who care what your experience is, what your child's experience here is.

This afternoon I slide into an orientation session at the seminary where I've signed up for two classes. The seminary where people don't laugh in class nearly as much as I think they should. The place where I desperately want to show up with pink hair and look abnormal because everyone there looks so much alike, so safe, so bland. Instead I choose to push my hair back with a headband, don black t-shirt and jeans. Safe. Normal. Bland.

Tomorrow the seminary hosts lunch for "new black students" and "new international students". I am sad that there are too few new Latino students for anyone to care to include or support us. I've contemplated crashing the one for black students. Perhaps I will...

Last Friday morning as I got ready for the day, coiffing the now red hair, donning the enormous red earrings and ring, the necklace, the shoes, I felt as though I looked like a caricature of myself. I thought I was overdoing things a bit, a little too big and a little too bold. Because, I think that's what my friends think of me oftentimes: BIG and bold. With lots of red.

That's not what I think of myself.

The theme of my life

The Art. It is everywhere.
I got my new pieces up that I brought back from home.
My mom did these:

I love these two pieces. For a while my mom was focused on doing yard long pieces in pencil. The colors are so beautiful and the detail is lovely. The tulips won in their category at the Texas state fair a few years back. Yay Mom! So when she wondered which of their huge stockpile I wanted these two sprung to mind.

The buffalo is a painting the my brother did for my dad a few years ago for Christmas. It's the heart I love. And the colors he used to do the underlayers. They're brilliant and then the encaustic and texture on the layers above are much more subdued.
An older piece by my brother that I've had up for a while.

And below is something I was working on this weekend. It got better on Sunday. And then it got much, much worse when I tried to paint in the flowers. Eesh...

Wooohoo!

Just bought my tickets to go visit Heidi and Eric over the Labor Day weekend. How excited am I?

feeling pigeonholed

Is it wrong of me to be annoyed that they want me to read scripture in Spanish? Because I am.

Indignation

This afternoon I went for a bit of a walk to get lunch (tongue is good y'all - especially in a burrito). On my way back I ran across one of the guys who has worked at my school for... bordering on forever really. He's usually with another guy, let's call him Joe, since he's the point of my post and it would be hard to not talk about him without a name. They are both carpenter types and when I need something done, like painting my shelves or putting holes, anchors and screws in my office walls so I can decorate them, they come and help. They are such great guys. Generally really happy and sweet, even when it's a completely stupid little request. Joe always carries pictures of his grandkids with him and is full of news about his family. When the kids bought him a corvette a while back for him to race he showed me a picture of it. He's a Vietnam Vet who did a lot of jumping out of planes. He's raised a couple of his grandkids because his daughter, their mom, hasn't been in any sort of shape to raise them. He's about the nicest person I've met here, and I work with some really nice folks. Joe makes me think of the everyday hero type of guy who is working hard and has lived hard and is doing the best he can for his family. I'm always happy to see him and the inevitable smile and bad flannel jacket.

But this summer, when I had my pictures hung, it wasn't my friend Joe who showed up. It was some kid. I mean, it was some kid who works for the grounds crew who knows what he's doing but he's no Joe. In the mornings as I walk through the building towards my office, I've glimpsed, through an open door into the broom closet, a sad flannel jacket that just hung on a hook. It reminded me of Joe. Summer is a busy time for the grounds folk and so I initially put off the voice in my head wondering about Joe to the business of the season. But lately, every morning I've been reminded that I hadn't seen him and tell myself that I needed to call the folks in his department to get the story.

Because one of the things that Joe has shared with me over the past year is that his heart is causing him some problems. He's had a pacemaker for a while but there have been ongoing complications. He's been going to a doctor at the VA so the healthcare he's received hasn't been the best. Or the recommendations from his doctor hadn't been approved by the insurance. That sort of thing. I know he had put off these operations. I've been worried.

So when I saw my friend today I asked him about Joe. They're great pals so I figured he would know the scoop. Joe has been out for several months. His pacemaker "exploded" and he got a bad infection. He had to have it taken out and it wasn't replaced. He's been recovering since then.

I'm pissed at myself for not asking anyone earlier. I'm pissed at this institution because only when it's the president or some such person does it become widely known that someone had a heart attack. But not when you're just one of the folks on the grounds crew. Grr...

So everyone think good thoughts for my friend Joe. He's recovering and might be back at work in three or so weeks (because if you're on disability for too long they fire you around here - how's that for a Christian attitude?).

Perhaps I should have thought harder about the sunscreen

Yesterday after church we had a cookout/potluck. I had been excited about this event for community building purposes when it was first announced. Then I figured out it was the same weekend that I was planning to be at my parents' place. I was bummed. But, while last weekend was hot in Tejas, it was hot and rainy in the Chi. So the cookout was rescheduled for this Sunday. Woohoo! Probably the part that I was most excited about was the much ballyhooed game of kickball. You remember kickball? The favorite game of 3rd - 6th graders everywhere? Admittedly, I had not played since 5th grade but I was excited to play again.

Imagine 15 or 16 twenty and thirty somethings (with three kids in the mix for good measure) kicking and fielding and running the bases dodging this bouncy blue ball. It was great fun - even if my team lost and I didn't catch a pop fly that I really should have.
I spent a little too much time in the sun. My shoulders and neck are a bit pink. But it's not as bad as it could be.

My contribution to the potluck, the vat o' guacamole, went over well. When does it not? I'll share the recipe if you want to make some for yourself.

• Avocados - ripe ones that aren't overly squishy but give a bit when you give them a squeeze
• Onion - I don't have a particular favorite type of onion - sometimes I use the green ones, other times I'll just buy a big yellow one and be done with it. I don't think that I would use vidalias though. I like my onions with a little kick to them.
• Garlic - fresh. This also adds some bite to the mix. Although powdered will do in a pinch.
• Tomatoes - doesn't matter what kind really either. I tend to think in the ratio of one roma tomato to one avocado. Although I do keep some tomato (half) in reserve just in case I over season and it gets too salty or lime-y.
• Fresh Cilantro - I tend to use a lot
• Lime juice - Just buy a lime, not the lime juice in a plastic container. To taste. Also helps the avocado not turn icky green shade.
• Salt - to taste
• Black Pepper - I like my freshly ground, also to taste

So, here's one of the keys to my guacamole, I don't mush up the avocados, it's much chunkier than traditional recipes. I cut my avocados in half and then dice them in the skin and scoop the pieces out with a spoon after it's all cut. And, if I have chunks of avocado, I don't feel like I have to cut up all the other stuff into tiny pieces. I also don't add jalapenos to my guac. If you use plenty of fresh garlic and freshly ground black pepper you will have good spice already.

I don't measure things out. This will drive some folks nuts. I just chop them up and throw them together, tasting along to way to get the right proportions. Like I said in the ingredients, I'm always worried that I'll over-salt or add too much lime juice in the seasoning process so I keep a bit of tomato in reserve just in case I need to add something else.

So, good luck with that. And, umm, go act like a fourth-grader.

Will no longer sweat like a pig

Last night? I found my local market and I'm a little bit in love. Fresh produce much cheaper than at a big chain store. All sorts of random ethnic food because it's a gateway community with lots of younger professionals. I got avocados and cilantro and garlic (already peeled for me!) and corn (Iowa people - how do I buy fresh corn? I don't think I've done it before and I don't know what to look for). The store is tiny and everything is placed in the most compact manner (toilet paper on the shelf above the produce, peanut butter above the frozen pizzas). It's all small and squished. It was glorious.

I also moved my window ac unit to my incredibly and ridiculously full bedroom. It has served me well in previous apartments in seemingly similar sized spaces but this summer, perhaps because it has been so cruelly stifling, does not seem to be putting out enough cool air for it to be worth even turning it on. It has been better to just run the fans and get the air from the outside, particularly in the evenings. But while visiting with a friend last week I realized that perhaps the ac should move to my bedroom. At least that way I could make an icebox for myself in the evenings and not worry about cooling the rest of the apartment. I thought perhaps I would do that before my father came to stay. Or have him help me move it and put it in. The best laid plans and all that. Despite being heartily sick of all the moving and the mess and not wanting to do a damn thing because my apartment is so hot, I was more annoyed by the fact that I would not sleep well in such heat and I was tired - tired because I cannot sleep in strange beds, I have to adjust and I had just spent four nights in four different beds.

So I sucked it up and moved the damn thing and taped up the window so that outside air won't seep in. All at about 10:30 last night. Because I procrastinate.

But I slept well enough with cats dancing about my head and wanting in and out of the room. Closed doors are pure evil to cats.

After I moved the ac unit I plugged in all the necessaries like the alarm clock and the side lamp and my laptop and battery recharger. I charged batteries for my camera specifically so that I could take pictures of this for the internet:This little glass piggy was my mother's bank when she was little. She had it on a shelf with all her pretty dishes and I fell in love with it's charming face and piggy ways. There's no hole in the bottom so you can only put in coins and my mom was so cute when she was telling me how you had to shake it a specific way to get the money to come out, as if she were five again. Even if it weren't terribly cute, for that moment alone I would adore it.

Excess

I have spent an excessive amount of time on the road the past four days, some flying but mostly driving. Also? A fair amount of dead armadillos along the roadside. They fascinate me and I am sad when I see the smooshed. They are moving further north into Missouri, in case you weren't aware. My father wouldn't believe me because he was mostly sleeping while I drove, trusting man that he is, and would miss their sad, flattened carcasses as I drove past them. A lady working in the Dairy Queen confirmed that I was, in fact, correct.

I have spent an excessive amount of time sweaty this weekend. Yesterday I was sweaty to the point that the dollar bills in my pocket were soggy - and stayed that way for quite a while.

I have way too much furniture in my apartment currently. Two chest of drawers, two beds (one full sized, one extra-long twin), two chests (I plan to toss one). Much more original artwork than one person my age should really own but having artists in the family makes blank walls an impossibility. I brought home tow of my mom's pieces and one of my brother's. They're phenomenal and different from what I have up currently.

I also brought home 24 crystal glasses, 12 water and 12 martini-ish. They were my grandma's. I will not use them until I am much older, I am sure, but they are beautiful. This on top of the 14 wine glasses that I already own. I don't enjoy wine, nor do I enjoy most martinis. Water is good though. I have a big bale of rope that my father thought to pack in the excessively large truck that cost him a ridiculous amount of money. Also? About twenty blankets that were used to pad things on the drive up. Handy when one is moving but I just don't need these things and Dad refused to take a large suitcase back with him on the place.

I can barely walk in my apartment there is so much crap in there. It's a bit frightening...

I apologize for the lack of pictures. My camera decided that the batteries were low as soon as I foolishly left the apartment with no replacements.

Howdy Y'all!

I'm in Texas.

I called my dad after I kept tearing up thinking about dealing with extra people for my day at home and asked him to tell them not to come. Sure, it meant four hours of driving for them that they weren't planning on. And then my flight was about half an hour late. And the baggage was really slow (because I packed plenty of dirty laundry to do today). Aaaand my dad was pulled over on the way home because he seemed to be drifting a bit according to the sheriff but he didn't get a ticket. It was 12:30 in the morning.

But I'm so glad I did it. I'm glad I was selfish with my time with my parents. And the time I had to go through things. I spent quite a bit of time crying. Things that I wasn't expecting kept showing up in the boxes that I had to go through. And I found all these cards and notes from my grandparents. I had to make hard decisions about what I could keep and squish into my apartment and what would have to be tossed. Things that belonged to my Abuelito and Abuelita and my Grandma and Grandpa. I threw away the flowers that I had kept from three of my grandparents' funerals. What? You didn't think I was so morbid and sentimental? I'm all kinds of sentimental.

I'm excited about the stuff I'm getting, even if I'm not sure it'll all fit. It'll be tight.

We drive and drive and then drive some more tomorrow. Unload everything on Monday. That'll be fun...

Send chocolate and happy thoughts

Last night my old roommate came to visit me and I was in the midst of apartment building hell.

One of the things that I didn't think to ask when I looked at the apartment initially, because it seemed like there was something in place, was whether I have a buzzer and a working intercom system and a way to let people in that come to visit me. I don't. I hate this. I also hate that my neighbors think it's OK to leave three huge, black trash bags in the stairwell that I have had to walk past at least once, if not twice, every day for the past week and a half. Today I put a little note under their door asking them to move it. Because there are flies. And I will have furniture that has to come up those stairs in a few days. I also hate that on Sunday mornings I know that the door to my back stairwell going out to the street will smell like urine. Because apparently people think this is a good place to take a leak late at night. Also? I hate that last night when I was trying to get into the laundry room in my building the door was locked. None of the seven(!) keys I have in my possession actually work on that door. So at 8 pm I was calling the building manager to get him to unlock it. I felt bad. I felt even worse when I heard in my head the thought "Man, I hope this building gentrifies. Because then this shit will be fixed." Once I got in there, only one of the four washing machines was working. Beautiful.

And I was talking to my friend, after hiking up four flights of stairs to my boiling apartment, which, is otherwise fine and lovely, and I almost started crying. My apartment? My space? Is quite nice. It's enough room for me. I have a bedroom with a door. I have a new fridge and the bathroom is white white white. I have art and knick-knacks everywhere, and I like it like that. It's just all the other things about the building that are getting to me.

Then this afternoon my mother called to tell me that my cousin would be picking me up from the airport this weekend, not her or my dad. My cousin... and his girlfriend and her two girls. Who will all then drive me (2 hours) up to my parents place and then will stay there overnight. And all I wanted to tell my mom was "Can't you tell them no?" They just moved. Like two weeks ago. She's not ready to have such a group of people over. I'm not wanting to deal with them. Perhaps I would actually like to visit with my parents (I know I complain, yet I love them quite a bit). Just thinking about it makes me want to weep a tiny bit.

All this crying. Perhaps it's hormones. I know - TMI.

But still...

On a happier note, the people who do such things around this here school decided to send someone to put holes in my walls so I could hang up my artwork. It's only been a month and now it's done and the walls surrounding my desk are no longer blank.

And? Free Haagen-Dazs ice cream bars this afternoon! The school does this every summer when it's sweltering.

the name game

Yesterday I was waaaaaay down south in Chicago-land. And I was on a panel with a few other folks to talk about orientation of new students to their (our) respective programs. And it went well. I was unhappy that my new business cards were not yet printed. It would have been nice to have been able to say "Here's my information. Blah blah blah." It's something to start with. Because, y'all, I'm so damn shy it's horrible. Yesterday? I should have been networking with people. My co-worker there with me? She's been in this particular education game for almost 25 years. She knew people there. She knew people who knew people there. She was charming and funny and brilliant. Probably why I'm really glad she works at my school now. But this post is not about how awesome she is, although, she is, totally.

This is about my name. And my heritage. And stupid comments that people make that show their ignorance and hidden bigotry. Because that is how I ended my time at this little meeting - feeling like I had just been slapped upside the head. As we were introducing ourselves I had to make a decision about my last name. I love my last name. I love my first name too, as someone once said upon meeting me "That's a good Quaker name!" Indeed! I heartily agree. But, when one hears Quaker, one does not automatically equate that to Latina, oddly enough. Back to the last name. I made the decision to Anglocize the name - not flip the r, not give the Spanish pronunciation. There were no other Latinos in the room as far as I knew.

Afterwards, as my fabulous ride and I made our way out of the room a gentleman asked me what the origins of my sirname were. I responded "Originally? It's Portuguese. But Mexican at this point." To which he responded "Well, it's still pretty." It was that five letter word "still" that snuck in there and sort of punched me in the gut.

Who responds "It's Still pretty"? Who does that?

Because you've been asking...

The pictures from the birthday shindig that I went to on Sunday are up at my Flickr.

Happy Birthday darling girls.